And for you to keep going to school. Because he’s thinking about your future. Like, years down the road, future.
Z turns back to me. “I don’t know. We had a plan, Harp. I’m sure we’ll be fine in Austin. We can stay in a shelter if the weather gets bad. We’ll find work. Every restaurant needs dishwashers. We’ll work our way up.”
“That’s stupid when there’s food and shelter in Dallas,” Caleb says.
“You calling me stupid?” Z spins back Caleb’s direction until the two boys are facing off, two shadowed silhouettes in the dark.
“Hey!” I call, snapping in front of their faces. “Knock it off. I’m making an executive decision. We’re going to Helen’s house in Dallas. Now play nice.”
Z’s head swings back my way like I just betrayed him, and I roll my eyes. I knock him on the shoulder. “There’s a great couch in the basement. It’ll be the softest thing you’ve slept on in years. And Helen will ply you with milk and cookies. You’ll get overthe plan. Plans change.”
People do, too, sometimes, I want to add but don’t.
“What about when Silas turns everything into a shitshow?”
“Then we can go sleep in a shelter,” I spit out, turn, and stomp back toward the Mustang, wanting to throw my hands in the air.
Boys.
TWENTY-FIVE
CALEB
The rideback home is awkward as hell.
Harper sits up front with me—her choice, not mine, though I’m not complaining—relegating Z to the back seat. He makes this frustrated noise when she climbs in beside me instead of back with him, and I catch the flash of betrayal in his eyes through the rearview mirror.
Good.
The highway stretches ahead, dark apart from the headlights on the highway now that we’re heading back north.
Z keeps trying to talk to Harper. Arguing with her is more like it. Leaning forward between the seats, his voice gets louder and more insistent.
“You should make him take us to Austin.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. Nine and three. Check position. Still correct.
Check speedometer: 70 mph. Five over the limit. Acceptable.
Check mirrors: Z’s face is too close to the front seats in the rearview.
“We’ll get jobs washing dishes like we planned?—”
My jaw clenches. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.
“Z.” Harper’s voice has an edge.
Check mirrors again. Rearview. Left side. Right side.
“I’m serious, Harp. You don’t belong with these people. You belong with?—”
Five jaw clenches now. Six. I’m going to have a headache by morning.
“Z.” Sharper now.
But he won’t quit. “You’ve been there, what, three months? And suddenly you’re?—”
“Goddammit, Z, I’ve had a long day driving to get you, and I just need to catch up on sleep. Can you please just...stop?”