" says Budgie. She puts the car in neutral and drums her fingernails against the steering wheel. No one moves. “Here we are,” says Nick. “Greenwald,” says Graham, “why don’t you take Lily for a little walk? Show her the campus a bit.” “Oh, Jesus,” Nick mutters. “Budgie?” I ask, in a small voice. “Go ahead, honey,” she says. “I just need to talk to Graham for a minute.” Graham gets out of the front seat, opens Nick’s door, and heaves him into the chilly night. I slide after, absorbing the warmth of Nick’s seat as I pass over. “We’ll just be a minute,” Graham says to Nick. “I’ll bet.” Nick looks at me. I can’t read his expression, not in this darkness, but I gather something like sympathy. “Come along, Lily. There’s a bench over this way.” “Are you all right to walk like this?” “Of course.” He brandishes one crutch. “It’s nothing.” The air has chilled remarkably since the sun-filled noontime in the stadium. I cross my arms over my woolen "

― Beatriz Williams , A Hundred Summers