I didn’t answer but just kept walking.

“Can I help you with something in particular?”

I turned and asked, “Do you have, like, a DIY section?”

“Sure thing. You making slime? I have about a hundred books on making slime.”

“Maybe, yeah,” I mumbled, wishing life was still just as complicated as making slime and getting in trouble for leaving it on tables.

“Thataway.” He gestured to the back, returning to his own book, open in front of him on the counter.

I lost myself in there for a while, reading up on woodworking and welding projects, looking for anything that might help me. Hunting and the outdoors, just in case. Eventually I emerged with my head full of ideas, and I thanked Big Al, who I think had forgotten I was there. He waved at me as I left, never lifting his head from his book. The door jangled on my way out.

I stopped at the hardware store, where I got my supplies: some plumbers’ pipe and other odds and ends that looked so innocent in my cart. I swung them in a bag from my hand, and it felt like they were radiating justice.

I went home, where Mom and Reg were eating spaghetti at the kitchen table. Reg was sitting in my spot.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mom asked, her mouth full.

“Out.”

“You feeling better?”

I shrugged.

Reg shook his finger at me all buddy-buddy. “You might have called your mom, you know. She was worried.” He winked, and I looked at Mom scrolling through her Instagram.

“I left my phone here, so couldn’t,” I grumbled.

I helped myself to some food and sat in what used to be my dad’s spot. Mom started talking about her clients. I tuned her out, my mind already way ahead of her. I cleared my plate, glanced at Reg, who had sauce on his moustache, and headed to my room.

“You’re welcome for dinner!” Mom called after me.

Now I write a note telling Mom I’m working at the library all day on a project. The excuse is so weak that I can hardly believe I’m writing it, but she will barely glance at it. She and Reg have a “mini-break” planned for this weekend. A mini-break, like she’s in a Bridget Jones movie. They are just going to Sherkston Shores campground with her friend Holly’s trailer, but Mom has been acting as though they’re going off to Europe. Point is, she isn’t exactly paying attention.

I leave my phone on my dresser. I know what awaits me if I turn it on. They can all go to hell. And with that, I pack my supplies, and I am out the door into the warm summery morning.