for two. Oliver convinced me we should exchange numbers so I could give him a heads up when she took care of us. On those mornings, he stopped and got hot coffee at a shop between his house and the graveyard. We’d walk down to the river, and he’d take pictures of the water, the steamboats, the barges, and me.
The last Friday of summer break, Oliver made an early appearance to cut me off at the pass. When I stepped out onto the porch, an ancient Buick Roadmaster was parked in front my house. Oliver and a girl with fiery red hair were leaned against it, sharing a cigarette and waiting.
An unexpected surge of jealously swept over me the moment I spied them laughing together. As soon as he caught sight of me, he pushed away from the car and walked to the wrought-iron fence surrounding our yard.
“Good morning,” he said, like he wasn’t just swapping spit with some other girl via a Marlboro.
“Hi.” It was all I could get out, because why would he bring a date to my house? Was I a magnet for dickheads?
“This is my cousin, Troya.” He thumbed over his shoulder at his smoking partner. She flicked the cherry from the cigarette, stepped on it, and pocketed the butt before stepping up to join Oliver.
“Hey,” she said. “If this isn’t cool, Oliver can take me home so y’all can hang out.”
Hostility morphed into horror before my brain and mouth could catch up. “No.” I took the steps two at a time off the porch and walked down to unlock the gate for them. “It’s cool. I was surprised. That’s all.”
She grinned. “I told him to text you, but he never listens to me.”
“Muffins,” I said. “Miss Verity’s been making muffins all morning. Would you like some?”
Oliver glanced at her but ultimately let his stomach make the decision. “I do.”
“Whose car?” I asked.
“It’s Mitchell’s,” Troya answered.
I stopped short, and Oliver slammed into my back. “That’s Mitchell’s ride? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Oliver laughed and put his hands on my hips to steady us both. “Nobody wants a shitty old station wagon. He got that thing dirt cheap.”
Miss Verity wasn’t exactly pleased to see Oliver step into our kitchen with an unfamiliar girl trailing us. She eased up after introductions, and then the hostess in her kicked in. She told them about her sleeping troubles, said she’d been up baking for hours, and offered them warm homemade muffins.
Troya fell in love with the cranberry ones, while Oliver alternated between blueberry and chocolate chip. Van wandered into the kitchen moments after she pulled his personal favorites, banana nut, out of the oven.
When he noticed our visitors, he almost turned around. Instead, he took a deep breath, walked over to kiss Miss Verity on the cheek, and then made his way over to the fridge. He spent a quiet moment leaning forward and studying the contents. He settled on milk and pulled it out to pour a glass for himself.
“Anyone need a refill?” he asked, waving the gallon jug in the air. His voice was quiet, but it was the bravest thing I’d heard from him in a while.
“I do,” Oliver said. He stood from his seat and walked over to Van. The milk passed from one to the other like it was no big deal. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Van surprised us all by taking a seat at the table between me and Troya.
He didn’t talk much as we ate, but none of us did. Miss Verity was in cleaning mode a few feet away, washing dirty mixing bowls in the sink.
“You got plans today?” Oliver asked him before he could escape up the back stairs after breakfast.
“Uh, no, not really. I may go to the library. I’m not sure,” Van answered, immediately turning his back to leave us.
“You should come with us.” Oliver kept his voice light and even, like he had no idea what had happened to Van.
I was on the verge of stepping on his foot to shut him up when my brother’s voice rang out again, louder and clearer this time, with a touch
The last Friday of summer break, Oliver made an early appearance to cut me off at the pass. When I stepped out onto the porch, an ancient Buick Roadmaster was parked in front my house. Oliver and a girl with fiery red hair were leaned against it, sharing a cigarette and waiting.
An unexpected surge of jealously swept over me the moment I spied them laughing together. As soon as he caught sight of me, he pushed away from the car and walked to the wrought-iron fence surrounding our yard.
“Good morning,” he said, like he wasn’t just swapping spit with some other girl via a Marlboro.
“Hi.” It was all I could get out, because why would he bring a date to my house? Was I a magnet for dickheads?
“This is my cousin, Troya.” He thumbed over his shoulder at his smoking partner. She flicked the cherry from the cigarette, stepped on it, and pocketed the butt before stepping up to join Oliver.
“Hey,” she said. “If this isn’t cool, Oliver can take me home so y’all can hang out.”
Hostility morphed into horror before my brain and mouth could catch up. “No.” I took the steps two at a time off the porch and walked down to unlock the gate for them. “It’s cool. I was surprised. That’s all.”
She grinned. “I told him to text you, but he never listens to me.”
“Muffins,” I said. “Miss Verity’s been making muffins all morning. Would you like some?”
Oliver glanced at her but ultimately let his stomach make the decision. “I do.”
“Whose car?” I asked.
“It’s Mitchell’s,” Troya answered.
I stopped short, and Oliver slammed into my back. “That’s Mitchell’s ride? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Oliver laughed and put his hands on my hips to steady us both. “Nobody wants a shitty old station wagon. He got that thing dirt cheap.”
Miss Verity wasn’t exactly pleased to see Oliver step into our kitchen with an unfamiliar girl trailing us. She eased up after introductions, and then the hostess in her kicked in. She told them about her sleeping troubles, said she’d been up baking for hours, and offered them warm homemade muffins.
Troya fell in love with the cranberry ones, while Oliver alternated between blueberry and chocolate chip. Van wandered into the kitchen moments after she pulled his personal favorites, banana nut, out of the oven.
When he noticed our visitors, he almost turned around. Instead, he took a deep breath, walked over to kiss Miss Verity on the cheek, and then made his way over to the fridge. He spent a quiet moment leaning forward and studying the contents. He settled on milk and pulled it out to pour a glass for himself.
“Anyone need a refill?” he asked, waving the gallon jug in the air. His voice was quiet, but it was the bravest thing I’d heard from him in a while.
“I do,” Oliver said. He stood from his seat and walked over to Van. The milk passed from one to the other like it was no big deal. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Van surprised us all by taking a seat at the table between me and Troya.
He didn’t talk much as we ate, but none of us did. Miss Verity was in cleaning mode a few feet away, washing dirty mixing bowls in the sink.
“You got plans today?” Oliver asked him before he could escape up the back stairs after breakfast.
“Uh, no, not really. I may go to the library. I’m not sure,” Van answered, immediately turning his back to leave us.
“You should come with us.” Oliver kept his voice light and even, like he had no idea what had happened to Van.
I was on the verge of stepping on his foot to shut him up when my brother’s voice rang out again, louder and clearer this time, with a touch
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