Nobody knew what to do. The neighbors looked at each other. Somebody’s husband started to say something and his wife elbowed him.
I knelt down on the grass next to her.
I didn’t plan to. I didn’t decide to. I just did. The same way you’d kneel down next to a child who fell off a bike.
“Vanessa,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”
She shook her head.
“Everybody saw,” she whispered. “Everybody saw everything.”
“I know,” I said. “So let’s go inside. Away from everybody.”
I stood up. I held out my hand.
She looked up at me for a long moment. Her mascara was running down her face in black streaks.
She took my hand.
I pulled her up. I put my arm around her shoulders. I walked her across her own backyard, through all those staring neighbors, past the grill and the long table and the little white lights, and into her house.
