She’s sure of one thing: some people here are going to die tonight. At this point, she knows she cannot stop it.

She only hopes it’s nobody she cares about.

Some people glare at Carrie as if she’s violating a restraining order. There are others who stage-whisper shitty comments as she passes, or pointedly turn their backs when she is near.

Carrie wants to tell them she doesn’t want to be here either. But who else is going to save you assholes?

She drugged her mom before she left the house; gave her a tranquilizer the size of a horse tablet and put her in bed. She doesn’t feel great about it. Still, it wasn’t like Carrie had anyone she trusted to watch her, and she couldn’t have her wait in the car.

And Carrie figured that if she didn’t bother to show up at the reunion, her mom was probably dead anyway, along with everyone else in town. At a minimum.

She passes Fuller and Lonnie, who are propping up one of the bars. They look her up and down and make faces. Fuller mutters to Lonnie, who laughs loudly and says, “Not even with your dick, man.”

God, she prays to a deity in whom she does not quite believe, grant me the confidence of a guy with gray nose hairs and a beer gut.

Carrie expected the attitude and the nasty looks. What surprises her are the people who seem worried about her. They approach, somewhat shyly at first, and offer their condolences about her father. They actually talk to her.

David Wang, who took endless shit for his last name from the jocks and bullies, tells her about his architecture firm down in the state capital. Alex Fuentes gives her a warm hug and introduces her to his husband. Terri (Rogers) O’Connor, she learns, has a daughter about to enter college.

“Did you have to get a sitter?” she asks Terri, since she’s run out of other things to say.

“No. One of the few benefits of getting knocked up right out of high school!” she laughs, and takes another big drink of her Costco-brand chardonnay. (She looks great. She’s had plastic surgery, and the scars on her face are almost invisible now. Carrie wouldn’t know which was the glass eye if she didn’t remember.)

“So what are your kids doing while you’re here?”

“Hell if I know,” Terri says, then laughs. “They’re old enough to look after themselves. I hope they’re having a party or at least a couple boys over. I know that makes me a terrible mom, but I’d rather they have fun like we did than sit there all night watching YouTube.”

Carrie smiles at her. “Is it that bad?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Terri says, draining her glass. “I bet they’re glued to their phones right now.”