The food sat warming on the stove.

And the truck did not come up the drive.

At seven o’clock I called Lucas’s phone, and it went straight to voicemail, which was strange but not alarming; the reception out at the lake had always been poor.

At seven thirty I tried Wyatt, and his phone rang and rang and then cut off into nothing.

By eight o’clock I had moved from puzzled to annoyed — I pictured them lingering, losing track of time, Lucas letting the boys talk him into one more hour on the water, and I rehearsed the mock-stern lecture I would give them when they finally rolled in, sunburned and happy and full of excuses.

By nine o’clock the annoyance had curdled into something colder.