He hesitated. That scared me more than if he’d barked.
“I can’t explain it here,” he said. “But it’s bad. Very bad.”
Then he slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand.
“Read it when you’re alone. And be careful who you trust.”
I looked back at the car.
Sarah sat behind the wheel, one hand on it, the other brushing hair behind her ear. She looked normal. Calm. Familiar.
The trooper walked back, handed her license over, gave a standard warning, and sent us on our way.
No drama. No sirens. No clue to anyone passing that he had just cracked my life open on the side of a highway.
We got back on the road.
Sarah was quiet after that. Too quiet. She checked the mirror too often. Her hands stayed tight on the wheel.
“You okay?” I asked.
She smiled. “Fine.”
The smile landed nowhere.
The note in my pocket felt like a live wire all the way to her mother’s house.
Part II: Seven Words
Dinner at her mother’s was normal enough to make me angry.
Sarah laughed in the right places. Passed food. Smiled at stories. Her mother talked too much. I answered when spoken to and kept my face still.(w)
