Ralf started his car and drove off. As the restaurant shrank in his rearview mirror, Tupac’s voice played from the speakers, singing about how all he needed was his girlfriend. Girlfriend was a metaphor, Ralf knew—the song was really an ode to a firearm. Ralf would much rather have a flesh-and-blood girlfriend than the beaten-up piece of crap currently sitting in his glove compartment. He could smell the faint odor of oil and metal. Once he had used it, he would dump it somewhere. Tonight would be the first and also the last time in his life that he would aim a gun at somebody.

13

13

Helen examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Foundation, mascara, lip gloss. That should be more than enough: she was just going out for something to eat with a good friend. A friend who saw her every day without a trace of makeup on and wearing a shapeless blue uniform with a stupid cap on her head, for that matter. So why did she feel the need to add a touch of eyeliner now?

She walked back into the bedroom. There were four outfits lying on the bed. She still hadn’t made a decision. Jeans or a dress? High heels or suede ankle boots?

Friends, Helen. You’re going out for dinner as friends.

In the end, she opted for a dress. Green, not too tight, with low heels on her feet. A few bracelets. She spun around in front of the mirror. Perfect. Feminine, but not too feminine.

“Mom, I’m heading out now.” Thom stuck his head through the bedroom door.

She walked over to him and gave him a hug. He was getting tall—already taller than she was. She felt his firm shoulders, the emerging strength of his young body. A little while longer and Thom would be a man. It was suddenly all happening so fast. “Have fun tonight. We won’t see each other again before I leave for England. Promise you’ll do everything your grandma and grandpa say?”

He sighed deeply. “When are we gonna be allowed to stay home on our own? We can totally look after ourselves.”

“You’re not quite old enough for that yet.”

“Mom, we won’t do anything stupid.”

She stroked his hair. “It’s not about whether I trust you. I’m just worried that something might happen if we aren’t here.”

“Mooom.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course nothing will happen.”

“There could always—”

“Mom, listen.” He looked at her, deadly serious. “You always get overprotective like this. Nothing has ever happened here, and nothing ever will.”

“Thom—” She swallowed. “There was a break-in at the neighbors’ place last week.”

“Yeah, while they were out. And we have an alarm.”

That you always forget to switch on. “Be patient. Just a few more years,” she said.