Laura folded her hands in her lap and let the candlelight catch the wet at the corners of her eyes. She spoke slowly, as if dredging memory from a deep, reluctant well.
"We met in middle school," she began, voice small. "You remember those awful science fairs and the way we used to hide behind the bleachers to smoke—well, not smoke, but you know what I mean. We were kids who thought we'd never leave that town." She glanced at Kane, searching his face for a flicker of the boy she once knew. "You, me… and Brandon. We were close. Closer than most people get in those years."
Isadora watched Kane's jaw tighten, the way his fingers curled around the stem of his glass. Laura didn't hurry. She had the practiced cadence of someone used to telling a story that needed to sound honest.
