His eyebrows knit together. “Wait, I thought you said the guy at Pear Magic was the guy who drove Luna away that night.”

“Same guy.” He gave his head a quick shake, confused. “Look, it’s a long story, and I’ll have four hours to tell it to you. You in?”

“I just got back to work. I can’t ask for time off to run to Vegas.”

“Good point,” I said. “That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s only four hours.”

I really meant that, but I wasn’t at all upset when he gave a long sigh and smacked the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “When do you want to leave?”

I smiled, victorious. “Tomorrow morning?”

“How about afternoon?”

“Whatever works.”

WE MET AT the police station. He tossed a backpack into the trunk of my car and got in.

“I’m driving?” I asked.

“It’s your trip,” he said. “I would hate to deprive you of the pleasure of taking charge.”

“I know when I’m being manipulated. Fine. I’ll drive. I’ve got gas. I’m rested. I’m sick of your crappy driving anyway.”

He slid down in the seat, rested his head on the seat back, and closed his eyes. “You keep telling yourself that.”

We drove for a few minutes—long enough to get on I-15—before I broke the silence. “Did you have a hard time getting away?”

He shook his head but didn’t open his eyes. “I told them I was having some migraines and needed to take a few more days to rest.”

“Good one.”

He turned his head slightly and opened one eye. “It was the truth.”

“Oh.”

He slept, his mouth slightly open, the back of his hair getting messed up. It was the sleep of someone who hadn’t been getting much. I knew the headaches were bad, but maybe I didn’t know how frequent they were, or what other effects he was still feeling from the accident. Maybe he was sore, tired. Maybe the confusion and forgetfulness bothered him more than I realized.

I turned on the radio but kept the volume low. It was like I was driving alone after all. But not. There was something about Chris’s presence in the car that centered me. The car felt yellow and a color I’d once heard described as Alice blue. So pale it was more a hint or feeling of blue than actual blueness. The color of safety.

I used to see that color when I was alone in a room with Dad.

Not anymore.

He finally woke up, and we stopped in Beacon Station to devour a late lunch—cheeseburgers at a bustling little gas station. We sat on a bench, enjoying the breeze while we let grease run down our arms and ketchup dot our fingertips.