“Meghan! Meghan! Meghan!” Three feet into the street, she stops and looks back in Barry’s direction, the phone still held to her ear. He’s close enough now to see the pure confusion on her face, the noise of the approaching car right on his heels. A black Mustang blurs past at sixty miles per hour, the car streaking down the middle of the street and weaving across the centerline. And then it’s gone. Meghan is still by the curb.
