“I want you to do something and not ask any questions, do you understand?” Mom’s voice was barely audible over the sound of the stove’s fan.

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to get your sister and go out to the car, okay?”

Right there and then he knew. Something was wrong. The way his mother looked and sounded today seemed different. The bruise above her lips was still swollen, but that wasn’t anything new. It was the look in her eyes, a look he’d never seen before.

“Where are we going?”

“Get Sara and take her to the car right now.”

He nodded. The smell of the sweet potatoes and the ham and the fresh biscuits and the macaroni pie all made his mouth water. But fear made his hunger go quiver in a corner.

Thomas wanted to ask his mother but he knew. The knowing part of him whispered for his mouth to stay shut and for his legs to start moving.

Getting Sara would be easy. In fact, doing anything now would be easy except taking Dad’s can of Coors Light away from him or turning off his game.

He was able to get his sister’s attention without a problem. She looked up when he came into the living room. She was eleven but she tried to act older. For a moment he mouthed that she needed to come, signaling for her to follow him. The game no longer interested him. All he could think about was his mother’s request.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his father asked.

Thomas hadn’t seen his father looking at him. Usually by now, about three-fourths of the way into the basketball game, he was in a semicoma that would only to be broken by another trip to the fridge.

“Every time you wave your arms Benny thinks you’re playing with him. So knock it off. Unless you’re going to take him outside for a walk.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sara didn’t need an explanation to follow into the other room. Dad’s tone was enough. Once inside the kitchen, Thomas guided her toward the back door.

“We need to go,” he said outside.

“Go where?”

“Away.”

“Where’s that? I’m hungry.” They walked quickly out the door and to the car.

The first thing Thomas thought of as he climbed into the musty-smelling Nissan was his bike.

The bike that he and Mom had finally saved up enough to buy, a used and recycled mountain bike that they’d spent a hundred and fifty bucks on. A bike that when new would have cost over a thousand. A bike that had seen better days but still had some life in it.

Maybe not much of a life after all.

Thomas thought about what to do about the bike. It was getting rusty and the paint was chipped but he still loved it. Maybe he could ride it and follow behind the car. Or maybe they could fit it in the fifteen-year-old Maxima.

They waited in the car for ten minutes. Ten whole minutes. He sat in the front seat looking at the small house with the wild shrubs growing unevenly around it and the rusted-out white truck that couldn’t fit all of them in the front seat.