I snuggle into the pillow. It’s Augie’s pillow. He had made the bed up fresh for me, in the only bedroom in this crackerbox place. He and Dad thought I was asleep. I took a deep breath. It smelled

like a place only a man cleans, frowsty and tainted with a breath of cigarette smoke.

The slam of a shot glass on the kitchen table. Dad was drinking Jim Beam, and if he was doing it in

shots instead of sipping, it was going to be a long night. Augie stuck to vodka. “She’s safer here

than anywhere else. I’ve got to do this. For . . . for reasons.”

“Elizabeth wouldn’t—”

My ears perked up a little, drowsily. Dad never talked about Mom much. And apparently he wasn’t

going to tonight either.

“Don’t.” Glass clinked again—a bottle mouth against the shot glass. “Don’t you tell me what she

would and wouldn’t do. She’s dead, Dobroslaw. My little girl is all what’s left. And she’s gonna be

here. I think that bastard’s up Canada way, and when I come back—”

“What if you don’t, Dwight? What if I’m left with all this to deal with?”

“Then,” Dad said softly, “she’ll be the least of your worries. And you’ve got friends who know what

to do.”

“Not any I can trust.” August sounded morose. “You have no idea what you’re up against. I suppose

it would take tying you up and sitting on you to stop you.”

“You’d have to kill me, Augie. Let’s not push it, not with my little girl in there.” Raw bald anger under the edges of the words. If I’d been out there, I would have made myself scarce. When Dad

sounded like that, it was best to just leave him alone. He never got violent, but the cold scaly quality

of his silence when he was this pissed was never comfortable. “Besides, this could be another wildgoose chase. The bastard’s slippery.”

“Don’t we know it,” August muttered. It wasn’t a question. “A month. That’s as long as I can hold

off telling anyone, Anderson. And I’m not doing it for you. That girl deserves to be with her own

kind.”

Another silence, and I could almost see Dad’s eyes turn pale. All the depth would drain out of the

blue and he’d look like he’d been bleached. “I’m her own kind. I’m her kin. I know what’s best for

her.”

I wanted to get up, rub my eyes, and walk out into the kitchen. To demand to be told what they were

talking around. But I was only a kid. What kid can get up and march out and demand to be told

something? Besides, I didn’t know half of what I know now.

I still don’t know enough.