“Where is it?” Miguel snarled and whipped his arm back in a wide arc, catching Lane in the cheek with his elbow. The force sent her crashing into an empty chair behind her as sharp pain filled her face. Lane put a hand to her cheek and ran her tongue over her teeth, surprised they all felt in place.

“Lane!” Ms. Byrdie’s and Charlie’s voices collided.

The rest of the room was stunned silent. Several men, including Ducky, had their hands wrapped around Miguel. Charlie, his face lit with rage, stormed toward the belligerent man.

“I should go.” Miguel’s voice was calm. Quiet. His wild eyes seemed to have found somewhere to focus and they were on Lane. “I came to say goodbye.”

“I’ll take it from here.” Charlie reached for Miguel’s elbow and a flicker of something crossed in the veteran’s eyes. Fear.

“No.” Ouch. Her jaw ached and it felt like her face was already beginning to swell. “I’ve got it.”

“Lane, he hit you.”

Charlie’s eyes found the spot on her cheek that was throbbing. It probably didn’t look good, judging from his pained expression, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t like Miguel. Something was wrong.

“It was an accident.” Pushing away the fear, Lane moved slowly toward Miguel. She laced her arm gently around his elbow and started for the door. “We’re just going to be outside.”

“Lane.” Charlie stepped in front of her.

“It’s okay. Give me a few minutes.”

Ms. Byrdie reached for Charlie’s shoulder and gave a quick nod. Charlie returned his attention to Lane before reluctantly stepping back. Lane steered Miguel out the back of her home toward her garden. Beneath the trellis was an old bench glider that had belonged to her grandmother.

“Why don’t we sit here?” She loosened her grip on Miguel’s arm and let him slide down onto the bench before taking a seat next to him. His head hung so low that his chin touched his chest. His hands shook. He looked broken. Pained.

The melody of night life was filled with chirping crickets, a hooting owl, and the occasional trickle of laughter from somewhere nearby. Lane breathed in the fragrant air of the still-blooming purple hyacinths. Maybe he just needed a moment to breathe. She watched him rub the fingernail on his right thumb. It was black and cracked. The rest of the cuts were scabbed over. They looked rough. Untouchable. Lane’s heart ached. How often had she felt untouchable?

“Harley says you like to sculpt. Have you been sculpting?”

Miguel barely moved his head.

“I’ve missed seeing you here.”

“Are you afraid to die?” Miguel’s raspy voice was barely audible over the anthem of chirping around them.

His question punched the air right out of her. “Are you okay, Miguel?”

He didn’t move.