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“That’s Moses.” I grab for the pepper mill. “Well, my years on the debate team finally paid off, I guess.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re the hero of the hour.”
I shrug.
“So what happens now?” he asks.
I shake my head. I can’t tell Barron what happened after I got off the stage, how Agent Jones tried to kill me and is now dead, how Lila is leaving town. To him it must seem like a large-scale prank, a joke I played on Yulikova.
“I think I’m done with the Feds. Hopefully they’re done with me, too,” I say. “How about you?”
“Are you kidding? I love being a G-man. I’m in for the long haul. I’m going to be so corrupt that I’ll be a legend down in Carney.” He grins, sitting across from me at the table and stealing a piece of toast off my plate. “Also, you owe me one.”
I nod. “Sure,” I say, with a feeling of dread. “And I fully intend to pay up. Just tell me.”
He looks toward the door and then back at me. “I want you to tell Daneca what I did for you. That I helped. That I did something good.”
“Okay,” I say, frowning. There must be a catch. “That’s it?”
He nods. “Yeah, just tell her. Make her understand that I didn’t have to do it, but I did it anyway.”
I snort. “Whatever, Barron.”
“I’m serious. You owe me a favor, and that’s what I want.” His expression is one I don’t often see him wear. He looks oddly diffident, as though he’s waiting for me to say something really cruel.
I shake my head. “No problem. That’s easily done.”
He smiles, his usual easy, careless grin, and grabs for the marmalade. I toss back the rest of my cup.
“I’m going to get Mom’s milk,” I say. “Can I take your car?”
“Sure,” he says, pointing to the closet near the door. “Keys are in the pocket of my coat.”
I pat down my jeans and realize my wallet is upstairs, under the mattress, where I left it for safekeeping before I went off with the Feds. “Can I borrow five bucks, too?”
He rolls his eyes. “Go ahead.”
I find his leather jacket and root around in the inside pocket, eventually coming up with both keys and wallet. I flip open the wallet and am in the process of taking out money, when I see Daneca’s picture in one of the plastic sleeves.
I slide it out with the cash and then leave quickly, slamming the door in my haste.
After I get to the store, I sit in the parking lot, staring at the picture. Daneca’s sitting on a park bench, her hair blowing in a light wind. She’s smiling at the camera in a way that I’ve never seen her smile before—not at me and not at Sam. She looks lit up from the inside, shining with a happiness so vast that it’s impossible to ignore.
On the back is the distinctive scrawl of my brother’s handwriting: “This is Daneca Wasserman. She is your girlfriend and you love her.”
I look at it and look at it, trying to decipher some meaning behind it other than the obvious—that it’s true. I never knew Barron could feel that way about anyone.
But she isn’t his girlfriend anymore. She dumped him.
Leaning against the hood of the car, I take one last glance at the photo before I rip it into pieces. I throw those into the trash can outside the store, nothing more than colored confetti on top of discarded wrappers and soda bottles. Then I go inside and buy a pint of milk.
I tell myself that he meant to throw out Daneca’s picture, that he just forgot. I tell myself I got rid of it for his own good. His memory is full of holes, and an outdated reminder would just be confusing. He might forget that they broke up, and embarrass himself. I tell myself that they would have never worked out, not in the long run, and he’ll be happier if he forgets her.
I tell myself that I did it for him, but I know that’s not true.
I want Sam and Daneca to be happy together, like they were before. I did it for myself. I did it to get what I want. Maybe I should regret that, but I can’t. Sometimes you do the bad thing and hope for the good result.
* * *
