He reaches across the table with his right hand. Scars on his knuckles, coarse hair on the back of his hand. Funny how it grows there and not on top of his head. We shake hands; he’s got a grip like a lumberjack. He says, “You need a drive?”

“The ATV is parked out back.”

“See you at the house, then.” He gives me another of those smiles. “Barbecued spareribs and Caesar salad. Marigold makes the best Caesar from Yarmouth to Canso.”

After we walk out of the mall together, he waits until the ATV roars into action before he heads for his truck.

The river trail jounces me along. I’ve been alone with the whole Floyd thing for so long that it feels weird to have allies. Places I could go for help. People who would believe me. My gut tells me Rolf and Marigold would, the same way Tully and Docker did.

What will happen if Floyd finds out our dirty laundry is sloshing around at the Laundromat on Main Street?

Assignment: plot the number of people who know about Floyd on the horizontal axis, DQ (Danger Quotient) on the vertical axis.

Easy assignment, huh?

12.2 [Tully]

TULLY IS perched on the doorstep when I arrive. Under the trees, taking my time, I shift to neutral, put the hand brake on, turn off the ignition, swing my leg over the seat, and shove the key in my pocket. Then I walk across the grass.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi.” Her eyes are as turbulent as the river in spring ... and I gotta stop the Wordsworth crap.

She doesn’t say anything else. I can’t think of anything else to say. The crickets chirrup in the grass.

Then Cassie bursts out the door. “Guess what, Brick? Caramel can roll over and play dead.”

We all go indoors. The spareribs taste great, and so does the salad. Marigold takes me aside, apologizes, and kisses me on the cheek.

She looks tired, her belly dragging her down in the heat. While I load the dishwasher and Tully hand washes the barbecue tools, Rolf cleans the barbecue. Tully hasn’t spoken to me since we came inside. As water swirls down the sink, I make a stab at courage. “Tully, can we go outside for a minute?”

“Guess so.”

We leave Cassie lying on the carpet nose-to-nose with Caramel and stand in the shade by the fire pit. AQ is cruising the treetops. She says, talking fast, “The baby robins have learned to fly. Both of them.”

I run my fingers over my hair. Past time I went back to the barber. “Thanks for talking to your parents.”

“Since the day at the hunting shack, has your father beaten you?”

The lie starts tripping off my tongue. “Nah, he—” Then I stop. “He’s been ... difficult.”

“There’s a yellow smudge on your cheekbone. Looks like an old bruise.”

“He tripped me.”