“You are as bad as your mother, June Bennett. A menace, all of you—your sister, your whole family,” she spits at me.

“You watch what you say about my sister, Leslie,” I say, slowing walking toward her, forcing her to move faster. “She was nothing but wonderful. Not a menace in the slightest. Me, on the other hand, I won’t argue that title.”

She pushes through the screen door. “I wish my mother had burned this place to the ground back when she had the chance; you would have gotten what you deserve,” she yells at me, before turning and scurrying down the stairs.

I stand on the verandah until she’s pulled away from the dock and is only a speck on the lake beyond. Then I go into the kitchen and, with shaky hands, open a bottle of wine and pour myself a very full glass.

Leslie’s words about Ezra ring loudly through my head—consider the source, what lies beneath the shiny veneer, don’t fall for it, I warn you. I picture his angry face, his harsh words spoken to me at his house earlier in the day. It was a side of Ezra I’d never seen before. Could there be other sides unknown to me, hidden away, ready to surprise?

I quickly try to wash away the thought with a gulp of wine, thinking briefly of the plan I made only this morning to drink less, to stay clearheaded. That plan is quickly discarded once the wine reaches my lips, travels down my throat, and enters my bloodstream, softening the edges just enough to keep me wanting more.

I wake up groggy, my eyes sticky with sleep and a film of sweat on my body from the stuffy room. I forgot to put the fan on. It’s already well into the day; I can tell from how hot it is in here. I drank a lot of wine last night, as planned. I may actually have gone overboard in an attempt to drown every thought in my head and get some silence. I can smell it sweating out of my pores now.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and reach for my phone to see if Ezra has texted me. He hasn’t. I could lie in bed and obsess over it, allow Leslie’s words to resurface and wreak havoc, but instead I force myself up and into my running clothes. I have to clear the fog somehow. I’ll go for a run, come home, and give him a call. Maybe he’s waiting for me to make the first move, since I’m the one who fucked up.