“Did you hear?” Mabel's friend, Angela asked. Angela never said hello. They didn't need to as Mabel and Angela had known each other since attending pre-school together. But something in the question made Mabel cringe.
“Hear what? What's wrong?”
“Bunch of cop cars up at the shack, lights, sirens…Are you sure you got rid of everything last night?”
“Yea,” Mabel said, rushing to find her jacket, feeling for the inside pouch. Everything was there. “But I wasn't alone.”
“Who else stayed?” Angela murmured.
Should she tell her? Nobody knew, not even Angela. After the gang had taken off, he'd hung back with her, acting like he didn't need to go anywhere, but she knew why he’d lingered. He told her a story as they searched the ground for any overlooked items. His family had tapped the sugar maples around their house when he was a kid, filled buckets, and boiled the sap down till every glass jug was overflowing. Everything was so sticky; they couldn't trust leaving any out. Assembly line style, they lugged in the containers one by one, placing them on the old pine table. In the middle of the night, the crash was so loud, he was sure one of the old ash trees had come through the roof. But it hadn't; the weight of the jars had caused the table to collapse.
She couldn't get over the force of emotion that traveled through her when he'd smiled.
“Walter,” she halted briefly, “Walter Rogalaski.”
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