Rubbing gingerly at my pulsing temples, I reached out with a trembling hand to the phone resting on the bedside table. The cool, smooth surface under my fingertips triggered an onslaught of vivid, unwelcome images—whiskey, blood, the intensity of last night's emotions swirling in a tumultuous storm. Each memory, each flash of imagery, seemed to amplify the throbbing in my head.

"Jamie," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath, dissipating into the wintry morning air. The air, indifferent to my turmoil, offered no comfort, leaving me to suffer in my own whimpering as penance for my adulterous night.

But was it really adultery? The question echoed in my mind, a desperate search for justification, as I mechanically pulled a fresh t-shirt over my head. My movements paused, a blue sweater suspended in mid-air, caught in a moment of hesitation. "It was only a kiss," I reasoned with myself, trying to downplay the gravity of the moment shared with Cody.

And then, with a resigned motion, I pulled the sweater over my face and let it settle around my torso. "Jamie has done much worse to me," I muttered, the words tinged with a mix of anger and justification. The fabric of the sweater muffled my words, a symbolic barrier against the torrent of conflicting emotions and the burgeoning realisation of the complexities of my actions and their repercussions on my tangled web of relationships.

The chill of the cold kitchen tiles was a stark contrast to the warmth of my bed, sending involuntary shivers up my legs as I entered the space, still tangled in my thoughts. The physical discomfort momentarily distracted me from the internal turmoil.

Does that make it right though? a soft voice inside me asked.

"Right?" I found myself scoffing aloud, addressing the empty room as if it could offer some counsel. "What does that even mean?" I muttered, setting the kettle on with a click, the promise of coffee seemingly a suitable arbitrator for my internal debate.

If you hadn't been distracted by a more powerful connection with Jamie, would you have gone further?

"Further?" I echoed the question, my voice tapering off as I grappled with its implications. A brief silence fell, punctuated only by the beginning rumble of the kettle, before I conceded, "You're right." There was a hint of triumph, a flash of clarity in that admission. "We made a very powerful connection."

Are you sure it was 'we'?

That question halted me, the coffee cup suspended in mid-air, a moment frozen in time as I pondered the true nature of the connection I felt. "No," I admitted, the word barely a whisper, laced with a dawning realisation. "I don't think Cody knows."

There's a way to be sure, the voice offered, a beacon of guidance in the muddled sea of my thoughts.

"There is?" My question was directed at the empty air, a verbalisation of my internal dialogue.

Trust your intuition, Luke. It is the most valuable asset you have.

"It is?" I echoed, the skepticism in my voice fading into contemplation. The advice resonated with me, a gentle nudge toward self-trust and introspection. As the kettle neared its boiling point, a metaphorical reflection of my own brewing storm of emotions and revelations, I stood there, contemplating the value of intuition in navigating the complexities of human connections and the labyrinth of my own feelings.

The toast sprung up from the chrome toaster with a start, breaking the morning's contemplation. I snatched the slices from their heated confines, a little too eagerly, causing them to land with a soft thud on the plate. As I stood there, butter knife in hand, my motions were mechanical, my attention elsewhere, lost in the maze of my thoughts while the butter was spread unevenly, melting into the bread's blackened edges.

Outside the kitchen window, the world seemed oblivious to the storm brewing inside me, carrying on with its serene, mundane dance. I took a hasty bite, the toast's crunch loud in the quiet kitchen, but the texture was off. Crumbs scattered like my scattered thoughts.

"Shit," the word escaped my lips in a frustrated whisper as I noticed the time. "I've got breakfast with Karen." That realisation hit with the weight of the morning's earlier revelations, adding a layer of urgency to my already tumultuous state.

In a flurry of motion, I discarded the toast, now an unwanted casualty of my morning's disorganisation, tossing it into the bin without a second glance. The plate followed suit, clattering into the sink, its fate momentarily irrelevant in the grand scheme of my hurried departure.

Scrambling for my shoes, I barely registered the clutter of camping gear that still littered the living room. With one last glance at the disarray that mirrored my internal state, I burst through the front door, pulling it shut behind me with a bang that echoed down the quiet street, a loud punctuation to the silent upheaval that churned within.

I growled under my breath, my gaze fixed on Kain's ute that sat stubbornly in the driveway, an unwelcome reminder of the complexities now entangling my life. With a heavy sigh, I acknowledged the inevitable. It's too obvious. Louise is bound to come looking for it, I'm certain of it. The thought nagged at me, yet the silence surrounding the vehicle's presence struck me as odd. Perhaps I have them working too hard to notice, I mused with a wry chuckle, finding a moment of dark humour in the midst of my predicament.

Motivated by a blend of desperation and hope, I approached the driver's side door, my hand reaching out almost against my better judgment. The handle felt cold, unyielding under my fingers, and the click of the locked door echoed my frustration. And the passenger side? I circled the vehicle with a mix of hope and skepticism, only to be met with the same steadfast resistance. "Damn it!" I hissed, my frustration boiling over, leading me to thump the top of the door with a clenched fist, the metallic sound a sharp counterpoint to my growing sense of helplessness.

Doubt gnawed at me, skepticism shadowing my actions, yet I couldn't shake the need to exhaust every possibility. With a resigned sigh, I acknowledged the futility of searching for the ute's keys within the confines of the house. They were nowhere to be found, a realisation that left me with one inescapable conclusion. Kain must have taken the keys with him to Clivilius. The thought settled in with a heavy finality, steering my next course of action with an invisible, yet undeniable, force.

"What are you two creeping about for?" My voice cut through the early morning stillness as I neared the Drop Zone, where Paul and Kain seemed unusually engrossed in a hushed conversation. They spun around, caught off guard, their reactions swift and telling.

"Hey, Luke!" Paul's greeting sliced through the air, his voice laden with an undercurrent of angst that didn't go unnoticed. Knowing him as intimately as I did, his tone spoke volumes, igniting a flicker of apprehension within me. What have I done now? The question echoed in my mind, a harbinger of the impending confrontation.

"When did you drop off the sleeping bags?" Paul's inquiry came with a semblance of casualness, but the underlying tension was palpable.

I hesitated, my mind racing to pinpoint the exact time. "Umm, would have been sometime late yesterday afternoon or early evening," I answered, the specificity eluding me. "Why?"

"Didn't you think it might be a good idea to let someone know?" His words, sharp and laced with criticism, an implied accusation of negligence, struck a nerve.

"I... uh..." I stammered, scrambling for a defence, but Paul was relentless.

"If Glenda hadn't sent Kain over to collect the box of tent pegs, we wouldn't have had them for sleeping last night," he continued, his frustration evident. His gaze shifted to Kain, seeking an ally in his grievance.

Kain, caught in the middle, opted for a neutral stance. With a theatrical lift of his hands and a shake of his head, he slowly backed away, distancing himself from the brewing storm, leaving me to weather Paul's discontent alone.

I struggled to contain a smirk at their startled reactions, my mind swirling with sarcastic retorts. My brother clearly has everyone under control already, I mused internally, my thoughts dripping with irony as I prepared to counter Paul's criticism.

"I have a lot planned to bring through the Portal for you, and I don't have the time to take it further than the Drop Zone," I retorted, my words laced with a hint of defensiveness. "Besides, wasn't the Drop Zone your idea? You're the one who told me to leave stuff there." My tone carried a mix of justification and slight annoyance, aiming to remind Paul of his own part in this arrangement.

"Yeah, but you need to at least tell someone," Paul fired back, his insistence clear. His words carried an undercurrent of responsibility, a writing of the unwritten rules of our teamwork.

"I don't have time for that crap, Paul!" My response was sharper this time, frustration colouring my words as I felt the conversation spiralling into familiar territory. Why does Paul have to be so stubborn! The thought echoed in my head, a silent scream against his relentless pragmatism. "You, or someone else, will just have to check frequently." I laid down my stance, firm and unwavering, a declaration of my limits of our shared responsibilities.

To my surprise, Paul's posture softened, signalling a rare moment of acquiescence. It was unusual for him to back down so readily, a testament to the intensity of our exchange. Paul had an uncanny ability to push my buttons, and seeing him relent, even slightly, felt like a small victory in our ongoing dance of wills.

Assuming the victory in our brief clash, I shifted my focus to Kain, who had strategically distanced himself during our exchange. Observing him, I noted the calculated casualness of his demeanour, an act of deliberate disengagement. Kain's quite wise, I acknowledged internally. He possesses the knack for maintaining his presence without getting embroiled in potential conflicts, a skill that merits silent applause.

"Hey, Kain," I called out, my voice cutting through the distance that he had put between us. "Do you still have the keys to your ute?"

With a casualness that belied his keen awareness of our previous interaction, Kain's hands instinctively moved to his jeans, patting down the sides before slipping into a back pocket. "Actually, I do," he confirmed, a slight smile playing on his lips as he brandished the keys in the air.

A wave of relief washed over me, cooling the embers of the earlier confrontation. "If you give them to me, I'll bring your ute through," I offered, extending an olive branch of sorts, my tone even and composed.

"Really?" Kain's reaction was a blend of surprise and excitement, his approach marked by a youthful eagerness that contrasted sharply with Paul's stunned expression, his eyes widening in disbelief at the unexpected turn of events.

I nodded, reaffirming my offer, a silent pact sealed with a simple gesture.

"That's mad!" Kain exclaimed, his enthusiasm palpable as he trotted over and deposited the keys into my outstretched hands.

"But what happens when it runs out of fuel?" Paul's question sliced through the brief moment of camaraderie, his bluntness a sharp contrast to the lightness of the previous exchange.

I couldn't help but scoff, taken aback by his pragmatism. Of all the things to worry about, fuel was his immediate concern. I half-expected him to inquire about the whereabouts of his car, not the ute's petrol tank. "I'm working on a solution for that," I replied, my voice carrying a mix of irritation and resolve. Internally, I added fuel concerns to the ever-expanding checklist of issues demanding my attention.

"Like what?" Paul wasn't going to let it go, his persistence as unwavering as ever.

I shrugged, a non-committal gesture that belied the scrambling of my thoughts. "I'm not a hundred percent sure yet, but I'm getting close," I responded, the words more a stalling tactic than a solid answer. The truth was, I was far from having any solution at all.

"That's very vague of you," Paul retorted, his tone laced with skepticism.

"Have you spoken to my mother?" Kain's question cut through the mounting tension between Paul and me, redirecting our focus.

"Umm, nope," I admitted.

"So, she has no idea where I am?" The concern in Kain's voice was unmistakable, a poignant reminder of the personal stakes involved for everyone who stepped through the Portal.

I shook my head, confirming his fears. "Not that I know of."

"Don't you think you should tell her?" Paul chimed in, acting the role of the advocate for doing the right thing. "You did know that his fiancée is pregnant, right?"

"Umm," I hesitated, feeling cornered by the moral implications of my actions. My annoyance with Paul's interjections grew, yet I couldn't deny the validity of his point. Turning the tables, I asked, "Have you asked me to tell Claire and the kids where you are?"

Paul's silence was telling, his argument crumbling under the weight of his own double standards.

"That's what I thought," I sneered, a bitter satisfaction in calling out the hypocrisy. Yet, as I took a deep breath to quell my rising frustration, I shifted my tone, aiming for a more diplomatic approach. "The less anyone outside of Clivilius knows of its existence, the better. It's safer for all of us that way." The words were as much a reminder to myself as they were an explanation for them.

Paul's nod signalled a reluctant agreement, a rare moment of concord between us.

Turning to Kain, I offered, "But I guess I could try and bring your mother through the Portal, if you'd like?" I sensed his internal conflict, the struggle to balance personal desires against the greater need for secrecy.

As I made the offer, a part of me hoped for his refusal. The idea of bringing Louise, with her known difficulties, into Clivilius was far from appealing. Yet, I recognised the importance of giving Kain the choice, acknowledging his need to connect with his family during such a pivotal moment in his life.

"No. I think we could do without her," Kain responded, a hint of hesitation in his voice before he firmly added, "For now." His words echoed my silent hopes, and I felt a surge of relief wash over me, grateful for his decision to keep our circle small and manageable.

"Well, I'd better go get your ute then," I announced, eager to shift my focus from the potential complications of involving Louise. I turned to leave, ready to tackle the next task on my ever-growing list.

"Oh, hey, Luke," Paul interjected just as I was about to step away. "Can you bring Jamie's car through too?" His request, so typical of his nature, momentarily halted my departure.

I couldn't help but chuckle internally at his predictability. And there he is, the Paul I know so well. I paused, giving the impression of mulling over his request. "Umm... nope," I replied, a playful edge to my voice.

"Why not?" Paul's annoyance was palpable, his expectations clashing with my teasing denial.

My expression shifted to one of seriousness as the reality of the situation settled in. "I need it to drive to Collinsvale," I explained, acknowledging the practicality of having the car on hand.

"Where the hell is Collinsvale?" Paul's confusion was evident, his gaze flickering to Kain for some geographical clarity.

"Not far from his house," Kain interjected, providing a brief but vague point of reference.

Paul's gaze returned to me, his statement laced with a hint of challenge. "Oh, so you could walk there then," he suggested, more as a pointed observation than a genuine inquiry.

Kain's laughter broke the brief tension. "It's not that close," he clarified, dismissing Paul's suggestion with a dose of reality.

Recognising the moment to escape the brewing debate, I seized my chance. "Gotta go now," I declared, my voice carrying a note of finality. With a smile and a casual wave, I readied myself for the transition. Berriedale house study, I silently commanded, my thoughts focusing on the destination as I stepped through the Portal.

Making a beeline for the front door, I triggered the Portal, positioned against the back gate—a habit I had vowed to break yet found myself repeating. Climbing into the front seat of Kain's ute, I felt a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. It's not often I find myself behind the wheel, a role I typically avoid, preferring the passenger's seat or the backseat to the driver's responsibility.

"Crap," I muttered under my breath as I realised the ute was manual. Annoyance flickered through me. "Why the hell do people still drive this shit now?" I vented, my frustration growing as I closed my eyes, straining to recall the driving lessons Jamie had once given me, the basics of operating a manual transmission.

The ute's engine coughed and sputtered through my initial attempts, stubbornly resisting my unpracticed efforts. But persistence paid off, and finally, the engine roared to life under my command. A triumphant grin spread across my face as the ute jerkily lurched forward, bunny-hopping through the Portal's vibrant, swirling gateway.

But my victory was short-lived. The ute stalled, its abrupt halt cutting through my brief moment of pride. I slumped forward, resting my forehead against the steering wheel, a makeshift shield for my flushed cheeks. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Kain, doubled over with laughter, and Paul, barely containing his amusement at my driving debacle.

Leaving the key in the ignition, a symbol of my hasty retreat, I clambered out of the ute and stormed off, a cloud of dust swirling in my wake. My mind was a tumultuous mix of frustration and embarrassment, each step heavy with the weight of my failed attempt at driving.

"Luke, wait!" The sound of Paul's voice, now stripped of any mirth, cut through the dusty air. Despite my irritation, I found myself halting, my body responding to his call even as my mind rebelled.

I turned, my frown deepening, feeling cornered. "I said no," I snapped, my words sharp, a reflection of my fraying patience.

Paul caught up, his expression serious. "I know," he acknowledged, his tone conciliatory. "It's not about Jamie's car."

My impatience bubbled over. "Then what is it?" I demanded, my voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. "I'm already late for breakfast with Karen."

His reaction was immediate, his mouth agape in disbelief. "You're going out to breakfast!?" he scoffed, incredulity painting his features. "We're stuck in this dust bowl and you're going out for breakfast? Unbelievable!" His frustration was palpable, mirroring the dust swirling around us as he turned away, his body language screaming betrayal.

"It's not like that," I protested, reaching out to grasp his arm, pulling him back to face me, desperate for him to understand. "Then explain yourself," he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and a plea for clarity.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly, a brief respite from the tension that had been building up.

"What?" Paul's voice was sharp, a mix of annoyance and confusion.

"You're so funny when you're mad," I admitted, letting my grin widen a bit.

"Oh, shut up," Paul retorted, but his words lacked bite. I could see him fighting back a smile, a testament to our deep-rooted bond despite the current circumstances.

"Ahh," I teased, pointing out the involuntary twitch at the corner of his mouth, signalling his suppressed amusement.

"Stop being an idiot," Paul countered, brushing my hand away, though his tone was more playful than angry now. "What do you want?"

"You wanted me, remember?" I reminded him with a laugh, trying to steer the conversation back to its original course.

"Oh yeah," Paul conceded, his cheeks flushing a shade of red, a visible sign of his shifting emotions. "But first, why are you having breakfast with Karen?"

My eyes darted around, landing on Kain who sat patiently in the ute, his presence a silent reminder of the interconnectedness of our actions here. "Well?" Paul pressed for an answer.

"I'm hoping to bring her and her husband here," I confessed in a hushed tone, aware of the consequnces of what I was proposing.

Paul inhaled sharply, his initial surprise morphing into concern. "Are you sure that's a good idea? We're not exactly a thriving community."

"Not yet you're not," I conceded, acknowledging the reality of our situation while holding onto a vision of what could be. "But you will be."

His gaze narrowed, skepticism and curiosity mingling in his expression. "And how can they help?"

"Their skills will be pretty evident. Give them a warm welcome," I urged, confident in the potential benefits of integrating Karen and Chris into our fledgling community.

"Of course," Paul replied, his tone reflecting a mix of resignation and trust

"Now, what is it you wanted?" I inquired, eager to divert our conversation away from the weighty topic of bringing more people into our already strained situation. I noticed a spark of remembrance in Paul's eyes as he shifted gears mentally.

"Oh," Paul remembered, his expression shifting to one of practical concern. "We need some more wood for the campfire."

"Sure," I responded with a nod, mentally adding it to my growing list of tasks. "I'll make sure you have some before nightfall."

"And Kain and Glenda need fresh clothes," he continued, his requests piling up as if he'd been holding them in.

"Okay," I acknowledged, already plotting my course to fulfil these needs, then my gaze shifted back to the Portal, my escape route from this mounting pressure.

"And Joel too," Paul added, almost as an afterthought but with a sense of urgency.

My eyes widened in disbelief at myself. How can I be so far behind in keeping up with all of their needs already? I chastised myself internally, feeling the weight of my responsibilities bearing down. How the hell am I forgetting such simple things? The idea of delegating some of this mental load sprang to mind. I'll have to get Paul to start writing things down for me.

"I'll get Glenda's clothes first," I decided aloud, trying to prioritise the growing list. "But I'll need you to get me Joel's address."

"Why do you need his address? Can't you just buy them some new ones? It'd be much easier," Paul questioned, not fully grasping the logistical and financial strain we were under.

"We're running low on cash," I stated plainly, the harsh reality of our circumstances creeping into the conversation.

"Already!?" Paul's surprise was evident, his voice tinged with disbelief and concern.

"Yes, already," I reiterated, the frustration evident in my tone. "And get me Kain's wallet at some point for me, would you?" I added, trying to prepare for all eventualities.

Then, without waiting for further queries or tasks, I stepped through the Portal, the swirling colours enveloping me as I sought a brief respite from the demands of our makeshift community.

Emerging on the other side, I took a deep breath, the vibrant hues of the study fading away as I grounded myself in the task ahead. "Now for breakfast with Karen," I mumbled to myself, my stomach growling in protest.

Enough time had been wasted already. With a sense of urgency, I opened the gate at the end of the driveway and  clambered into Jamie's car which I had been keeping just on the other side, secluded from view. Hastily adjusting the seat and mirrors to suit my driving position, my hands moved with practiced ease, yet my mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the mounting tasks and the lingering conversation with Paul.

As I glanced into the rear-vision mirror to ensure all was clear behind me, my brows furrowed in confusion. "Who the hell is that?" I whispered to myself, tension knotting in my stomach as an unfamiliar white car pulled up in the driveway. Not now, I thought, not when there was already so much at stake.

"Oh no," the words barely escaped my lips, a soft hiss of dread as the car door swung open and Louise stepped out. Panic surged through me, my heart pounding against my ribs like a frantic drum. What the hell am I going to tell her? The question echoed in my mind, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety.

My breath hitched, a physical manifestation of my alarm, as the reality of the situation sank in. I had been perilously close to being discovered with Kain's ute sitting conspicuously in the driveway.

The potential for questions, for suspicion, loomed large, and I scrambled mentally for explanations, for any plausible reason that could deflect her curiosity and protect our secrets.

"Hey, Louise," I greeted, forcing a semblance of ease as I stepped out of Jamie's car, my mind racing with potential excuses and evasions.

Louise paused, her stance rigid, as she faced me. "Hi Luke," she responded, her tone flat, devoid of warmth. "Is Jamie home?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "Oh, not at the moment," I replied, hoping my casual demeanour would mask the lie.

Her expression shifted into a distinct frown, signalling her skepticism. I could almost see the gears turning in her head, her trust in my words waning.

"Have you seen Kain the last day or so?" she inquired, her eyes narrowing slightly, probing for the truth.

"No, I haven't," I responded, maintaining eye contact, hoping my steady gaze would sell the falsehood. "Why?" I added, attempting to shift the focus back onto her.

"He said he was coming by yesterday to visit Jamie. He didn't come home last night, and his phone goes straight to voicemail. I'm really worried that he might be in trouble," she confessed, her voice laced with a genuine concern that almost pierced through my resolve.

Sensing a slight waver in her otherwise stern and confident voice, I almost felt sorry for her.

A twinge of guilt tugged at me, witnessing her distress. "Sorry, no, I haven't seen him at all," I reiterated, the lie feeling heavier on my conscience with each repetition. Inside, I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Lucky, I had disposed of the ute when I did. The realisation hit me with a mix of relief and unease. There's no way I could have talked my way out of that!

Standing there, facing Louise's growing worry, I felt the weight of my secret life pressing down, the lines between right and wrong, truth and deception, blurring in the face of a greater purpose. Yet, amidst it all, a small part of me couldn't help but wonder about the true cost of my actions, for those kept in the dark and for us, tangled in my web of lies.

"Have you got my number?" Louise's inquiry snapped me back to the present, her eyes locked on mine, searching for reassurance.

"Yeah, I do. Jamie gave it to me ages ago in case of emergency," I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'll call you if Kain stops by," I added, the promise hollow in my ears, echoing the web of deceit I was weaving. In the back of my mind, I knew Kain's whereabouts were far from her reach, and my assurance was nothing more than a placating lie.

"Yeah, thanks," she responded, her voice carrying a trace of gratitude mingled with her persistent worry.

Watching her retreat to her car, I allowed myself a brief moment of relief, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as she seemed to accept my answers.

But then she paused, halting her descent into the driver's seat with a deliberateness that reignited my anxiety. "By the way, what's Jamie up to? I've been trying to call him the last few days, but he isn't responding," she stated, her tone casual but underlaid with a sharp edge of suspicion.

The question caused my stomach to twist in discomfort. The scrutiny was unwelcome, invasive, threatening to unravel the fragile façade I was struggling to maintain. Why can't Louise just fuck off already? The thought blazed through my mind, a silent scream for respite. I knew I needed to deflect her probing, to protect not just Jamie and Kain's secrets, but my own tangled involvement in the intricate dance of lies and half-truths that had become my life.

My head drooped, a deliberate show of dejection, as I scrambled internally for a distraction, a tragic tale to deflect Louise's prying. My mind raced, bypassing the anger that thoughts of Jamie and Ben stirred within me, searching desperately for a different, more poignant memory.

Then, amidst the chaos of my thoughts, an image surfaced—a heart-wrenching memory from my childhood. Bobby the cat, my childhood companion, lifeless on the lawn, her ginger fur dishevelled, a sight that had once brought me to tears. Seizing the memory, I allowed the genuine sorrow it evoked to surface, lending authenticity to my façade.

As the tears began to well up, a testament to my acting and the real pain from my past, I lifted my gaze to meet Louise's. "Oh," I began, my voice soft, laced with feigned sorrow, "I was trying not to say anything, but we've been having a few issues lately, so Jamie has decided to go to Melbourne for a week or so. Think things through," I fabricated, the lie rolling off my tongue with practiced ease.

Louise's response was curt, a blunt acknowledgment devoid of genuine concern. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll keep trying to contact him myself then," she declared, before retreating to her car and driving away, leaving me alone with my mixed relief and disdain.

"Finally, you insincere bitch," I muttered under my breath, a bitter farewell to her departing figure. I inhaled deeply, the fresh air cleansing the remnants of the encounter. At least that should get Louise off my back for a while.

I lingered for a few more minutes, ensuring Louise wouldn't make an unexpected return. Once confident she was gone, I started Jamie's car and pulled out of the driveway, heading in the opposite direction of her departure. Karen's not a particularly patient woman, I reminded myself, a tinge of anxiety threading through my relief. I'll be lucky if I even get duck scraps at this rate.