flapinthebackdoorsohecancomeandgoashepleasesanywayandhe spendsalotoftimeoutdoors.There’snowayhe’sgoingtogetlost anywherewithintenmilesofthisplace.’
Amynodsandopensthelittleplasticgateonthecarrier.MrTibbles shootsoutlikeablackrocketandscampersaroundthebackofthehouse.
‘Ithinkhelikeshisfreedom,’Isay.‘Seeyoulater.’
Idriveontotheroadandtakealeftintotownandthegirlsarestill wavingtomeasIdisappearfromtheirsightbehindtheroadsidehedge.
*
DadisleaningunderthebonnetofaFordFocusinthegaragecarpark whenIgetback.HelooksoveratmeasIgetoutoftheLandRoverthen goesbacktostudyingtheFocus’engine.Justwalkpasthimintothe garage.Don’tsayanything.Justgoinsideanddotheoilchangeonthe Novainthere.
IwalkpasttheFocusandalmostmakeitinsidethegarage.
‘Wherehaveyoubeen?’
‘Latelunch.Itoldyou.’Igetmyglovesfromtheworkbenchandput themon.
‘Yeah,butwhere?’
‘Itookadrive.Didn’tfeellikeeating.’
‘Drivetowhere?’
‘Doesitmatter?’
Hecomesoutfrombeneaththebonnetandstandssquareontome.
Standingthereinthesunwithhisarmsbyhissideswithawrench grippedinhislefthandhelookslikeanoldgunfighterfromaWestern movie.Lastofadyingbreed.
‘Itmatters,’hesays.
DoIlietohim?IcouldlietohimbutIdon’twanttoandIdon’tsee whyIshouldhaveto.Afterall,I’mtwentyyearsoldandIcandoasI damnwellplease.ButifItellhimthetruthitwillhurthim.He’lldrink evenheaviertonightandwe’lldescenddownintothathellishspiral again.
‘Iwasoutwithafriend.’
‘Andthis“friend”wouldn’thappentobeBethAnderson’sniece wouldit?’
‘IcanseewhoIwant,Dad.’
Hecomestwostepscloser.‘Isshefillingyourheadwiththesame stupidideasherauntwasfeedingyou?’
Idon’tevenanswerthat.
Heshakeshisheadasifhe’sdisgustedwithme.‘Getinthereand changetheoilonthatNova.Anddon’tgetideasaboveyourstation.
Jameswastoogoodforthisplacebutdon’tstartthinkingyouare.James couldhavemadesomethingofhislife,couldhavebeensomeone.But you…you’renoone.’HereturnstotheFocusandshoveshisheadback underthebonnet.
IgetintothepitbeneaththeNovaandputanoilpanonthefloor beforeusingatorquewrenchtotakeoffthebleedscrew.Iwatchasdark brownoilpoursfromthecarandpoolsinthedrippanlikeoldblood.
CHAPTERSIX
Gone
Amy
Iwakeupfast,notknowingwhatIwasdreamingaboutbutknowing thatIdon’twanttogobacktosleep.Icheckmyphone.Sevena.m.I groanandrestmyheadbackonthepilloweventhoughIdon’tclosemy eyes.Isuddenlyrememberwhatdayitisandfeelawaveofdepression threatentodrownme.
TodayisthedayDellfliesbacktoAmerica.
IfeellikecryingbutIhavetoputonabravefaceforDell.She alreadyhatesleavingmehereandIdon’twanttomakeitanyharderfor her.She’sbeenamazingthepastsixdays,helpingtogetthebookshop backinbusinessanddoingmostofthecookingaroundthehouse.Notto mentionkeepingmesanewithherbanterandmakingmelaughasshe rateseverymalecustomerwegetintheshop.Andherconstantribbing aboutStokerdoesn’tevenbotherme.
Ihaven’tseenhimforthreedaysandthelasttimeIsawhimwasin town.Helookedlikehewasinahurry,stridingpurposefullydownMain Street,soIdidn’tcatchhisattention.I’vebeendrivingtotownandback intheVolvoeverydaybecauseDellrefusestowalkandnowI’mpretty skilledwiththegearsbutapartofmestillwantstoseemoreofStoker.
I’mgoingtomakeDellbreakfasttoday.Wehaveeggs,bacon, sausagesandtoastandIintendtomakeheragoingawayfeastbeforethe taxicomestocollectherateleventhirty.EventhoughtodayisFridayand probablyagooddayforbusiness,thebookshopisgoingtostayclosed andI’mgoingtospendthelastfewhourswithDelldoingwhatevershe wantstodo,whichmeanswe’llprobablyjuststayinthehouseandwatch TV.WhichisfinebymebutbeforeDellgetsup,there’ssomethingI needtodo…somethingI’vebeenmeaningtodosinceIgotahandleon howtodrivetheVolvo.
IleavemyroomandcreeppastDell’sdoor,eventhoughastampede ofbuffalointhehallwaywouldn’twakeher.Heralarmissetfornineand untilthemshewillbedeadtotheworld.
Igodowntothehallwayandputmysneakersonandgrabmybrown leatherjacketfromtheclosetunderthestairs.ThenIgooutthroughthe kitchentothebackdoor.There’snosignofMrTibblessoIassumehe’s
Amynodsandopensthelittleplasticgateonthecarrier.MrTibbles shootsoutlikeablackrocketandscampersaroundthebackofthehouse.
‘Ithinkhelikeshisfreedom,’Isay.‘Seeyoulater.’
Idriveontotheroadandtakealeftintotownandthegirlsarestill wavingtomeasIdisappearfromtheirsightbehindtheroadsidehedge.
*
DadisleaningunderthebonnetofaFordFocusinthegaragecarpark whenIgetback.HelooksoveratmeasIgetoutoftheLandRoverthen goesbacktostudyingtheFocus’engine.Justwalkpasthimintothe garage.Don’tsayanything.Justgoinsideanddotheoilchangeonthe Novainthere.
IwalkpasttheFocusandalmostmakeitinsidethegarage.
‘Wherehaveyoubeen?’
‘Latelunch.Itoldyou.’Igetmyglovesfromtheworkbenchandput themon.
‘Yeah,butwhere?’
‘Itookadrive.Didn’tfeellikeeating.’
‘Drivetowhere?’
‘Doesitmatter?’
Hecomesoutfrombeneaththebonnetandstandssquareontome.
Standingthereinthesunwithhisarmsbyhissideswithawrench grippedinhislefthandhelookslikeanoldgunfighterfromaWestern movie.Lastofadyingbreed.
‘Itmatters,’hesays.
DoIlietohim?IcouldlietohimbutIdon’twanttoandIdon’tsee whyIshouldhaveto.Afterall,I’mtwentyyearsoldandIcandoasI damnwellplease.ButifItellhimthetruthitwillhurthim.He’lldrink evenheaviertonightandwe’lldescenddownintothathellishspiral again.
‘Iwasoutwithafriend.’
‘Andthis“friend”wouldn’thappentobeBethAnderson’sniece wouldit?’
‘IcanseewhoIwant,Dad.’
Hecomestwostepscloser.‘Isshefillingyourheadwiththesame stupidideasherauntwasfeedingyou?’
Idon’tevenanswerthat.
Heshakeshisheadasifhe’sdisgustedwithme.‘Getinthereand changetheoilonthatNova.Anddon’tgetideasaboveyourstation.
Jameswastoogoodforthisplacebutdon’tstartthinkingyouare.James couldhavemadesomethingofhislife,couldhavebeensomeone.But you…you’renoone.’HereturnstotheFocusandshoveshisheadback underthebonnet.
IgetintothepitbeneaththeNovaandputanoilpanonthefloor beforeusingatorquewrenchtotakeoffthebleedscrew.Iwatchasdark brownoilpoursfromthecarandpoolsinthedrippanlikeoldblood.
CHAPTERSIX
Gone
Amy
Iwakeupfast,notknowingwhatIwasdreamingaboutbutknowing thatIdon’twanttogobacktosleep.Icheckmyphone.Sevena.m.I groanandrestmyheadbackonthepilloweventhoughIdon’tclosemy eyes.Isuddenlyrememberwhatdayitisandfeelawaveofdepression threatentodrownme.
TodayisthedayDellfliesbacktoAmerica.
IfeellikecryingbutIhavetoputonabravefaceforDell.She alreadyhatesleavingmehereandIdon’twanttomakeitanyharderfor her.She’sbeenamazingthepastsixdays,helpingtogetthebookshop backinbusinessanddoingmostofthecookingaroundthehouse.Notto mentionkeepingmesanewithherbanterandmakingmelaughasshe rateseverymalecustomerwegetintheshop.Andherconstantribbing aboutStokerdoesn’tevenbotherme.
Ihaven’tseenhimforthreedaysandthelasttimeIsawhimwasin town.Helookedlikehewasinahurry,stridingpurposefullydownMain Street,soIdidn’tcatchhisattention.I’vebeendrivingtotownandback intheVolvoeverydaybecauseDellrefusestowalkandnowI’mpretty skilledwiththegearsbutapartofmestillwantstoseemoreofStoker.
I’mgoingtomakeDellbreakfasttoday.Wehaveeggs,bacon, sausagesandtoastandIintendtomakeheragoingawayfeastbeforethe taxicomestocollectherateleventhirty.EventhoughtodayisFridayand probablyagooddayforbusiness,thebookshopisgoingtostayclosed andI’mgoingtospendthelastfewhourswithDelldoingwhatevershe wantstodo,whichmeanswe’llprobablyjuststayinthehouseandwatch TV.WhichisfinebymebutbeforeDellgetsup,there’ssomethingI needtodo…somethingI’vebeenmeaningtodosinceIgotahandleon howtodrivetheVolvo.
IleavemyroomandcreeppastDell’sdoor,eventhoughastampede ofbuffalointhehallwaywouldn’twakeher.Heralarmissetfornineand untilthemshewillbedeadtotheworld.
Igodowntothehallwayandputmysneakersonandgrabmybrown leatherjacketfromtheclosetunderthestairs.ThenIgooutthroughthe kitchentothebackdoor.There’snosignofMrTibblessoIassumehe’s
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