“So I guess you can take me to the Watersend pokey. I was going thirty over, and I have no license with me. This is Shane’s car and I have no idea where the insurance is.” Colleen opened the driver’s-side door and stepped out to stand next to Brad. She put her hands behind her back. “Get it over with.”

He tried not to laugh but she saw the curl of his smile as he shook his head. Together they walked to the back of the Jeep and leaned against the bumper. Cars eased past, slowly, the occupants craning their necks to see what was happening. Perfect fodder for gossip at the Bible study group or book club, for the neighborhood lawn party or bridge club.

“How’s your mama?” Colleen asked.

“She passed last year.” He placed his hand on his chest and patted over his heart. “It was a tough good-bye.”

Brad, a friend since second grade, had been a small kid who excelled at the violin, who’d kissed Hallie in truth or dare in seventh grade and beat Colleen at the archery contest at Summer Fun Day in the town square. And she hadn’t known his mama had passed.

“I am so sorry. I never heard.” She touched his blue-uniformed arm and squeezed.

“How could you know?” he asked. “You left a long time ago.”

“I come home sometimes,” she said. “And I wish someone would have told me.”

He took off his dark sunglasses and gazed at her directly. “If you come home, no one knows about it.”

“I scoot in and out.”

“We sure do miss you around here.”

“Thanks, Brad. But . . .” Colleen shifted her feet, dry dirt scattering like bugs, and she looked down the road, focused on anything but the reason she hadn’t returned: cars passing, a buzzard swooping down toward prey she couldn’t see, the sound of the palmetto leaves swaying against each other in the breeze in music like rain on a tin roof.

“I know. We all know. But still . . .”

“How’s Cindy?” Colleen asked after his wife, a woman he’d met in college, a woman Colleen had never met. She wanted to change the subject, avoid references, however indirect, to Hallie.

“She’s great. We have two kids now. Did you know that? Two boys.”

“That’s really sweet. I’m so glad.”

“You know, you were always such a good friend. So much fun.”

“I still am.” She smiled but felt the edges of it slide toward falseness. Was she still a good friend? Was she still fun? Some people might disagree.

A squawking noise emanated from a radio in his car and he nudged off the bumper. “Need to go.”

“No ticket? No arrest?”

He laughed. “Slow down. Remember where you are now.”