And then you got to Decker, and you found out you didn’t know jack shit.The pressure between his knees.The Cheetos breath on the back of his neck.
He got out of the car.He’d find a gas station.Buy a cup of coffee.Stretch his legs.
What were you thinking?
It had been the surprise.The shock of seeing him again.
What the fuck were you thinking?
He hadn’t been prepared.It had been too long.He’d almost forgotten about it until he saw him again.
And now you can’t go into Rainbow House.And Daniel’s scared of you, even if he makes jokes about it.And if you get arrested, what’s Tean going to do?Is he going to wait around for you to get out of prison so you can still get married?
Coffee.Maybe a donut, even if it was stale.Maybe he’d buy a pack of Marlboros and take up smoking just to have something to do.Did they still make those candy cigarettes—
Crossing the street ahead of him, lit up so clearly he might as well have been standing in a spotlight, was Wendell.
Jem froze for a moment.It’s dark.And he can’t see me.And then those thoughts were gone, and his head was empty and black and there was something moving through it, as big and as dark as he was, like the night Tean had taken him down to the Jordan, the cloudy night, the pitch-black night, and you knew where the river was only because you could see where it wasn’t.
Jem dropped his shoulders, shoved his hands in his pockets, blew out a breath that tattered away from white into nothing.Be cool.It was that easy.Be cool, be cold, be ice.Be that black river you can’t see; you can only see around it.
His hand dipped into his pocket.
The point of the barrette was still as sharp as a knife.
The ROOS didn’t make any sound as he walked.Slow.No hurry.When you hurry, when you rush, you fuck up.You’ve got to keep a handle on your shit.You can’t fuck up now.
What are you doing?
Out from under the streetlight, Wendell was nothing but a shadow that flickered in the headlights of passing cars.But then he got to the next streetlight, and he was on stage again: a North Face coat, dark jeans, pointy-toed boots.His hair was smoothed into place, and now Jem could smell the faint hint of aftershave.Grey Flannel.It had been like a cloud inside that house.It had been like fingers—
On his waistband.
—around his throat.
And then Wendell started up the steps of Rainbow House.The porch lights wrapped around him.He stamped his feet at the doormat and went inside.
Jem stopped.His hand was aching around the barrette.His fingers were cold.
He slid his hand back inside his pocket and watched the house for another minute.He could go inside; Nasha wouldn’t be able to stop him, not physically.But he let that play out in his head like he was watching a video: the arguments, the shouting, the police.
He turned back the way he’d come.
This time, though, he passed where he’d parked and kept going.This was still a no-parking zone, so he turned at the next street.This one was better lit, with a Sinclair on the corner and then a twenty-four-hour laundry and then apartments where most of the windows were dark.Cars were parked along both sides.He ignored the ones that were covered in snow.Not a minivan.Not a truck.Maybe a crossover, but not too big.No kiddie stuff in the back.
That almost made him laugh.
It was almost the exact same Mercedes, a two-door coupe.Almost the same goddamn one.Some things didn’t change.Cream colored.The inside spotless.It wasn’t any good for kids.A coupe?Get real.And that light upholstery, you were asking for trouble.Why hadn’t anybody at child services wondered about that?Why hadn’t anybody seen the car and understood that something wasn’t right?
The same reason Nasha let him walk into Rainbow House and talk to—
Daniel.
—boys: He had money.Everybody needed money.
Jem tried the driver’s door handle.Nothing.
What are you doing?
