“And suddenly, everything got good again,” Buzz says, the smile coming back. “I’m selling houses faster than we can build them. Everyone wants to live in Middleton again. We’re blessed. Truly.”

Carrie feels the need for a change of subject. “So, where’s Mrs. Bixby?”

For a moment, Buzz looks as if he’s been caught. His mouth opens and closes. He sees where Carrie is looking. At his ring finger, where he wears a gold band.

“Oh. This?” He holds his hand up. “Yeah, sadly, that didn’t work out. No good marriage ever ends in divorce, right? But I still wear the ring. People trust a family man, you know?”

Carrie and Alana exchange a look. Yeah. They’ve both known guys who keep their wedding rings on.

“And we’re still parents to a terrific kid,” Buzz says. “That’s the important thing.” He stands. “I’m really glad you’re all here. It wouldn’t be a reunion without you.”

Again, there’s no tone. Buzz doesn’t really do irony, as far as Carrie recalls. But something kicks over in her brain, like it always does. She’s beginning to see the shape of it. The inevitable fall of dominoes that will lead to the answer.

Then the door slams open, and two big, angry figures stomp through.

Mike Fuller and Lonnie Decker.

There isn’t a literal record scratch. The bar doesn’t actually go silent. But it’s close enough. People turn and stare, and the music is suddenly painfully loud as conversation dies down while they all gawk.

They scan around the bar, until their eyes lock on Danny and Alana.

“You motherfuckers,” Fuller shouts.

“Oh, right,” Danny says. “Alana and I ran into these two at the airport.”

Fuller and Lonnie stalk over to the table. A good chunk of the crowd comes with them.

Carrie finds it difficult to take them too seriously. They look ridiculous, a bad parody of their former selves. They’re still wearing their high school letterman jackets, even if they can’t close them over their beer guts. They’re still bullies. Alana or Eric could skin them alive without any trouble.

“You think that was funny, Sharp?” Fuller screams. “You always let a woman do your fighting for you, you pussy?”

“Her?” Danny says, looking at Alana. “Absolutely.”

Eric smirks. Lonnie catches it.

“Something funny, Jewboy?” Lonnie says, squaring off.

Eric always let Lonnie get away with that in high school, because didn’t want to let anyone know his secret. But they’re not in high school anymore.

Eric stands up and takes a step closer to Lonnie. “Fuck you,” he says.

“What?” Lonnie looks like he’s been slapped. Eric never spoke to him like this before. Not ever.

“Fuck you,” Eric says again, slowly and distinctly, grinning like an idiot. “You might be the toughest dad at Applebee’s, but it’s not nearly enough. Believe me.”