Because of where I’m standing, I can see that Cassie’s woken up; she’s sitting on the couch, rubbing her eyes.

Marigold says, “Brick, I hate this ... I feel as though we’re putting you on trial. But there’s something I have to ask—did you throw rocks at Igor?”

“I told Glenn I’d never do it again.”

She bites her lip. She’s disappointed in me. Makes me feel like I’ve swallowed broken glass.

“By God, boy,” Rolf says softly, “if I ever see you picking on anyone, kid or dog, I’ll have the cops onto you so fast you won’t see them coming.”

“I keep telling you, I’m not doing it anymore.”

But he’s not finished. “I asked you once if you do drugs. Snyder and his gang make a habit of beating up kids who double-cross them on deals. When you told us you fell off your ATV and banged up your face—you were lying, weren’t you?”

Panic streaks up and down my spine. Brain in overdrive and no solution in sight. Any thoughts of telling Rolf and Marigold about Floyd are dead in the water. They wouldn’t believe me; they’d think I was trying to pass the buck.

I shoot a look at Cassie. She’s standing beside the couch now, her thumb in her mouth. Keep it there, kid.

“Okay,” I say, “so it was Snyder. But—“

“That does it,” Rolf says heavily, pushing away from the counter and looking over at Marigold. Her face is pale.

“We still want Cassie to come here,” she says. “As often as she likes.”

“But you’re not welcome,” Rolf says.

No time to block that one. It rocks me clear to my toes.

Caramel has fallen asleep draped over Rolf’s socked feet. The ceiling fan is still whirring. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll take Cassie home right now.”

“We’d like her to stay for supper,” Marigold says.

“Then I’ll pick her up at seven thirty. If you can handle me driving into your yard.”

“One of us will walk her home,” Marigold says.

“No!”

“Why not?” Rolf demands.

“Opal doesn’t like visitors.” I gotta get out of here. “Seven thirty,” I say and I’m out the door and running for the ATV.

If the hot dogs were already on the barbecue, they’ll be charcoal dogs.

I can’t blame anyone but me for what just happened.

9.4 [scat]

THE RIVER trail is shaded and cool. Ferns slap the wheels of the ATV. When I turn off the ignition, their bruised scent clogs the air. For a long while I stare at the dark brown water, at the way it sweeps toward the rocks, breaks up into foam, rejoins the current. Always moving, always going somewhere. Doesn’t it know it’ll get swallowed by the sea?