Tane tries hard not to smile, but I still see the corners of his mouth shift. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he says.

Fitzroy nods. “There’s one off Northside at West Paces.”

I grin, feeling ridiculously pleased for some reason. “Vámonos, muchachos.”

IT’S LATE BY the time Fitzroy drops us off in Chastain Park. The neighborhood is sleeping and we are the only ones on the street—all the residents are tucked inside their nice homes, feeling secure and safe. They don’t know how thin that illusion of safety is. Still, I don’t want to ruin that illusion for them, like it was ruined for me and Ethan. No one should have to go through that.

I pay Fitzroy, who takes my cash and holds his hand to his heart in a gesture of thanks, then drives slowly off into the night. I’m hot and sweaty and tired. My duffel bag hangs heavy off my shoulder. Tane is holding a pair of grease-stained paper sacks, now mostly empty, and a milkshake.

“You get enough to eat?” I ask. In the cab he inhaled two double cheeseburgers and an order of fries.

Tane sips on his milkshake, and only when there’s a loud gurgle does he stop. “Probably,” he says. He looks tired but content, full of carbs and meat and milkshake. “Where are we?”

“Your new home for the next couple of days.”

We walk up the driveway, which is long and humped from tree roots. Ethan’s house, which he rents from his neighbors Gene and Tony, could fit in some of the living rooms around here, but aside from my uncle’s place in Grant Park, Ethan’s house is the closest thing to a home that I know. Not that I’ve ever stayed here for more than a few weeks at a time, but that’s longer than anywhere else I’ve lived as an adult. It’s sentimental as hell, but no matter where I’ve been over the past few years, I’ve taken comfort in the idea that my brother is here in his 1940s bungalow, grading papers and living a productive, boring life.

“What’s wrong?” Tane asks.

“What?”

“You looked kind of sad for a sec.”

“I’m fine.”

A light is on over the front door, and as we approach the steps, barking erupts from inside the house. Tane freezes.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

Tane actually takes a step back from the house. “There’s a dog.”

“Yeah. You don’t like dogs?”

The barking continues, loud and insistent. Tane turns a white face to me. “You know this dog?”

“Oh, yeah. Fucking vicious, man.”