He stopped.
I had not recorded him. I would not record someone without warning.
But I wanted him to wonder.
“Good night,” I said.
Then I hung up.
By 11:00 p.m., the Lake Weekend Crew chat was collapsing. Elowen sent screenshots like dispatches from a war room. Aunt Liora and Uncle Penn canceled. Two cousins suddenly had “car trouble.” Sable was still asking about oat milk. My mother blamed my father. My father blamed Keaton. Keaton disappeared from the chat entirely.
At 11:38 p.m., my father posted one final message.
“Trip Is Still On. Noon Tomorrow. No More Discussion.”
I noticed only seven people reacted.
The herd was thinning.
But the ones left were coming.
Part 4
Friday morning was beautiful in a way that felt almost disrespectful.
The lake was glassy. The sky was pale blue. Sunlight moved across the kitchen floor in clean white rectangles. My coffee tasted stronger than usual. Or maybe I was just awake in a different way.
