My mom and Bob are deep in discussion at the dining room table, which is still cluttered with dirty dishes and half-eaten hot dogs. Kenny is distracting Lucas with a video on the iPad. Francisco is pacing back and forth in the living room. Before any of them can stop me, I slip out the front door.

CHAPTER 44 Mercedes

My chest pounds and my legs burn. When I reach the swing set, I fling myself onto the grass. The sun scorches my eyes and I squeeze them shut. I want to shout. Yell. Scream. I open one eye. Laurel Park is empty except for a squirrel running up the live oak. So I yell.

“Ahhhhh!” It feels so good, I do it again. “Ahhhh!”

I remember once, when I was four, I stole a pack of bubble gum from the candy aisle at the grocery store after Mom wouldn’t buy it for me. When I climbed into the car, I opened the pack and popped a piece in my mouth. She looked at me in the rearview mirror. “What are you eating?” she asked.

“Not eating. Chewing gum,” I said with a grin.

“Where did that come from?” I held out the pack of gum. “Did you steal bubble gum?” I nodded. She pulled the car to a stop on the side of the road and got out. She snatched the gum away and told me stealing was wrong. But I remember being confused. I wanted the bubble gum and she had taken it away. I started crying and screaming. That made her more mad. The two of us had temper tantrums on the side of the road. That’s how it usually goes with Mom; I get her attention but never in the right way.

Now I can have bubble gum whenever I want. In fact, I get most things I want, almost as soon as I want them. But I’m still angry. Because those aren’t the things that I want. They’re just things. I want to feel whole. I want to fill up whatever is missing in me.

“Stop!” someone is calling out. “Stop! What’s the matter?”

How humiliating. I sit up and wipe my face with the backs of my hands. Who caught me behaving like a baby?

“There you are!”

It’s Mattie. She’s bending at the waist, hands on her thighs like she can barely stand up. Her face is red and damp with sweat.

“You’re out of shape,” I say. But I smile because I’m so glad to see her.

“I was worried!” she pants.

“Huh,” I grunt. “Was anyone else worried?”

“Francisco was ready to call the police.”