Nate had worried about what he’d do if he had to buy gas, but luckily, his mother had filled the tank the day before, which would give him enough, he hoped, to make it the three hundred miles to Warm Springs.

He opened the door on Junie’s side, but he didn’t slam it shut in case the sound might wake their mother. “Buckle your seat belt, J,” he told her. Then he went around to the driver’s side and climbed in. As usual, their mom had left the key in the ignition.

“Are you allowed to drive?” she asked him. “Won’t Mom be mad?”

“Probably.” He turned the key. Slowly, he pulled out onto the gravel road.

“When will we get to see my dad?”

“Today.”

“I wish I was wearing my cowboy boots.”

“It doesn’t matter, Junie. You look great just the way you are.”

They were on the road now, heading toward town. They passed another station wagon delivering newspapers, and a milk truck. Nate sat as tall as he could in the seat, hands at ten and two, eyes on the road.

He had driven his dad’s truck up to the mailboxes and back and plenty of times to the grain elevator. Then there’d been that time chasing Bucky. But he’d never driven more than a couple of miles before.

“Is it okay if I talk, or do you need your whole brain to concentrate?” Junie said after a while.

“You can talk,” he told her, staring straight ahead. “Just don’t ask me to do math problems or anything.”

“I was just wondering,” she said, “what you think it will be like when we get to the place where Dad is. I was just wondering if it’s a house or what.”

“It’s probably more like a hospital,” Nate told her. “He might share his room with some other people, I don’t know. He might even be in a bed.”

“But he isn’t really sick,” she said. “He just got shot.”

“He might not feel that good, Junie. He might be kind of sad.”

“That’s why we’re going to see him, silly,” she said. “To cheer him up.”