Jenna stood outside her home garage with rain dripping off the edge of her hood. She stood motionless, feeling the warmth leach out of her body along with the last dregs of her hurling momentum. She stood dangerously close to the garage window, close enough to watch Nate wielding a blowtorch. A metal mask covered his face. Sparks made the faint, fair hairs on his arms glow.She’d meant to observe for only a minute, just long enough to see if Sissy Leclaire sat on the old upholstered chair in the corner, laughing with both legs thrown over the arm. That chair was empty, but Jenna still hesitated, not sure whether Sissy’s absence was good or bad. This confrontation might have been easier if Jenna had walked in on the two of them rutting on the workbench, clawing at each other half dressed, just like in the mental film loop that ran in her head. It would have been a cauterization. Then she’d be freed of the ever-sinking impulse to tell him that she still loved him.But the hesitation was a mistake.
