“I wish you would have told me you were going to do this.” I snapped. “Why? So you could talk me out of it?” she answered. Then she shushed me and continued to busily scratch notes from memory into the spiral notebook from her bag. We sat out on the steps of the Wicke’s porch. I could hear an owl somewhere interjecting itself over the racket of the crickets. Anyone who thinks that rural America is quiet has never stopped to listen. “It’s cold out here,” I complained. It was a cool breezy night and I was shivering, while Claudia was warming herself by the fire of her passion. “Then go inside. You’re distracting me.” Claudia knew that I had no desire to face her mom. I hadn’t talked to her since the cemetery incident and wasn’t sure if I was in the mood to defend my actions one more time to another adult. For right now, I preferred avoidance.
