“Sally’s brother. He moved to Colorado. I used to go to his house in the afternoons. He picked me up from school my sixth grade year, it was right after my dad left. They knew us there, at the restaurant. I always got the kids’ meal. Fajitas and a queso puff.”

“I love queso puffs,” I said. “I could eat one right now.” I was high.

“I think Sally paid him to take care of me. She was always at work. He didn’t have a job.”

She sounded strange, like her words came from far off.

“You keep in touch with him?” I said.

“He sends me a birthday card with twenty dollars in it every year. I always throw it out.”

“Even the money?”

“Yeah. I don’t need his fucking money.”

“Shit, you should give it to me,” I said. “I’d take it.”

“Ha. Too late.” Her birthday was a month ago already.

“You’re a spoiled brat.”

“Yep.” She laughed.

“Why do you throw the money away?” I said.

“He used to fuck me.”

“What?” I said.

She pointed at the refinery, the pipes interwoven, going every direction.

“I loved driving past here. You can see it from the freeway. I used to pretend fairies lived in it. They made the fires with their magic.”

“Are you serious?” I said. “It’s not funny.”

“Give me a cigarette.”

She wasn’t smiling. We sat smoking, listening to the car radio. I was shocked.

“Does Sally know?” I said.

“I told her, after he moved away,” she said. “It’s weird, though. I don’t think she remembers.”

“How could she not?”

“It was a long time ago. There was a lot going on.”

“Danielle, that doesn’t make sense.”

“She was such a freak after my dad left. It would have upset her and caused problems. She didn’t want me home alone. Without Uncle Alex I would have to take the bus home from school and be by myself in the afternoons.”

“But maybe if you’d told her sooner—”

“She wouldn’t have cared, she was fucked up already. The divorce was bad. My parents were both such jerks. She worked late, she got drunk every night on her fancy bottles of wine. I basically stayed in my room and watched TV.”

“Danielle, my god. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It should be her. She should apologize.”

“Well, he should,” I said. “Fucking bastard.”

“He came to visit, at Thanksgiving. I guess it was a couple of years later. We had a bunch of people at our house. And he showed up.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nothing. He ate dinner. I didn’t talk to him, I was at the kids’ table in the breakfast room. They gave us that sparkling apple juice that comes in a fake champagne bottle.”

“Why didn’t she throw him out? Or call the police?”

“I don’t know. I figured she must have forgotten. How could she invite him to Thanksgiving?”

She was crying then. I hugged her.

“God, I hate her,” Danielle said. “I fucking hate her.”