The Witness

it was appropriate.”
    “Really good.” When he smiled, the anger and stress she’d seen in his eyes warmed away.
    “How do you do that? Relax so quickly?”
    “I’m taking a pretty woman to a barbecue, and it sure takes the edge off my bad mood. Where’s the stuff you made?”
    She took it, then a six-pack of beer, out of the refrigerator. “If you feel you should follow through on the problem now, I’m sure your family will understand.”
    “You’re not getting out of this so easy. Colorful,” he commented, as he picked up the bowl. “Ready?”
    “I suppose.” She clipped a leash on Bert. “You could brief me on the areas of interest of people who’ll be there. It would help me make conversation.”
    “Believe me, making conversation won’t be an issue.” He snagged the beer on the way out. “As soon as we announce we’re getting married, every woman there’s going to be all over you about wedding plans.”
    “We don’t have any.”
    “Take my word on it, honey, you will before the day’s over.”
    She considered that while she rode with the bowl on her lap and her dog sniffing at every inch of the back of the cruiser.
    “They may not be pleased.”
    “With what? You and me?” He flicked her a quick glance. “They’ll be pleased.”
    “I don’t think they would, if they knew the full extent of the situation.”
    “I wish I could tell them to prove you wrong, but it’s better if we don’t.”
    “You seem so calm. I’ve learned to be calm when something has to change, but this is different. It’s hard to be calm, to wait for Captain Anson to call, to wonder what the authorities will say and do. To think about testifying, about being so close with the program.”
    “Whatever happens, we’re together. That keeps me calm.”
    She couldn’t claim to be. Her stomach jumped, her heart kicked, and with each passing mile she had to fight to keep her nerves concealed. She tried to think of it as going into a new community, stepping out for the first time with fresh identification. Nerves plagued her each time, but she knew how to conceal them, how to blend so anyone who noticed her saw exactly what she wanted them to see.
    It had worked for a dozen years. It had worked until Brooks. He’d seen something else, something more, but she thought of that now as a blessing. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have this chance at a genuine life.
    And the genuine life she might have would include backyard barbecues.
    When he parked, she thought she had herself fully under control.
    “Relax,” he told her.
    “Do I look tense?”
    “No, but you are. I’ll take that; you get Bert.”
    He tucked the bowl under his arm, hefted the six-pack, and with her hand steady on the leash, they walked toward the house. Toward the music and voices, toward the scent of grilling meat.
    She recognized three of the women—Brooks’s mother and his two sisters, but not the other women, the men, the children. The thought of being thrust into the midst of so many strangers dried her throat and thickened her heartbeat.
    Before she could get her bearings, Sunny set down a platter and hurried over. “There you are.”
    “I had a little business to deal with,” Brooks told her.
    “I heard.” Sunny tied Abigail’s tongue into knots with a quick, hard hug before she gave Bert a casual rub. “Don’t you look pretty. And what’s this?”
    “Orzo,” Abigail managed. “I hope it’s appropriate with your menu.”
    “Since the menu’s a lot of this with more of that, it’ll fit right in. And it’s beautiful. Go on and put that on the table, Brooks, and get Abigail a drink. We’ve already got the margarita blender going overtime.”
    “I’ll fix you up,” he told Abigail. “Be right back.”
    “My girl Mya—you met Mya and Sybill—makes killer margaritas. Why don’t you let Bert off the leash so he can play with Plato?”
    Abigail crouched down as the dogs sniffed and wagged at each other.
“Ils sont amis. Amis,
Bert.
C’est tout.”
    “He’s all right with kids running around?” Sunny qualified.
    “Yes. He’s very gentle, very patient. He wouldn’t attack unless I gave him the command. Or I was being assaulted.”
    “We’ll be sure nobody assaults you. Come on and meet Mick and Hilly Conroy. They’re old friends, and that’s their son, Russ—Brooks’s best pal, with his wife, Seline, and their toddler, CeeCee. They’ve had a spot of trouble,” Sunny continued as she walked. “I’m