“She’s six,” he said, shaking his head. “She should be having fun.”

I looked from one to the other, wishing I could just disappear. Or better yet, be like Christian. They never fought because of Christian. Mom was right: He was always fine on his own and he never needed training wheels.

“Fine, you want to do this, go right ahead.” Then she went inside, leaving the two of us staring at each other in mild surprise. Mom didn’t give in often, if ever. Maybe she felt bad for yelling at me on my birthday. Or maybe she was just tired. Of me.

Dad called in sick, bought a set of training wheels, and spent the day teaching me how to ride a bike.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” he told me in the afternoon when we were done, and I could tell that he meant it.

I felt so good, being out of Mom’s ice storm and basking in the warmth of his praise.

“Did Christian really do this without training wheels?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking. It was always there—he was always there, two steps ahead of me, and I was always chasing him.

“I don’t remember,” he said. “I really don’t.”

I didn’t believe him. Christian was a prodigy, always faster, better.

“Your mom—” He broke off, sighing. “Listen to me, Remy. None of that matters. What Christian did or didn’t do isn’t important. And besides, this just means we get to spend more time together, right?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, hadn’t thought he’d want to spend time with me.

“We’ll do this every day until you win the Tour de France,” he said, shooting me a wink.

“What’s that?”

His laughter was infectious. “Just a silly joke. But we’ll do this every day until you’re the best bicyclist in the neighborhood,” he promised.

“Better than Christian?” I asked, not believing him.

“The best.” By the end of the week, the training wheels were off. I didn’t need them anymore, but that didn’t mean I didn’t need my dad anymore.

• • •

“I love birthdays,” Elise said, bringing me back to the Cadillac and the stars. “It always means one year closer to freedom.” She stretched her arms overhead in an exaggerated yawn.

“True,” I said. “I can’t wait until I’m out of that house.” Away from my parents and their path of destruction. I’d leave and never look back.

“What will you do? Where will you go?” Elise asked, flicking her cigarette away, a burning streak of orange against the night.

I released a stream of smoke, watched it mark the air. “I don’t know. I just want to get out.”

“Come on,” she said, her eyes on me. “Use your imagination.”

“I guess I’d be in college.” I shrugged, tossing my cigarette as well. I watched it hit the pavement, its spark bursting, then dying.

“Really? That’s it?” Elise said, shaking her head in disbelief, her dark hair brushing her face softly. “What about after?”