It was a bright Saturday morning, the kind that makes you believe nothing bad could possibly be waiting in it.

Lucas was standing beside the truck, checking the straps on the boat trailer for what had to be the fourth time that hour, running his thumb along each buckle as though it might have come loose in the ninety seconds since he last looked.

That was my husband.

He filled the gas tank the night before every trip.

He checked the weather forecast twice and then checked it again, joking that the sky could change its mind in the seventeen seconds since his last look.

“Everybody look at me for three seconds,” I called out to them, holding up my phone.