Everyone sort of dissipates, then it’s only me and Sadie sitting outside on the picnic table.
The sun is high and relentless, baking the asphalt and turning the damp air into something thick. Somewhere down by the bay, someone’s already testing fireworks like it’s their civic duty. The whole town feels wound tight, buzzing with the energy of a holiday weekend.
Sadie sits hunched forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the ground like she'd been running on adrenaline all morning. Now that the crowd’s gone, it’s catching up to her. She looks exhausted, even though it’s barely noon, and quiet in a way that’s much louder than the panic.
I shift on the bench. “Okay,” I start gently. “Talk to me. What do you need right now?”
She blinks, like I’ve asked something complicated. Then she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s an acceptable answer,” I tell her. “We’ve got time. But let me point out that we haven’t had coffee. Or food. Thatcouldbe a start.”
She presses her lips together, nodding once, like she’s considering it.
I try again. “You want to go home? Shower, crash for a bit. Get some time to yourself?”
As much as I’d willingly spend all of the day with her, I’m not sure that’s what she needs.
Her head snaps up. “No.”
Butterflies immediately come to life and I fucking love how quick her answer was.
“No?” I repeat.
She sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. “I don’t want to be by myself. That’s no fun.” Sadie stands, rubbing her hands on her shorts. “You need to experience a Golden Harbor summer holiday.”
I don’t hate that answer.
She lets out a tired huff of a laugh, leaning back on her hands. “I just… I don’t want to stop yet.”
“Stop what?”
She gestures toward the rec center behind us—the fans humming inside, the smell of wet wood and disinfectant still clinging to everything. “If I stop, then it becomes real. That there’s nothing else I can do until insurance shows up. And that won’t be until next week.” Sadie starts to pace, walking the area in front of the table bench. “What do I do about camp? The kids have already paid. Parents are counting on this for care—”
I glance at my watch out of habit. Noon. The day is wide open, whether she wants it to be or not. “Here’s the thing,” I offer. “We’veofficially done everything possible for today. Which means whatever we do next can’t make it worse.”
She arches a brow. “That’s all you’ve got? We can’t make it worse?”
“It’s my optimism,” I correct. “Midwest-style. So,” I continue, “we can come back later, check on the drying, but until then…” I shrug. “It’s probably best to take the day. Let this all dry up as much as we can. We can make a plan for tomorrow and knock out a bunch of stuff.”
“We,” she says, brows lifting into her forehead.
“We,” I confirm. “I told you, I’ve got a stacked basketball roster I’m pretty pumped about.” I rub my hands together, carrying through the joke.
Sadie laughs and it almost unties part of the knot in my chest. She keeps pacing for a second, then asks quietly, “Can we… keep hanging out?”
Something warm settles in my chest. “Yeah,” I answer easily. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Good,” she says, sounding relieved. “Because if I’m alone, I’m going to agonize over all of this.” She gestures to the building behind her.
I hop off the table and hold out my hand. “Then c’mon. Let’s find you a distraction that involves food and limited responsibility.”
She takes my hand with no hesitation, and when she smiles up at me, it’s tired—but real.
thirty
Sadie
BythetimeColsonknocks, my hair is still damp at the ends and my skin feels human again. The shower helped—washed away the stale rain smell and the sweat from this morning’s hard work. I feel reset, or at least closer to it.
