“I didn’t realize it had iced up, or that he was having company.”
“Oh God, don’t worry about that—that’s not your job.”
Mason shrugged. His hands were in his coat pockets. “Well ...”
“He says you shovel the walk, so the mailman can get up to the porch.”
“Only if your dad hasn’t come by.”
“Well, that’s still nice of you. Thanks.”
“It’s nothing. I didn’t do it to impress you.”
Reagan made a face. “Whywouldyou do it to impress me?”
“I ...” Mason was probably making a face that she couldn’t see. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“Anyway,” she grumbled, “I’m not that impressed.” Reagan should go inside. She should sit on her grandparents’ couch and scroll Instagram and silently judge everyone she knew for having big-ass family dinners. “So you work from home?” she asked. “I mean, remotely?”
“Yeah,” Mason said.
“What do you do?”
“I fact-check audio content for news websites.”
“That does not seem like a job a real person would have.”
He laughed into his mask. “My eight-year-old self would be mortified, but it’s interesting work.”
“What did your eight-year-old self want to be?”
“Professional rodeo cowboy. What about you?”
“Oh, my eight-year-old self would be thrilled with my life. She just wanted to get the hell out of Arnold.”
Mason laughed some more. He leaned against his deck railing. Reagan took half a step back from hers.
“You live in Lincoln,” he said, “right? What do you do?”
“Accounting. For the Department of Agriculture.”
“You like it?”
“It’s fine. I can do it from home. I’m lucky,” she said—because you had to say that, that you were lucky youcouldbe careful. Even though most people around Reagan whocouldbe carefulweren’t.
“Yeah, me, too,” Mason said, nodding.
The conversation died again. He was looking down at the ground between their decks.
“I don’t feel lucky,” Reagan said out loud.
He looked up. “Yeah? Me, neither.”
She couldn’t really see him. It was dark, and he was wearing a fabric mask that sat high on his face, under his glasses. She hadn’t taken a good look at him before he put it on. He had longish hair, with a little bit of wave to it, but she couldn’t tell what color. He was taller than her, probably. Nondescript in his baggy jeans and heavy canvas coat. She wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup, even if it happened right this moment. He could be anybody.
“I am hiding,” he said.
“What?”
