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Bear.
Chapter Two
Rachel
“Black bear,” Shannon answers Janet’s question. “Can we please move on?”
“You brought a poorly constructed hypothetical to a divorce attorney, an HR director, and a woman who carries two sizes of zip ties,” I tell her. “This was never going to go smoothly.”
“Bear,” Janet says. Blair answers the same, Laura follows after a second, and I don’t hesitate.
Shannon stares around the circle. “Seriously? Every single one of you?”
“You asked,” Blair reminds her.
Laura gestures toward Shannon with her cup. “You haven’t answered yet.”
Shannon opens her mouth, then tries, “Can the man be my husband, Tom?”
“No,” Blair says. “Stranger.”
“Then probably the bear,” Shannon mutters, like the answer has personally offended her.
Blair raises her cup in acknowledgment. “Democracy survives another day.”
I glance toward the wicker disaster standing just outside the firelight. “We should probably clarify that none of us is choosing that bear.”
Blair considers him. “True. For this bear, I’m changing my answer to the man.”
The joke fades, leaving the crackle of the fire and insects buzzing somewhere beyond the yard. Shannon is still frowning into her cup.
“I hate that I picked the bear.”
Blair looks over at her. “Why?”
“Because I like men.”
“You like one man.”
Shannon gives Blair the finger. “I’m serious. Tom’s a good man. My dad’s a good man. I know good men.”
“So do I,” Laura says quietly.
Laura goes still. The humor leaves her face, and a small tightness catches under my ribs before she speaks again.
“Dave was a wonderful man,” she says. “If I were walking through the woods and saw him coming toward me, I’d run straight at him.”
Shannon’s expression softens. “I know, honey.”
Laura looks toward the fire. “But that’s Dave.”
“The question isn’t whether good men exist. It’s what you know about a stranger when you’re alone and nobody else is around.”
“Nothing,” Blair says.
Laura nods. “Exactly.”
Janet reaches into her tote, comes out with a bag of pretzels, and holds it toward Laura without comment. Laura takes one. Something about the quiet little gesture gets to me. Janet never seems to know what to say when somebody hurts, but she always has something in that bag she can put in your hand.
