Chapter 18: The Bonfire

Saturday night the bonfire was taller than I was.

Two hundred people sat on logs and hay bales and lawn chairs in a wide ring around it, with their faces gold and their wristbands glowing.

I stood at the side of the stage in my green fleece with the candle jar in both hands.

Cal stood ten feet behind me in the dark, where only I could see him.

He had not said a word since dinner.

He had put his hand on the back of my neck at the door of the lodge, held it there a moment, and let go.

On the front row, Diane sat in her camel coat with Waylon's father beside her.

Shanna sat next to them in the white lace dress, with the ring on her hand and the locket at her throat.

She looked at me once across the firelight.

She nodded, very small.

Cal's cousin tapped the microphone.

"Welcome to Founders' Weekend," she said, and the crowd cheered.

There were songs. There was a toast to Cal's mother, who had built the place.

Cal did not look at anyone while it was said.

Then his cousin said, "And now, our favorite couple," and the whole ring clapped before she finished.

Waylon climbed the steps.

He took the microphone with both hands and let the applause go on.

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