The thing was that some gerrymandering quirk had landed Indigo Hills in what had become, thanks to the outlet mall’s tax revenue, one of the best school districts in the state. It wasn’t like he would ever be able to afford a stand-alone home anywhere else in town, at least not anytime soon. And even if he had the money to afford rent elsewhere, there was no way he’d get a chance to sign a contract, let alone be invited to a house viewing. Word was that the state judiciary had recently developed a phone app that put a comprehensive database for background checks in the front pocket of every hiring manager and landlord out there. His status as a felon not only forced him to check the box and out of the voting booth, but also barred him from getting any form of state assistance—welfare, food stamps, Medicare, housing—as well as ever clearing a background check for a decent home. Regardless, it was essential to keep Junior enrolled in this school, as much for the quality of education and all the door-opening opportunities it could bring as for the boy’s emotional well-being. The kid had been put through enough. Had already lost his mother, was soon to lose his home. This school was the last sliver of stable ground beneath the boy’s feet.

And so walking away with his tongue bitten in a charade of poise was Henry’s only option. Not only would he make amends with and promises to Sandi, he would even be doing a favor for the movers, who, just like everyone else today, would be itching to join friends and family, pop bottles, watch the ball drop on TV, then kiss their special someone at the stroke of midnight.

After the gas and electricity had been cut, all their dinners had to be prepared on the grill outside. A few nights Henry’d had to shovel a path through the snow to get to it, where he stood bundled up to his nose, turning hot dogs and stirring a pot of rice, watching his breath swim away with the smoke and steam. But once they hit the road, parking lot barbecues wouldn’t be an option. Impractical, dangerous, sending literal smoke signals to child services. And even though he’d seen chutes of barbecue smoke drifting up from the Walmart parking lot, he refused to join their ranks and raise his son in a mobile shantytown. He didn’t know if that made him an arrogant prick, didn’t care if it did, and so never gave it a second thought.