“There’s never been a doubt in the world about that,” Asher says, then runs his thumb over one of Justin’s eyebrows. Somehow that’s always been a comfort to Justin and somehow Asher knows that.

“How about if we go to the beach today, when I finish working?” Asher asks. “You like that?”

“I guess,” Justin says, but it’s clear by the brightening of his face that the main thing he needs right now is to get out of this cottage, to move.

9

9

The Everything

They are leaving the beach and the warm air has already dried them completely. Justin’s beach towel is hung around his neck and one end of it flaps in the wind behind them like a flag.

Justin knows they can’t go on like this very long. He is imagining how it will happen when the cops finally catch up with them. He can see it all in his mind, so he closes his eyes, washing the image away, and then opens them again: At the far eastern edges of the yellow sky there is a green feathering of clouds moving in low, hovering just above the water. A storm approaching. Very far away, still, but moving fast.

They ride the scooter by houses with sandy yards. Then to streets lined with shotgun houses painted pink, yellow, green, purple. Past people on their porches, coming out to see the gloaming settle over the island. Music pumps out of one of the houses—a thrumming bass and drums—and two men are dancing on the front porch, caught up in the song, unaware of each other. As the scooter zips by, Justin turns his head and watches the dancers until the turquoise-colored house is out of his sight.

A rooster struts down the sidewalk as if on its way to the grocery. The green streaks of cloud are taking over the sky and the smell of rain spreads itself out over the island and people pause and sniff at the air. The first drops glisten on the orange-brown feathers that run down the back of the rooster’s neck, but he pays this no mind.

Around a corner and then they are at the giant buoy they had first seen when they arrived. Justin begs to stop and since it’s easy enough to park the scooter on the sidewalk, Asher obliges.

“Will you take my picture?” Justin says, rushing around to stand by the buoy, and for a split second Asher goes to pat his pockets for his phone, but it is lying on the bottom of the Cumberland River, back home.

Justin looks so small standing there that Asher pauses. Small, and scared, and confident, all at the same time.

“You gonna take it?” the boy asks, expectant, hopeful.

“I don’t have a camera. I threw my phone away.”