At Bluebonnet Lake they were still fishing. Shannon’s father and the girls had their lines in the filthy water, and Margie stood behind them. One of her hands was bandaged. Shannon stood by the concession stand watching them, for a long time. Strangers, she thought. She felt at the left front pocket of her shorts; the car keys were still there, and again for a moment she was tempted to turn and quietly go to the car and drive off—somewhere. Somewhere—not home, but anywhere. But then she realized there was no place, really, to go. Shannon walked back down to the pond and sat on a bench. No one saw her, noticed her: the twins, her father, Margie. It was a lonely world.