“Do I at least look normal?” I ask, looking down at myself.

Gabriel crosses his arms, furrowing his brow.

Then he shrugs.

“I’ve never been to a square dance,” he says. “That looks like what people wear to square dances. I think.”

I make a face and stick my tongue out at him, because he is no help when it comes to clothes or fashion, and even though it’s been a little over a year since we moved to Conifer, it’s the little things like this that still trip me up.

Because when you spend your life with really, really limited fashion options and then you can suddenly wear anything you want, sometimes you get it wrong. Like a month ago, when I wore a pencil skirt and heels to a party that turned out to be a casual barbecue in someone’s back yard.

Or over the summer, when a friend’s sister got baptized in the creek and I wore denim shorts and flip-flops. Also the wrong choice of clothes.

“I can’t have another Ellie’s Baptism situation,” I tell Gabriel.

“I don’t think it’s going to be a black tie square dance,” he teases. “Listen, if we show up and everyone else is wearing ball gowns and tuxes, we’ll just leave. How’s that?”

I’ve got on the flat ankle boots I wear to my job at the coffee shop, jeans, and a plaid shirt rolled up to my elbows, because that seems like what you should wear to a square dance.

“I think we’d never hear the end of it if we just left,” I laugh. “Tammy’s been on me for months about coming. Though I think you’re the one she really wants to see.”

“If she keeps bringing me brownies I’ll square dance with her all night,” Gabriel says, laughing.

“Should I be jealous?”

“You should make more brownies.”

He walks to the kitchen table and grabs his keys as I take our jackets off the coat rack and toss his to him. We’ve got furniture now — some from the Goodwill, but mostly they’re hand-me-downs from the people we’ve met over the past year.

They’re really nice, and I’m still not used to it. Even the people who agree with my father’s politics and would have voted for him if they lived in South Carolina are really nice.

“You know, she bakes for all the men in the Sheriff’s Academy,” I point out, still teasing Gabriel. “It’s not just you.”

I shrug on my jacket, and he opens the door to the chilly autumn night.

“But I’m her favorite,” Gabriel says, grinning. “She told me.”

“She tells that to all of you,” I say, and walk through the door as he holds it.

He grabs my ass, and I laugh. Tammy’s the River County Sheriff’s wife, they’ve got three hell-raising boys, and they still somehow find the time to invite us over for dinner once a week. If she wants to dance with Gabriel, it’s fine with me, because she and Margaret have pretty much become my replacement moms.

I haven’t heard from my real mom since I left. Every so often I hear from Zeke, who’s still at home but trying to save up for an escape so he doesn’t have to run away barefoot, or from Joy, who’s still sneaking into college math classes.

But as far as everyone else is concerned, I’m dead to them. My father lost his re-election last year, and the huge scandal I caused is probably what did it. For months afterward, I practically couldn’t answer my phone because news outlets wanted to talk to me about it.

I even got accosted walking around Conifer a few times by reporters, but thankfully it’s died down. I don’t want to be famous, or on the news, or anything. I just want to be normal.

* * *

The square dance is in Johnston’s barn, and we park in a field outside. Gabriel holds my hand as we walk through the muddy grass, fiddle music already leaking out of the brightly-lit barn.

The moment we’re inside, I relax about my outfit. This is what you wear square-dancing, because people wearing plaid, jeans, and boots are all do-si-do-ing and linking arms and spinning around and bumping into each other and laughing in the middle of the dance floor.

Johnston’s Barn isn’t really a barn, or at least, animals don’t live here any more. It’s owned by River County, so now it holds community events instead of horses.

People wave at us as we walk in. Gabriel and I wave back, and within a few moments, we’re taking off our jackets and hugging people hello and talking about the crazy, late-in-the-season thunderstorm that hit a few days ago.

Gabriel keeps his hand on my back the whole time, a habit he’s developed. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, but I like it anyway. It’s sweet and protective and it makes me feel safe without ever being overbearing or controlling, like he’s got my back.

Which he does.

Minutes later, as we’re still talking about this crazy storm, I see our friend Ashton walking toward us carefully, three full plastic cups in his hands. He hands one to Gabriel, one to me, and keeps one for himself.

“My treat,” he says, holding his hard cider up. “To three more weeks of Police Academy.”

I grin and look over at Gabriel, holding up his cup.

“Is this a test?” he asks Ashton.

Ashton just laughs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he jokes. “This week’s big challenge is getting the recruits blitzed at a square dance and then having you run five miles first thing in the morning.”

“You would, you dirty bastard,” Gabriel laughs.

“Knowing you, I’d wind up hungover as a motherfucker and you’d finish those five miles looking fresh as a goddamn daisy. Sorry for the language,” he says, looking at me and nodding bashfully.

“I don’t even know what those words mean,” I deadpan, taking a sip, and Ashton laughs a little too loudly. It’s probably not his first cider.

“Y’all see that huge old oak tree that got knocked across Old Lawyers Road during the storm the other night?” he asks, getting back to the topic on everyone’s minds. “Old Man Emerson called it in but the county said they couldn’t get to it ’til morning, too many power lines down and such, so once the storm ended me and Rob Junior went down there with some chainsaws and the winch on the back of his work truck....”

* * *

After the cider, we get in the middle and dance. Since this event is specifically for beginners, the caller takes it slow and explains everything, so before long we’re whirling and turning the wrong way and bumping into people right along with everyone else.

It’s a blast. Half the town of Conifer is there — senior citizens, people our age, kids, the whole nine yards — and it’s warm and friendly and downright enjoyable.

Forty-five minutes in, all the dancers and the caller take a break, so we head off to the side to sit on a hay bale. Instead, Margaret and her husband Tom are standing over on the side, and when they see us, they wave us over.

“Did you hear?” she asks, her voice hushed and quiet.

My heart sinks and clenches, like it’s suddenly encased in iron bands.

“Hear what?” I whisper.

My mom’s dead. My dad’s dead. Something’s happened to one of my siblings; they kicked Zeke or Joy out onto the street; Grace’s husband left her...

“Lilah,” she says, and takes my arm. “Come on.”

Margaret leads me to a quiet corner of the barn, pulling her phone out. My heart’s hammering even though I’m relieved that my family is okay.

“Is it something with the trial?” I ask, walking behind Margaret.

Lilah’s trial finally started about two weeks ago. I wasn’t asked to testify, and didn’t really want to, but Gabriel was.

I nearly had a panic attack at the thought of going back to Huntsburg, so I didn’t go with him. I felt awful about it, but he’s sworn up and down a million times that it’s fine.

He also told me that the only member of Lilah’s family to show up for her trial was Lucas, along with his partner, and I had no idea how to feel about that. Somewhere between still angry and less angry and eventually forgiving but not just yet, I think.

“Here,” Margaret says, finally standing close to a wall where there are less people. She holds out her phone to me and I take it. She’s got the Huntsburg Star-Ledger up on the tiny screen, and I swallow hard when I see the headline.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the wall of the barn, tears pricking at my eyeballs. Margaret takes her phone back, shoves it in her pocket, and Gabriel pulls me in close, Margaret’s hand on my shoulder.

Seven years in prison. I can’t even fathom it, and I can’t help but imagine if I had to spend seven years in prison without having ever had a job.

It’s heart-wrenching. I feel nauseous, and I feel powerless, and I feel unbelievably guilty.

“You tried,” Margaret said.

“I should have gone down there instead of writing that letter,” I say.

“You think that would have made a difference?” she says, rubbing my shoulder.

I pull back from Gabriel and wipe my eyes, trying to breathe deep and control myself.

“No,” I admit.

“None of this is your fault,” he says.

I sigh, still trying to get a hold of myself.

“She thought that cricket chirps were a secret form of Morse Code that would give her the key to unlocking ancient spells hidden in the Bible,” I say. “She thought she could talk to angels. She shouldn’t be in prison, she should be getting help.”

“I know,” Gabriel says, rubbing small circles on my back.

“Lilah never had a chance,” I whisper. “Between my father and hers, she never had a fucking chance.”

“And it’s not your fault, sweetheart,” Margaret says. “You did what you could.”

“I could have done more.”

“We talked about this,” she says, using her mom-voice. “She threatened your life, and you still went out on a limb to help her.”

I sigh. I’m not sure writing a letter to the sentencing judge was exactly going out on a limb, but deep down, I know Margaret is right.

It still sucks, though. I’m positive that my father had something to do with it, that after losing his election because of me he felt the need to control something, no matter what, and poor Lilah got to feel his wrath. He’s golf buddies with practically every judge in the state.

We just stand there for a while, Gabriel rubbing my back on one side, Margaret with her hand on my shoulder. I’m incredibly lucky and I know it, because I’m here, with my boyfriend and my kinda-boss-kinda-mom in a town that I’ve come to absolutely love. I’m taking night classes at community college. I never ever wear pantyhose.

But I know Lilah could have been me. If I’d had slightly different genetics, if I’d gotten unlucky in the mental health department, I could be going to prison and she could be here.

Out on the dance floor, the caller steps up to the microphone.

“All right, ladies and gents! Round two is set to start in just a few minutes here, so grab your partner and get on back to the dance floor...”

“Come on,” Gabriel says.

I sigh dramatically, yet again.

“Don’t make me quote Theo,” he says, his voice gently teasing.

Theo’s my therapist, a very nice sixty-something man who has reading glasses and accepts payments on a sliding scale. Sometimes Gabriel comes to our sessions, because he’s ten thousand times more supportive of a partner than I think I deserve.

“‘Release everything you cannot control,’ or ‘guilt is a vampiric emotion’?” I ask.

“I think both apply.”

I make a face. He kisses the top of my head.

“I’ll come dance, but I’m gonna feel bad about it,” I say, taking his hand.

“I cannot control your feelings, and therefore I release them,” he says, serenely, as we walk toward the dance floor.

* * *

I doze off in the car on the way back home, but I wake up when we stop.

And then I realize we’re not at the cabin. We’re in Conifer’s tiny downtown, and since it’s nearly midnight everything is completely dark and closed.

“Huh?” I ask.

“C’mon,” he says, opening his door. “I want to show you something.”

Groggy, I get out of the car. Gabriel takes my hand and we walk across the street to the grassy patio behind Bubba’s Good BBQ, the picnic tables where we ate the very first day we were here.

He points to one, and we sit on the table, our feet on the seat, looking out at the park across the street and the stars above. The windows of the town glimmer darkly, and a breeze whispers around us. I’d be really nervous if he weren’t here, but he is.

“You remember eating here, right?” he asks, my hand still in his.

I just nod.

“We had to buy you those horrible plastic flip flops from the drugstore because you left everything behind,” he goes on, blue eyes the color of midnight as they bore into me. “And then you sat here and told me that you had been afraid that you’d go back, because you knew that you were embarking into a big, cold, terrible world.”

“I wasn’t,” I say softly, and squeeze his hand. “It’s actually not so bad.”

Mostly because you’re here, I think.

“I sat across from you and we ate ribs and I had no fucking clue what we were going to do,” he goes on. “We’d known each other for two weeks, I didn’t even know your middle name, you’d never had a job and I was afraid that your father was going to track you down and take you back by force—”

“You never told me that,” I interject.

“I decided to keep that particular fear to myself,” he says dryly.

“That was probably a good idea.”

“But even when everything was up in the air, I was totally, completely, a hundred percent fucking certain that I was supposed to be there, with you, even at this picnic table after you’d run away barefoot,” he goes on. “That hasn’t changed at all, and tonight, knowing what you’ve done for Lilah, just reminded me why you’re my favorite person.”

My throat’s closing, my stomach clenching. I try to smile, but I think it might come out weird.

“Gabriel...” I start, but I don’t know how to finish that sentence and just stare at him.

He pulls something out of his pocket.

It’s a small box.

No, I think. No, no, no, please no, please please no.

I feel like I might puke, and when Gabriel looks at me again, horror flicks across his face.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he blurts out.

I take a deep breath, and Gabriel starts laughing.

“Sorry, I didn’t think the box through,” he says, grinning.

Now I’m laughing with relief, one elbow on my knees, face in one hand.

“You have the worst reactions,” he teases.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just — I mean, you know.”

“Of course I know,” he says, kissing me on the temple. “That’s why it’s not an engagement ring.”

“It’s not you,” I tell him. “It’s not. You know that.”

It’s that I’ve already been married once and that relationship was a hellscape. It’s that every marriage I witnessed until I moved to Conifer had a strict hierarchy, and they were all practically prisons for the wives. It’s that I was pretty much forced into it once, nearly forced into it again, and I just can’t handle thinking about it right now.

Maybe someday. If I do get married again, it’ll be to Gabriel, but I need time.

“I know that,” Gabriel says softly. “And you know I don’t give a shit whether we sign a piece of paper or not as long as you’re mine.”

“I am,” I tell him, leaning my cheek against his shoulder.

“Good,” he says. “Because I got you this promise ring to promise that I love you and I’ll always be here for you, and I’ll marry you if you ever want me to and I’ll stay your life partner forever if you want me to.”

Gabriel pops open the box. Inside is small silver ring with a thin band, one small green gemstone in the middle. It’s not fancy and it definitely wasn’t expensive, but it is beautiful.

“Getting you a ruby seemed too on-the-nose,” he says.

I’m crying again, and I hold out my hand. Gabriel slides the ring onto my middle finger, then brings my hand to his lips and kisses it.

“I love you,” I whisper. “There’s nobody else I’d ever want to be my life partner.”

“I’m glad,” he says, grinning. “There’s no one else I’d ever want to horrify with a proposal.”

I laugh, and Gabriel kisses me, softly at first and then deeper. Still sitting on the picnic table, our mouths move against each other slowly, his hand creeping up my thigh. We pull apart, pause, kiss again, and this time I curl my tongue against his.

When we stop, I realize I’ve got one hand under his shirt. I pull it back as he nuzzles my ear.

“Let’s go home before we wind up naked on this table,” he says in the voice that still sends shivers down my spine. “People will talk.”

“We can’t have that,” I tease, but he stands, takes my hand, pulls me off the picnic table and we head for the car.

Then we drive home, to the house that we share, the bed we share, the life we share, and I go to sleep with him curled around me and wake up to my hand in his.

And it’s not perfect, but it’s all I could ever want.