"Someday," he said, "you'll understand how stupid (he coughed "dangerous") it is to disagree with your wife, Cal."

Everly asked, "What do fireworks have to do with Thanksgiving?"

Nick struck a long match on the sole of his boot. "I'm thankful for those who have fought alongside me for the freedoms our country holds, and to not press back against the tyrants who sit behind bureaucratic desks in Washington passing ignoramus laws such as BAN FIREWORKS BECAUSE THEY ARE DANGEROUS is a slap in the face to not only any man who has served his country with his blood, but to any American who believes in life, liberty and the pursuit of the happiness."

And I knew her expression-I had seen it in class during the differential questions. She pushed his buttons on purpose as she dismissed his speech. "But they're just fireworks."

Nick's high spirit plummeted. He ignored my warning from earlier and tugged her arm toward him to light the end of the Roman. "Is that so?" Everly's hand shook as the sparks began to fly, but she did not let go. I was stuck in place. I did not want to become like Timothy-a prison-where she couldn't live and experience things. I knew he wouldn't hurt her, but every little ember that landed on her skin pricked needle holes through my chest.

Nick stared her in the eye, in the darkness of the cold night. "Oppression begins with the little things, and if you let the small shit slide, those who seek to destroy the foundation of what we are made from will gleefully watch as the entire building crumbles. You can decide whether you fight for what stands, or you can give in and allow your oppressor to decide what gets built in its place. The problem with people in this country is that most have no idea what true tyranny feels like. They watch the news and think they have a clue of what goes on in the world outside of their cell phones and Face2Face pages-but Sweetheart-when the enemy owns the news they get to choose what stories to run. A firework? No. That's your eyes playing tricks on you. This is a stand. This is a message that will go out to every crooked-cop, and dirty politician on duty tonight, and let them know defiance against tyranny is still a song worth singing in America. We'll write our lyrics in the fucking sky just to make it perfectly clear."

The air thickened as Nick and Everly continued to stare at one another. Tatum glanced to me as if to say, do something.

I tried to take a lesson from Tatum and play it off as I pushed Everly's hair behind her shoulder. "Plus, Everly Anne, we have an affinity for lighting shit on fire."

Nick's mouth lifted in the corners, he glanced to me and then back to Everly, who held the Roman steady. "Plus," he repeated, "We have an affinity for lighting shit on fire."

Nick held the match high in the air as he walked to the fireworks planted in the ground. "For Leonidas!"

I laughed. "He was Greek you Greek bastard. I thought this was for America?"

"Freedom is freedom," he shot back, but added, "For breaking the law in the name of doing what's right."

Nick swept the match across the firework wicks and backed away to hold Tatum in his arms, kissed her under a barren oak tree. Everly stared at the Roman candle in her hand and watched the sparks fly. One missile lit up the sky, while another struck the branch of the tree Nick and Tatum kissed under, which sent them running. It was electric and real. And I wondered as I watched Everly smile from her eyes to her cheeks, if she felt for once she was inside of the picture, and not just staring from behind a lens.

While the rest of the guests ate dessert in the dining room, four criminals searched for dry clothes in my bedroom.

"I thought military men were always prepared for any situation," I quipped. "Here, I think these sweaters will fit, Sorry if they stink like moth balls, but Marta has this thing about boxing up clothes when they aren't in use." I tossed them to Tatum and Nick. Everly was the only one not shaking from her snow-soaked clothes and it did not escape Nick's attention.

"Aren't you gonna offer your girlfriend something?" Nick pulled an old sticker off my sweater that read FASTER, DEEPER, HARDER, CPR SAVES LIVES, and stuck it on Everly's dress.

"I have to look in the attic for something else. She's too skinny for my stuff," I lied.

"Hey," Tatum warned. "What am I a blimp?"

Always best to dodge women with weight questions, even if the answer is in their favor.

I replied, "You two should go back downstairs. I'm sure the cops will be knocking momentarily, and it would be best if Sargent Petros did all of the explaining so we won't spend Thanksgiving in jail."

"Yeah," he said. "But can I talk to you first?"

Tatum said she'd meet us downstairs and Everly sat on my bed. I gave her a kiss on the head as I followed him into the hall.

He turned to me, "Look, I just wanted to make sure we're cool."

"We're cool," I assured, "I just . . . I don't like anyone touching her. Contradictory considering I kissed your wife, I realize this."

"What happened?"

I almost laughed. "Didn't Tatum tell you?"

"No, I meant what happened to your girl. Someone hurt her or something?"

"Let's just say she's more fragile than most. It's complicated."

"Must be. There's an awful lot of bruises and stuff on her legs. For a moment I was wondering if I really did have to use the Russian Towel on you." He looked over my clothes. "Wearing that shit didn't help."

"No one hit Everly. She can't feel pain. She was born that way."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

He nodded. "Well, don't let the government find out-you'll never see her again."