About the same time, Paul appeared, walking up the street from the south, no sunglasses, no trenchcoat, a pretty normal looking kid. He had his own backpack slung over his shoulder and was returning from his day at high school.

“Hey,” he said to me, and then his eyes landed on the Virtue. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at it. There was no way I was going to let him drive it, not when he didn’t have his license yet. I prepared myself for an onslaught of argument.

Instead, he said, “Tell me this isn’t our car.”

I cocked my head. “Yeah, it is. I got it at the auction today. It’s a great car. Is there a problem?”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to drive that when I get my license. It’s one of those enviro-friendly cars. I’m surprised you were able to get it up the driveway. There’s nothing under the hood but gerbils.”

“It’s got a sunroof,” I said, but he was already walking past me into the house, snorting and shaking his head in disgust.

It’s a terrible burden, being the only one who wants to save the planet.

Chapter 12

12

I bounded into the house after Paul.

“Angie!” I called out. I mounted the stairs to the second floor and rapped on her bedroom door. “Angie, you in there?” When there was no answer, I opened it tentatively. “Angie, you home?”

The room was empty. I came back downstairs, passed Paul in the kitchen, and poked my head through the door to the basement. “Angie?”

“She’s not home, Dad,” Paul said. I was inclined to agree with him. I put one hand on the kitchen counter, resting. My heart was pounding, and I felt a little winded from running around the house. I was relieved that Angie wasn’t home, that Trevor hadn’t had a chance to find her here, but then again, where was she?

“What’s up?” Paul asked. “Did you get that car at the auction? Didn’t they have any cheap Beemers?”

“Where’s your sister?” I asked him.

“She’s at class, Dad,” Paul said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “She’s not going to be home now.”

Of course. I was an idiot. “Right,” I said. “Where else would she be?” Pulling myself together, I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer.

“Can I have one?” Paul asked.

“No,” I said.

“It’s not like I’ve never had a beer, you know,” he said. “And I think it would be a lot better, you know, if I had a beer in the open, with my dad, instead of, you know, trying to sneak around to have a beer.”

My mind went back to that six-pack left between the back of the garage and the fence.

“Is that what you do now, sneak booze?”

Paul’s face flushed. “Of course not.”