The air outside was an uncomfortable mix of hot and cold. The taste of cigarettes was in my mouth and so I lit another.

“Everywhere,” I said.

In silence we moved together over the Island. I wanted to lock Paige in that shed, leave her there until the slab of concrete cracked below her body and the earth made her better.

“You want to go find Tyson?” JP asked. “We can kick his ass.”

I laughed away some of the heat in my face. “I’d probably kill him.”

“Well,” JP poked me gently. “I’m going to find Tyson and then head home. I’ll give him a punch for you.”

At home, Frick’s truck was parked where it had been in the morning, and I leaned on it, flicking chipped paint and rust while I looked at the house. The small lamp next to the couch was turned on, and Frick sat on the couch with Mom, and he was raving about something. One hand in the air, then another. He stood once, had that man-stare looking down on a woman, and Mom pointed at the couch and he sat his ass back down. He rubbed his head, and then his eyes.

I left the truck and went to the shed. The door was open and I looked in. Paige was face-first on the cold concrete. Her body was close to a metal fold-out chair that she probably fell off of. I flicked my lighter and searched for something soft, which wasn’t difficult since Mom hoarded all kinds of old quilts and pillows and sheets and curtains.

Paige snored. I tucked a garbage bag filled with some blankets or sheets under her head and then draped a quilt over her. I left the shed door open a crack so in the morning the sun would bother her awake.

The screen door squeaked when I pulled it open, and squeaked when I closed it. “Hey,” I said.

Frick stood and looked at me. “Time is it?” he said. “Ain’t you got school tomorrow?”

I kicked off my shoes, flinging dirt over the kitchen rug.

“You that drunk you don’t know what month it is?” Mom said.

He stood and mumbled something. His braid was undone, and his hair stuck to the sweat on his cheek. When nobody said anything, he walked to the kitchen sink and splashed water on his face. He reached in the cupboard and took down a pill bottle, twisted the lid off, and shook two into his palm and popped them in his mouth. He put the bottle back into the cupboard, and then he stuck his head into the sink and drank from the faucet. He forgot to turn the faucet off after he dried his face and hands. He walked down the hall—a shoulder bumping into the wall—and disappeared into Mom’s room.