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you know how it works--one line/one line/ one line

“If someone wants a cigarette, someone’s waiting for it, so I’m not sure there is no one there,” Mike said, holding his hand over the flashlight.
It’s like Jackie wasn’t even breathing. The dark edges of trees against the tent looked like stencils. “Hold your breath,” she said, and unzipped the tent as one would a pair of pants, and stepped out.
A man stood by the stream, holding a letter. “Jackie?” he said. “Jackie?”
“It’s me, Dad,” and she came forward. She could see now that his pistol was cocked toward her.
“Is that Stern in the tent?”
“No,” Jackie said. “Mikey.”
“The letter’s from Stern,” he said, throwing the letter into the river. “He wants money. If it was from Mikey I would have gave a damn.”
“Me too,” Jackie said, watching the letter. “Me too.”
Dad didn’t drop the gun, shot instead at the tent—wide.
“Fuck you,” Mikey said, from inside.
“Go to bed,” Dad said, and left.
She stood out by the stream a moment longer, then went back inside the tent and zipped it behind her. Stern was just lying there, with his hands folded behind his head, staring at a fly tick across the fabric ceiling. She could hear Ma in the house still, calling out for Dad to bring her cigarettes.