That wasn’t an answer. But it was all she had.

“I’m coming.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Stay on the phone.”

The drive to Brian’s house normally took fourteen minutes. I made it in seven.

I don’t remember every red light. I remember the empty roads, the mailboxes flashing past in my headlights, a small American flag hanging limp from someone’s porch in the still air — and thinking how normal everything looked from the outside.