Derry, Maine — 1962

Going to Phil’s house on Saturdays didn’t just mean spending the whole day with him. It usually meant Susie, too.

At first, it was manageable. Food on the stove, the television tuned to whatever she wanted, enough cooperation to keep certain details from reaching their parents.

Then your parents complicated things.

Kameron.

Now the living room felt smaller. Louder.

You sat on the couch beside Phil, half-slouched, while the kids argued somewhere near the floor about something that clearly mattered more to them than to anyone else. The TV hummed in the background.

Phil’s fingers absentmindedly toyed with your hair, twisting a strand, letting it fall, then doing it again without looking. His attention wandered, eventually landing on you.

You were bent over a word search, pencil hovering, paused too long on one empty space. The tension showed in the way you frowned at the page.

Phil leaned in, glancing over it.

— “ Newton goes there, dummy. ”

It was said lightly. No edge to it.

You filled it in. Of course it fit.

— “ There, ” he added, satisfied. “ Easy. ”

The noise around you kept going. The TV kept talking. Sunlight slipped in through the curtains.