“Give me a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way. Go get dressed.”

Her daughter had a special costume for the event.

Together they walked inside and the girl disappeared into her room. Dance kissed Boling.

He whispered, “How’re you feeling?” Touching her face gently.

“Fine. You?”

“My bandage’s bigger than your bandage.”

She laughed and kissed him again. “We’ll compare bruises later.” She saw Wes and Donnie on the back porch. They weren’t playing their game but intently looking over a Japanese comic. “Hi, boys!”

“Hi, Mrs. Dance.”

“Hey, Mom.”

“We leave in fifteen. Donnie, you want to come to Maggie’s class’s show? At the grade school. It’s at seven. We can have you home by nine.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ve gotta get home.”

Wes slipped the comic into his book bag.

Dance had a sip of the wine Boling had ready for her and then headed upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes.

She stripped off her outfit, which she now detected smelled of smoke, sour—oil and rubber smoke. Might be destined for the trash. She ran the shower and stepped under the stream of hot water, feeling a one-two stab of pain: the right side of her torso from the pulled muscle and her cut cheek. She let the water pound her for five full minutes then stepped out and toweled off.

Examining the facial injury, she noted that the cut would leave a scar and that the bruise was striving to conquer more of her face. Probably should have had it looked at in the ER, after all.

She thought wryly of the curious dynamics of her life. Caught in a stampeding herd of theme park patrons, squeezed into an elevator car to rescue a pregnant woman and a choking victim…and now off to a ten-year-old’s talent show.

Then she was dressed—black blouse, fancy jeans and navy jacket. Gold Aldos with exotic heels. A look in the mirror. She let her hair hang loose, better to conceal the banged-up jaw and cheek.

Downstairs she called, “Donnie. Did you bike over? I didn’t see it.”

The boy stared at her for a moment.

Wes said, “No, we left them at his house. Still need to get mine fixed.”

Something odd about his delivery. Had the bike been stolen and he didn’t want to say anything? Well, she’d worry about it later.

“You want a ride home? It’s on the way to Maggie’s school.”

Donnie glanced at Wes and then he turned back. “No, thanks, Mrs. Dance. I’ll walk. I feel like it.”

“Okay. Come on, Wes, we have to go.”

He and Donnie bumped fists and then her son joined her in the front entryway.

“Maggie!” Dance called.

The girl appeared.

Boling said, “Well, look at you.”

She gave a shy smile.

Dance said, “Beautiful, Mags.”

“Thank you.” In a stilted tone. Formality is a form of deflection.

“Really.”

The girl was looking pretty. Her outfit was a white sequined dress that Dance had snagged at Macy’s. It was the perfect outfit for singing a song by an ice queen or princess or whatever Elsa was. Light blue leggings too and white shoes.