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“What’s taking her so long?” she heard Rake say.
“Be right there,” she called down toward the fire pit.
“Oh my gosh, I feel so much better,” said a voice behind her. Meggie was back, her hair extra messy, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“You woke up,” Abby said.
“Well, yeah. Of course I woke up. Did you think I was dead? What are you doing standing here alone in the weeds? Oh. Never mind.”
“Get down here, you two,” Rake yelled.
“Y’all let me sleep forever,” Meggie said to Rake and Charlie. She went over to where Rake was sitting, leaned in behind him, and kissed the top of his head. He shoved her away.
“Get me another,” he told her, throwing an empty can into the fire.
Meggie reached into the cooler, and took out a beer for herself and one for him. Unsure what else to do, Abby sat down in the chair closest to Charlie.
“This is the only kind we’ve got left?” Meggie asked, holding up a can.
“That’s it,” said Rake.
“None of the good stuff?” She cracked hers open anyway and took a long swallow of it, and then she took a seat in the remaining lawn chair.
For a while the four of them sat there without speaking, watching the fire.
“Let’s play cards,” said Meggie.
“Let’s not,” said Rake.
“Come on. Give ‘em to me. I’ll deal.”
“No.”
“Why do you have to get all possessive? What’s your problem? We could play rap poker or bullshit. What about you two?” she asked, addressing Charlie and Abby, still considering them a couple. “Do you two want to play cards?”
“I don’t think so,” said Charlie.
“Did you hear that?” she asked. “Someone’s coming down the road.”
Rake stood up from his chair, cocking his head and sniffing like a hound dog. “She’s right,” he said to Charlie.
“Come with me,” Charlie said, grabbing Abby’s hand and pulling her out of her chair. He started running up the slope, toward the sheds, yanking her along behind him. He threw open the door of the closest small shed and collapsed inside, pulling her down on top of him, and then reaching up to wrestle the door back into place. “Get down under that bench. Don’t say a word,” he whispered.
“I won’t say anything. But why are you doing this? We’re a team. You and me, Charlie. Why are you turning on me?”
“Not another word,” he said, clamping his hand over her mouth. He wouldn’t have needed to be so rough; she had no intention of screaming.
A car door slammed, and then another. Beyond the thin shed walls, Abby heard the sound of people passing by -- the crunching of dry grass and the scuffle of feet tripping on the rutty ground.
“Hello there?” called a man’s voice.
“Well, howdy,” said Rake. “Can I help you?”
“I’m John Reston,” said the voice, “and this is my wife Susan. We live east of here. We were up in that citrus grove across the way looking for our dog and we saw a fire down here. Thought we’d better come and take a look.”
“You haven’t seen a little black and white dog, have you? Spotty. Friendly little guy?” asked a woman’s voice.
Abby struggled against Charlie’s sweaty hand, barely able to breathe. He responded by holding her even tighter.
