She was generous, too, always giving him things—T-shirts from places she visited, souvenirs and little keepsakes, anything to let him know she was thinking of him. Mostly little trinkets like this silver ring with the Town of Lake Crosby seal, but she had great taste, and occasionally she’d splurge on something nice, like the gold necklace she gave him for graduation. Her gifts often came in threes, for him and Paul and Micah.

“You’re so welcome, sugar. I figured you could use one for your dorm room this fall. How’s your summer going? Did you find a job yet?”

Jax shook his head. “Still looking.”

He wasn’t looking. The last summer before college, and the only thing he could get even remotely excited about was getting the hell out of this place. Sixty-six days until freshman orientation at Duke University, two hundred and eighty-eight miles of space between there and here. Jax couldn’t wait.

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon,” she said, leading him into the kitchen. “How’s your father?”

“He’s fine.” It was what everybody wanted to hear when they asked that question, but not Mrs. K. She stopped walking to give him a look, and he amended, “He’s a robot. My sister’s a Jesus freak. And they think I’m the one having difficulty adjusting.”

Her expression softened. “Everybody grieves in their own way, sugar. There’s no right or wrong to it, just...different. I realize it’s difficult, but try to remember that they’re hurting, too.” She reached out, patted his arm. “I’ll talk to your father and see if I can’t get him to be a little more supportive.”

The idea of Mrs. K dressing down his father made Jax laugh out loud, even though he was torn between amusement and hope she could actually do something to fix it.

He pointed to the music thumping on the ceiling. “Is that Paul?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s Paul. Tell him to turn it down, will you? Oh, and here.” She grabbed three Cokes from the fridge, shoved the icy cans at his chest along with a bag of chips from the pantry. “Take these up with you.”

“Who’s the third one for?”

“Micah.” She sighed. “Do me a favor and try not to kill him.”

9

We’re all the way to the top of the yard before Paul pulls me to a stop. “It’s not what you think.”

I laugh—both at the way the climb has me huffing like I’ve just run a marathon, and at the absurdity of his statement. “Paul, even I don’t know what I’m thinking. Like, zero clue. I just watched you lie to a police officer for reasons I can’t figure out, and then you made it pretty obvious you wanted me to do the same.”