29- Lincoln

“You’re sure she’s coming?” Mom asked me for the thousandth time, looking anxiously around as guests began arriving for the event she’d just decided would be called “Friday Fling.” There were people milling around outside the winery, a band set up on a low stage at the edge of the parking lot, and food trucks lining the drive. It was warm and the sun was just beginning its sweep down the western sky.

I’d known Hannah only a few days, but she didn’t seem like the type who would say she’d be somewhere and then not come. “I’m sure.”

Mom went back to fussing with the centerpiece on one of the long picnic tables, and just as I leaned in to help her, a sound like a shot rang out through the air. A few people nearby screamed, and without meaning to do it, I’d leapt over the table and pressed my mother to the ground, evidently planning to take a bullet for her if necessary.

“Lincoln, get off!” Mom complained, pushing me off of her as we both realized it hadn’t been a gunshot, but a car backfi