Waiting

Sunday.

Lunch.

"You guys don't need to wait up for me tonight," Claire said casually. "I'm meeting someone. Might be home late."

Daniel nearly choked on a piece of broccoli.

Emily smiled.

"Okay, sweetheart. Have fun."

Then, after a perfectly timed pause to satisfy her maternal curiosity:

"Someone we know?"

"Nope." Claire took a sip of water. "His name's Kenneth."

One of Emily's eyebrows rose.

She looked at Claire as though waiting for more information.

Claire simply shrugged, making it seem completely unimportant who she was going out with.

Across the table, Daniel chewed his roast beef as if it had suddenly turned into leather.

1:30 a.m.

Claire had had a wonderful evening.

Not with Ken.

As far as she was concerned, there was no Ken. At least not one she knew well enough to spend the night with.

Now she stood across the street beneath the sprawling branches of a sycamore tree.

The living room window was still lit.

The flickering blue glow told her the TV was on.

Daniel.

Who else?

He was still awake.

And if she had her way, he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight, either.

If she turned the screws tight enough, he would realize that it was pointless to keep waiting for her.

Should she feel bad about that?

She shrugged.

He’d been bullying her for years. Now it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine.

His phone vibrated.

> You still awake?

His reply came so fast it was obvious he hadn't stopped to think.

< Did something happen?

A second later:

< Do you need me to come get you?

Claire took her time.

Silently counting to one hundred.

Then she typed:

> I'm thinking about you.

A pause.

Then:

> About Friday night.

Across the street, Daniel groaned.

She could practically picture it.

His trembling fingers.

The way he'd have to erase and retype the message more than once before getting it right.

Finally, her phone lit up again.

< Are you coming home?

Claire waited.

A few seconds later, another message appeared.

< When?

A slow smile spread across her face.

She silenced her phone and slipped it into her pocket.

Then, with her hands buried deep in her jacket, she strolled a few houses down the block to the home of an old school friend—the same friend she'd already told she would be staying with for the night.