I kept my hands at my sides and my breathing slow and even, and I refused to look at his blue gloves or take a step toward the orange markers.

I rested my right hand gently on Emily’s shoulder and steered her quietly through the open screen door into the kitchen.

“Go on up to your room, pull the shades, and stay there tonight, Em,” I said quietly.

“Everything’s under control.”

She wiped her face on her cardigan sleeve and climbed the stairs without another word.

Through the kitchen window I watched Trent stroll back toward his house, still snickering and tossing one blue glove up into the air.

The bright orange plastic cones stood like a stiff barricade across the empty asphalt of my driveway.