Free Shake Down the Stars by Renee Swindle

loudly. “What in heaven’s name was
that
? ’Bout scared me silly.”
    â€œThey’re goths or whatever. They come out here to get away from their parents and act weird. No harm to it.”
    â€œWell, they scared the holy bejeezes out of me.”
    He aims the flashlight toward where they’ve walked off.
    â€œThey’re gone, Selwyn. Everything’s okay.” I rest my chin on my knees and close my eyes. As far as I’m concerned, it would have been perfectly fine to watch Hailey grow up to be an unruly, weird teenager.
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œYeah,” I whisper. “We should probably get going.”
    I don’t move, though. Instead, I draw Selwyn’s jacket around my shoulders and continue staring at Hailey’s tombstone. It’s those dates edged above her name that do me in. When I feel Selwyn’s hand on the back of my neck, I take in as much air as possible and slowly exhale. “It was a car accident, in case you’re wondering. We were on our way to school.”
    What I don’t say, though, what I’ve never told anyone, is that the accident was entirely my fault. I was like any other parent in a rush to get her child to school, but I was driving too fast and ran into a truck. There’s no other way around it. She’d be here today if not for me.
    I stand abruptly. “Anyway.”
    Selwyn begins to say something, but thinking better of it, remains silent. He stands and takes my hand. We hold hands briefly until I pull away. “Let’s go.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    W e pull up to a quiet residential street in Berkeley. Elm trees and cedars line the sidewalk; every house is dark and quiet. I gesture toward a 1930s craftsman in need of a paint job. “This is it.”
    Selwyn cuts the engine and looks out at the row of houses and trees. I’ve confounded him yet again. “I thought you wanted a drink.”
    â€œI do. My husband lives here. Full bar.”
    â€œHusband?”
    â€œEx,” I say, slapping my hand against my forehead for effect. “Ex. I keep forgetting to add the ex part.”
    â€œHow long have you been divorced?”
    â€œNot long enough that I can remember the ex part.”
    He eyes the house guardedly. “So this ex of yours would be . . .”
    â€œSpence. Spencer.”
    â€œYou’re just going to stop by—at this hour? It’s one in the morning.”
    â€œWe didn’t have that kind of divorce.”
    He thinks this over while continuing to stare at the house. The porch light is on; then again, it’s always on. Spence figures that by not turning it off, he won’t have to remember to turn it back on. It’s the same logic he used when he decided to replace our garden, once filled with flowers and succulents, with a blanket of flat green grass: No more flowers meant no need to worry about gardening.
    â€œSo you’re saying he won’t mind if I show up with you?”
    Now I’m confused. “Selwyn, you’re not showing up with me.”
    â€œI’m not?”
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œWhy not? I’d like to meet him.” He pulls his shoulders back and takes another look toward the empty porch as though Spence might step outside at any minute, strapped with two guns and ready for a duel. “I’d like to meet this ex of yours. We’ll have a quick drink, and we’ll say our good-byes.”
    â€œ
We?
Selwyn, I don’t think you understand. It’s late. I think we should call it a night.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? Come on, Kilowatt. The night’s young. We’re just getting started.”
    â€œNo, Selwyn. I’ve kept you long enough. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me tonight. I do. You were a real hero, but we should probably say good-bye.”
    â€œAll right,” he says. “So when am I going to see you again?”
    I