I told myself a dozen reasonable stories.

A flat tire.

A dead battery.

A phone left in the truck.

Lucas was the most careful man alive; whatever it was, he had it handled; they would walk through the door any minute now, and I would be embarrassed at how frightened I had let myself become.

At ten fifteen, with the dinner long cold and the house ringing with a silence I could no longer explain away, I picked up the phone and called the emergency line.

I remember how steady my voice was, giving the woman the details — my husband, my three sons, the lake, the truck, the time they were due.