We take my car—since I was the last to arrive, no one’s blocking me in and I can pull away from the curb without having to ask anyone else to move. At the end of my brother’s street, I check my rearview mirror to make sure we’re not being followed. Part of me almost expects one of my nieces to come chasing after us, hollering that we can’t leave yet, the cookout isn’t over, the hot dogs are ready, come back!
But there’s no one in the street waving to snag my attention, and no one calling out my name, either. I don’t think anyone even knows we left. As I turn out of the neighborhood, Lori sees my smile and asks, “What’s so funny?”
With a shrug, I admit, “I almost feel like we’re sneaking away.”
She laughs. “We are! Though I’m surprised more people aren’t doing the same thing. Maybe it’s
