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“What the fuck do you know about what’s likely?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
That’s where the line is, then. Junipers are an acceptable topic of conversation. His dead father is pushing it. Speculation about what’s going to happen next? Out of bounds.
West leans forward and flips on the radio. The music is loud, hammering hair-band rock.
I turn it off. “When’s the funeral?”
“Whenever they get the body back from the coroner.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not going.”
“Okay.”
More silence. Dark green forest closes in on both sides of the road. We’re climbing now, heading into the foothills.
“How long are you staying?” West asks.
“As long as you need me to.”
He stares at me so long, I start to get nervous we’re going to drive off the road. “What?”
“When’s school start?”
“The twenty-eighth.”
“Two weeks.”
“Two and a half.”
“You’re not gonna be here two and a half weeks.”
“Whatever you need.”
West looks out the driver’s-side window. “You shouldn’t have come.”
I’ve already thought the same thing, but it hurts to hear him say it. “It’s nice to see you, too, baby.”
“I didn’t invite you.”
“How sweet of you to notice, I have lost a little weight.”
His eyes narrow. “You look scrawny.”
Stung, I drop the act. “I’ll be sure to put on a few pounds for your visual enjoyment.”
“If you want to say Fuck you, West, go ahead and say it.”
“Fuck you, West.”
His jawline tightens. When he reaches for the radio, I knock his hand away.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you,” he says.
“You’re supposed to let me help.”
