The afternoon was hard. Nina and Ben tended their mother through the nausea. Mr. Nickelsen paced from his bedroom to the sliding glass doors, gradually returning to something like his normal color as the memory of the chemotherapy unit faded. He smoked a cigarette outside, with the clouds gathering to make more rain. Ben tried to convince himself the nausea was better this time, mentioned it twice, until his father shook his head and said, “No, it’s not, son. It’s just like it always is.”

That night after dinner Ben drove Ronny back to Chapel Hill.

They were quiet at first, overflowing from the visit, Ben shocked at the look of his mother after chemotherapy, lifeless and gray. About the time they crossed into North Carolina, Ben started talking. “Nina says she can be at the house on weekends, to give me a break. She’ll get there on Friday. Dad will just have to be alone if I take you back Thursday morning and decide to stay with you.”

He meant that the two of them would do this every week, that Ronny would be there. “That sounds good. We’ll have some time together that’s not at your house. Or maybe we’ll be able to.”

“What’s up? You feeling all fucked up and doubtful again?”

Ronny shook his head. “I’m just thinking that anything can happen from here, that’s all.”

Ben nodded, grinding his jaw, staring at the road, headlights playing over his face.

“It’s been intense the last couple of days. Maybe I’m just wiped.”

“Rest up in the car, then,” Ben said. “You don’t need to keep me company.”

“Seems a shame to sleep.”

He chuckled. “Why? I’m not going anywhere. Lay your head down on the seat.”

He did, and closed his eyes. His head was actually on Ben’s thigh, which was spread to its usual position for driving. The engine ran through them both like a song; now and then Ben lay his arm on Ronny as they drove quietly through the countryside in the dark.

“You asleep?”

“No. I’m listening.”

“I’ll probably stay in town tomorrow night since Nina’s at home. I want to party with the boys some. I think I need to blow it out a little bit.”

“That sounds smart.”

“So I doubt I stay at your place tomorrow night. I’ll crash in the room with Tate or something.”

“Or pick up some girl.”

“Well, it’s possible, if I get drunk. I cannot make any promises.” Ben pulled Ronny closer, shifted his thigh some. “If you were a girl you’d be quite a little cat bitch. I’d hate to cross you.”

“I would, too. In fact, if I were you, I would hate to cross me now.”

Farther along the road, Ronny asked, “You don’t get jealous, do you?”

“Only once or twice. Not much.” He rubbed his chin, rested his hand on Ronny’s side. “I don’t know, though, if I was to catch you with somebody. That would be ugly, right there.”