“Let’s get out of here, huh? I need some air,” Sean says as he brushes by me, loosening his tie.
“But …” I gesture to the living room full of people dressed in black, eating finger food and cookies. He’s already halfway through the kitchen, on his way to the back door. I catch up in time to see him trade his beer bottle for a set of keys. He tosses them to me.
“You’re driving.”
He leads us to his pickup, and I don’t argue. We’re seventeen again, climbing into the cab, hearing her engine purr, leaving the world behind.
Cynthia Hamill 