So I danced with Cassidy.
The grass, rubbing between my toes as I took care to avoid stepping on her feet, was warm and soft, still pregnant with the expectation of late-summer rains. For hours we whirled around the lawn, beneath the embrace of the security lights. By the time the security lights automatically shut off, Downing had vanished into his apartment, and Camille had long since given up her post beside the bar. The few residents and staff that remained in the yard made little complaint as they filed back into the home. Mother"s arm slipped around my waist. We paused long enough for her to polish off the last swallow of wine from her paper cup before crumpling it and dropping it into the garbage bag someone had tied to the doorknob.
“Miss Northrop,” Cassidy called from behind us.
