Yeah. Not happy about our methods. Upsetting Evie is the last thing I wanted. And now that I’m out of Adrian’s hospital room, I’m a little embarrassed we had an argument with a guy who just wrecked his car and broke his ankle, asshole or not.

I didn’t handle any of that well. At all.

“Sorry,” Lucky says. “But after what he did to you … If I’d known he was in there, I wouldn’t have gone in. Hope Evie’s okay.”

Me too. Exhaling a couple of times to rally my courage, I start to tell Lucky that I’ll go check on her, but movement through a pair of doors near the restroom snags my attention.

Cat-eye glasses, bright retro-red lipstick. Mom.

She strides toward us, handbag tucked under her arm and face lined with worry. She’s walking alongside some guy I don’t recognize.

Lucky spies her too, and I can practically feel all the energy around him withdrawing like a turtle on the side of a highway sensing an out-of-control semitruck headed its way. “I’m gonna take off. Your mom doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“Yeah,” I say on a long exhale, “I’m going to be in so much trouble for being here with you.”

“Not sticking around for that. I’ve already filled my drama quotient for the day.”

“Wait!” I whisper loudly to his back as he turns to leave. “What about our payment arrangement? This doesn’t change anything.”

He turns his head toward me briefly, eyes cast downward. “I need to think about it.”

Before I can respond, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and takes off down the hall. When he passes my mom and the young ginger-haired guy she’s with, he says something briefly, a stiff nod of his head, and then he’s gone, disappearing around a corner.

Dammit. None of this is going right.

Now I have to deal with my Mom, strutting in here on the arm of some young-and-pretty dude in topsiders and a pastel polo shirt, in front of God and everyone.… It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’s the reason she wasn’t answering her phone this afternoon.

So, yeah. Think I’ve filled my drama quotient too. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of walking away from my supremely messed-up family.

Not yet, anyway.

Chapter 9

NO SENIOR DISCOUNTS—YOU SHOULD HAVE THE MONEY BY NOW: Handwritten sign in the window of the kitschy and beloved Revolutionary Doughnuts in the South Harbor district. The always-packed doughnut shop is popular with both locals and tourists. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 9