Todd stood from the patio chair.
He was broad, clean-shaven, expensive watch flashing under the lights, wearing the expression of a man who had been waiting for permission to become useful.
“Put the kid down,” he said.
I looked at him once.
“Move.”
He stepped toward us anyway.
That was when Kelly snapped, “Todd, don’t.”
It was the first honest thing she had said all day.
Todd stopped because he heard something in her voice the others had not yet understood.
She knew I had not come empty.
I carried Max through the side gate, out of the backyard, and down the driveway toward my SUV.
Behind me, the party broke into sound.
Margaret’s voice rose first.
Peter’s came after it, low and angry.
Brenda said Todd’s name like she was trying to keep him from doing something that would finally make the night impossible to deny.
