Page 47 of The Last Five Yards

She slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car. The engine hums to life. For a moment, she does not put it in reverse. She just sits there, hands on the wheel, watching the last swimmer climb into their parent’s car and drive away. The parking lot always empties quickly after summer evening practices. Everyone rushed home to barbecues and sleepovers. Maren remembers that being her favorite part of the summer season. No homework. No bedtimes. Just friends and the pool.

She knows she should be going home, eating dinner, and heading to bed.

Instead, she is going to a bonfire with people she has not seen in years. People she swam with, laughed with, argued with. People who knew her before she knew anything about herself.

People who also know Reese.

Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel before she forces them to loosen. Exhale one, two, three, four.

“Relax,” she mutters. “It is just a fire and a bunch of friends. Not a big deal.”

But her heart does a little uneven skip at the word friends, like it knows better.

She reverses out of the spot and pulls onto the road. The drive toward the lake is short, not even ten minutes, but it feels longer tonight. The sky fades into deeper hues of blue and purple as the sun dips lower, streaks of gold catching on the tops of the trees. The air through the cracked window smells like warm dirt and freshly cut summer grass.

Her chest loosens a little as she crosses over the train tracks on the way out of town.

By the time she pulls into the parking lot at the state park, the sky has settled into a soft, quiet dusk. The small gravel lot at Upper Beach is already dotted with cars she recognizes. Old teammates. People from her graduating class. A couple of parents who always showed up early to volunteer, even when they were not needed.

She kills the engine and sits for a second, letting the weight of the day drain out of her. Voices drift toward her from down the slope. Laughter. Someone shouting something half-teasing, half-heartfelt. The crackle of the bonfire carries on the breeze, along with the faint scent of wood smoke.

Maren pulls her hoodie on and steps into the cooling air. She shuts the car door gently, like the sound might break the calm she has managed to build around herself.

She pulls down the bottom of her hoodie, making sure the hem sits straight.

Then she starts down the path toward the firelight, the lake waiting beside it like an old friend, an old memory.

The path curves downward, the sand squeaking under her feet as she makes her way toward the glow. The lake stretches out in front of her, dark and familiar, but the chatter ahead feels louder with every step. She adjusts the blanket tucked under her arm, trying to fold it tighter so it does not slip.

She is still a few yards away when she hears her name.

“Maren? Oh my god, MAREN!”

Jules is the first to spot her. She is already halfway up from her camp chair, waving an arm like a flag. Ava stands beside her, smiling, both lit gold by the fire.

Maren tries to smile back, but the blanket shifts, sliding down her forearm. She reaches for it just as Jules closes the distance and leans in for a hug. The timing is terrible. Maren ends up half-hugging, half-wrestling the blanket into place, trying not to drop the thing entirely.

“Sorry,” she says as Jules squeezes her just a touch too tight. “I brought…stuff.”

Jules laughs into her shoulder. “Maren, you brought a blanket, not a suitcase. Come here.”

Ava steps in next, gentler, giving her a quick squeeze before stepping back to a more comfortable distance. Maren pauses, grateful for that tiny bit of mindfulness and kindness.

Someone behind them shouts hello. Someone else whistles. More faces turn, smiling.

It is too much all at once, too loud, too bright, but also warm in a way she did not know she had missed. She pulls the blanket up more securely in her arms and forces her shoulders back down away from her ears.

“Come sit with us,” Ava says, already gesturing toward a spot near the logs.

Maren nods silently and follows, heart steadying in small, careful beats.

Maren settles on a log with Ava and two old friends they used to swim relays with. Someone hands her a can of pop. Ava leans in to tell her a story about a guy on her master’s team who was so busy trying to flirt with her at a meet that he forgot to pull his goggles down and dove in with them still on his forehead.

Across the fire, one of the boys from the class below her pulls out a guitar. A ripple of excitement goes around the circle. He tunes a few strings while people shout requests at him.

Maren feels relaxed, just a little bit. The fire crackles. The night air settles cool against her cheeks. Ava bumps her knee in a friendly way.

Then someone calls out a song request.