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I glance at Laurel.

She gives me a grin and a tiny salute.

Traitor.

Tension rises in the SUV among the adults as we pull into a parking space in the school lot. It’s busy. Parents walk their kids toward the entrance. Teachers stand outside greeting students. A crossing guard waves traffic forward. Backpacks bounce. Someone drops a lunchbox. Someone else forgets a jacket and runs back to the car.

I scan the milling crowd. So does Laurel.

No sign of Tom. But there’s still time.

While Maggie organizes Lucy’s snack bag and backpack, I sit behind the wheel and watch life going on around us.

I shift focus to Lucy, watching in the rearview mirror as she unbuckles herself. That’s when it hits me that this is what we've all been working toward. Maggie making the report. The restraining order. Every difficult conversation. Every sleepless night.

A regular Tuesday.

A little girl getting out of a car and heading to school without looking over her shoulder.

Lucy leans across the center console to hug Laurel goodbye. Then she turns and throws her arms around me before I can react. "Bye, Ashby."

I still haven't quite adjusted to hearing her call me by name, nor the hugs. From Ben’s niece. "Goodbye, Lucy."

The school doors close on the kids without any trouble. There’s a palpable sense of relief as we drive back to Maggie’s house to drop her off.

Then it’s just Laurel and me as we head back to my place.

She watches the trees slide by in thoughtful silence. Which helps, because I spend the first ten minutes mentally arguing with myself about best to approach things now we’re alone.

I've been planning this conversation for days. Maybe weeks. Long enough that Briggs has started giving me increasingly obvious looks whenever Laurel walks into a room. At this rate, he's eventually going to lock us in a supply closet and call it conflict resolution.

The man approaches emotional situations the same way he approaches structural problems.

With brute force and, sometimes, explosives.

Laurel sits beside me, watching the trees slide past her window. Every now and then she absently tucks a strand of bright, auburn hair behind her ear. And every time she does it, my concentration wavers.

This is becoming a problem.

A recurring problem.

An embarrassingly consistent problem.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel before clearing my throat. "Laurel."

She turns immediately. Concern flashes across her face so fast it almost makes me wince. "Everything okay?"

"Actually, no."

Her eyebrows lift.

I hear the answer after it's already left my mouth and briefly consider driving directly into the river.

"I mean nothing's wrong," I correct. "That came out badly."

"Ashby, if this is your improved version, I'm worried about the original."

Despite myself, I laugh.