We were driving up Windmill Point Road to the quarry, up the slope to cross the railway tracks, when I felt the sudden urge for Michael to accelerate. If a train had been coming, I wouldn’t have stopped. That day with Darren seemed so long ago. If a train had been coming, I would be dead. I wouldn’t have to go through this. The white clapboard farmhouse across the entrance to our driveway had come into view, boarded and abandoned, where Brenda used to live. Where was she now? I had no idea.
Did I want to know? Our lives had intersected the summer I was a lifeguard because I needed her there. Companion. Co-pilot. Someone to accompany me on my nightly journeys back to Hideaway Park to see Darren, to be alive in the glow of his American eyes. But was his wanting me the only reason I wanted
