Jeremy leaned an inch forward, his eyes never leaving the sweep of the second hand.

“He was out in the cold all afternoon,” I said, laying the server back on the edge of the blue bowl.

“Maybe he’s just chilled.”

“He’s fine,” Zane said.

He cut a third piece without lifting his eyes from the table.

“He just has to clean his plate.”

My mother picked up her napkin and folded it into a tight rectangle.

“The pie looks wonderful, Sarah.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

Zane raised his fork, piled it with crust and berries and had it halfway to his mouth before he saw Jeremy’s face.

Jeremy had stopped breathing through his nose.

His jaw was clenched so hard the skin over his cheekbones looked pulled tight.

“What’s wrong, Jeremy?” Zane asked.

His voice had turned sharp now, put up like a wall to stop any fuss before it started.