None of my business.
“For now,” I add.
She looks away first.
While she gathers things, I clear the road. Boxes first, because a car coming around Dead Man’s Curve too fast won’t see them until it’s too late. I drag the plastic tub to the shoulder, then the lamp, then the coffee maker. A pair of shoes. A kitchen pan. Three paperbacks with cracked spines. A framed school photo of August that I set carefully on the passenger seat because even I know better than tossing a kid’s face into a box.
Amelia notices.
Says nothing.
Her silence is less sharp that time.
August stays in the booster, half-awake, watching me carry their scattered life out of the road.
“What’s your dinosaur’s name?” I ask him after the third trip.
He lifts the stuffed one. “Blue Rex.”
“Looks like a judge.”
His face brightens. “He is.”
Of course he is.
“What’s he judge?”
“Bad guys.”
I glance at Amelia.
She freezes for half a second over a stack of clothes.
Then keeps packing.
I crouch near the open door, careful not to crowd the kid. “He give fair sentences?”
August nods. “Sometimes volcano.”
“That’s strict.”
“Bad guys need lava.”
Can’t argue with that.
Amelia whispers, “August.”
“What? Jeremy said bad boys get punished.”
There it is. A name. Jeremy. I look at Amelia. She doesn’t look at me.
Good.
Let that name sit where I can see it. I’ll pick it up later.
Headlights appear around the far bend, slow and controlled. Not some drunk local. Not a stranger. A truck. Then another bike behind it.
Wildcat’s tow rig rolls into view, followed by Oaks on his Harley.