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Hunter smiled. He liked this girl. “Something like that.”
“So what’s with your mom? Why are you so mad at her?”
He glared back at the sky and decided maybe he didn’t like this girl that much.
Hannah shrugged and he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, she was practically hysterical when she found out you weren’t here. They must have been talking about the unidentified kids on the news. Michael had to tell her about fifteen times that you had gotten home from the carnival, that you were fine.”
Hunter scowled. He wished that didn’t make him feel guilty.
They sat there in silence for a long moment.
Then Hannah said, “Look, either you’re going to talk or I’m going to have to finish the story about the guy who chopped off his penis. Your call.”
Hunter snorted with unexpected laughter.
Then he sobered, thinking of those unidentified kids. “I don’t know how you can joke after—after last night—”
“Because the alternative is going crazy? If you can’t fix what’s wrong, you focus on what you can make right.”
Hunter looked at her. “My dad used to say that.”
“My dad, too. It’s a good dad thing to say.”
The sudden emotion grabbed Hunter around the throat, and he almost couldn’t breathe through it. He hated this, how it never came on slowly but instead snuck up like a ninja to punch him right when it was least expected. He had to shift to the edge of the chair and press his fingertips into his eyes.
Hannah scooted to the edge of her chair, too, until she was close. She touched his shoulder, and there was something secure about it, something steadying. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Michael said your dad and your uncle died in a car crash.”
Now Hunter knocked her hand away, and he straightened. “I don’t want to talk about it. What are you even doing out here? I don’t even know—”
“You can’t fix it,” she said, her voice strong and even, as if he hadn’t interrupted. “You can’t.”
“I know that! You don’t think I know that? I can’t fix any of it!”
“It wasn’t your fault. Has anyone ever told you that? It wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t know anything.” God he was sick of the lectures. She and Michael were perfect for each other.
He flung himself out of the chair and stalked through the door.
Chris and Nick were in the living room with Becca. They all looked up when he passed. Becca called out to him, but he kept going—up the stairs instead of out the door.
Then he locked himself in the bathroom and tried to keep from punching the mirror.
He needed to calm down.
Breathe.
What the hell did Hannah know? Had Michael sent her out there? He was ready for a knock at the door, for someone else to want to talk.
It made him think of Kate, how she’d been willing to do anything but talk. Only her methods of diversion weren’t this unpleasant.
He turned the faucet on cold and splashed water on his face, letting the water run off his chin. He looked up at the mirror to make sure it didn’t look like he’d been crying.
Then he kept on looking.
