“Not on purpose.”
He thinks that over with terrible seriousness. “Are you a good guy?”
I almost laugh.
It sticks in my throat.
“No.”
August frowns. “Are you a bad guy?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
“I’m asking.”
I sit back on my heels.
Nobody should have to answer this kind of question before finishing coffee.
“I’m not a good guy the way cartoons mean it,” I say slowly. “I’ve done bad things. I’ll probably do more. But I don’thurt women. I don’t hurt kids. And I don’t let bad men through doors I’m guarding.”
He studies me.
Then nods.
Apparently that passes whatever moral court he has running inside his head.
Blue Rex would be proud.
He returns to taping the cereal-box door.
Then, quieter, “Do you fake like me too?”
The words go through me so clean I can’t breathe for a second.
Do you fake like me too?
I look at the top of his head. The messy hair. The little shoulders. The dinosaur shirt Sophie found for him because the women around here turn emergency into errands, and errands into love before anybody admits it.
I think about my mother’s door.
Ray’s boots.
The bat in my hands.
A woman choosing fear because love was too expensive.
I think about August opening the bedroom door at four in the morning just to see if I was still there.
No, kid.
That part ain’t fake.
The answer is out before I can make it safer.
He looks up.
My chest gets tight.
