“You could at least call to ask how I am, Austin,” she said, “instead of harking back forty years. I’d like to know why you’re living there and not with me or your father! Have you lost interest in me completely?”

“No, Mom,” he said desperately.

“As your father has lost interest in me.”

“Mom, he hasn’t lost interest, he just doesn’t know what to do next.”

“And about our last phone call. I’d like to know why you hang up on your own mother. I’d like to know just what kind of son you are.”

He really was very like his father. He could not frame his questions and answers as quickly as she could. His mind was stumbling with this conversation, and he took too long. She was the one to hang up without saying good-bye.

His eyes stung. When I have children of my own, he thought—and he had never thought about his future children, the possibility of them, but now he thought of them—when I have children of my own, they will not have to call me up, because I will already be there.

What made his mother so terribly angry? It could not have anything to do with the history of Shell Road. And it could not have anything to do with Henry and Monica Fent, because Mom’s relationship with her parents had always been infrequent and strained.

He did not want his relationship with his parents to be infrequent and strained.

He felt as if the last few days with Macey had been a balloon, shining and soaring—and temporary.

Like a little kid after a bad day in kindergarten, all he wanted was to go home.

Monday spun Macey around.

There was a boy next door and they were in love.

Of course, then she didn’t see Aus the entire morning. She hardly minded. It meant the school was waiting, as she was: Down some hall, behind some classroom door, it was keeping Austin for her.

Macey finally spotted him after lunch and yelled, “Aus!” at his broad back. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with a band collar, soft faded blue stripes with that J. Crew look, and she thought, Pretty soon I’ll have his clothes memorized; I wonder if he’ll have mine memorized. She yelled, “Aus!” again, and he half turned and waved, but walked on.

She ran after him. “Hi, Aus,” she said.

He nodded at her with a sort of tight-lipped recognition. “Hey, Mace.”

She fell in step with him.

He didn’t say anything.

She thought, I should have worn different clothes. I should have put on makeup.

“I called my dad,” he said. “I might just head on back to Chicago.”