“I know. Jesus.” Kyle gives me a grumpy look, too.

But I already know how this is going to play out—a long, cold season doing farm work after putting in a full day at my other two jobs.

“If we all pull together, it will be okay,” my mother says.

“That’s right,” Kyle echoes. “And cold drinks when the work is done. That’s the Shipley way.”

He makes it sound so simple. Meanwhile, I’m sitting across the table, trying not to scream.

In this house, that’s the Shipley way.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Some saves are guesswork

I pass a difficult night in the passenger seat of my car.

In the first place, it’s harder to find a safe place to park than you’d think. Being invisible isn’t easy. I’m afraid to lurk where the cops might notice me. I suppose I could google homeless shelters in Vermont and find one.

But I don’t want to. When I was eighteen, I spent some time in homeless shelters. I’d rather not repeat that experience. I am never going to be that terrified teenager again. I don’t want to go back to that defeated mental state. I don’t want to even say the word homeless. I’m just between houses at present. At least this time I have a car. I’m locked in and safe.

That’s what I’m trying to tell myself, anyway. But sleep is fitful. Every little sound wakes me up. I’m parked behind a dumpster in back of a karate dojo. I keep expecting to see a police cruiser pull up with its lights flashing.

Also, my legs are numb, and whenever I try to roll over, I smack my knee against the door.

I doze fitfully. At some point during the darkest part of the night, my thoughts turn to my ex, Brian. He’s asleep in our bed right now, sprawled out and comfortable. His bed. It was never really ours. I spent three years loving him on his terms. Hiding our relationship in public. Feeding on the scraps of attention he was willing to give.

On some level I always knew he wasn’t capable of loving me back, even though he would sometimes tell me he did. But just as often he’d push me away. He’d “forget” about our plans, or change his mind at the last minute. He did these things just to keep me on edge—to prove that I wasn’t really necessary in his life.

Eventually I got clingy and threw down an ultimatum, which he pretended to consider. But then? He cheated just to make sure I knew he was in charge.

That’s the Cliffs Notes. And now I’m sleeping in my car, because he froze me out of our bank account the minute I left town. At a gas station in Massachusetts I realized he’d canceled my credit cards, too.

Forget my numb ass—it’s hard to sleep when you’re questioning all your life choices.

Dawn comes eventually. I blink my bleary eyes and make a plan. First I’ll hit the Colebury Diner for a cheap plate of eggs. Then I’ll brush my teeth and wash my face in the men’s room.