Adrian inhaled on the cigarette again and then dropped it to the sidewalk. He stamped the cigarette out with the toe of his shoe. “Let’s just go back to Palm Springs.”

I glanced back at the hotel. “We should get you some water or something. You took down that vodka pretty fast.”

He nearly smiled. Nearly. “Takes a lot more than that to make me sick. I won’t throw up in your car. I promise. I just don’t want to stick around and risk seeing him again.”

I complied, and before long, we were back on the road again. We’d spent less time in San Diego than it had taken to drive there. Adrian stayed silent, and this time, I didn’t try to coax him out or distract him with meaningless conversation. No words of mine would help. I doubted anyone’s words would help. I didn’t blame Adrian for his mood. I’d feel the same way if my father had laid into me like that in public. Still, I wished there was something I could do to ease Adrian’s pain. Some small comfort to give him a moment of peace.

My chance came when I saw a small gas station outside of Escondido with a sign reading BEST SLUSHES IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA HERE AT JUMBO JIM’S! I remembered his joke about switching to a slush-based diet. I turned my car off the highway, even though I knew it was silly. What was a slush compared to the disaster we’d just left behind? Still, I had to do something—anything—to make Adrian feel better. He didn’t even seem to notice we’d stopped there until I was getting out of the car.

“What’s up?” he asked, managing to drag himself out of his dark thoughts. The look on his face tore me apart. “You’ve got half a tank.”

“Be right back,” I said.

I returned five minutes later, a cup in each hand, and managed to knock on his window. He got out of the car, truly puzzled now. “What’s going on?”

“Slushes,” I said. “Cherry for you. You have to drink it out here, though. I’m not risking the car.”

Adrian blinked a couple of times, as though maybe I was a mirage brought on by too much sunlight. “What is this? A pity party for me? Because I’m so pathetic?”

“It’s not always about you,” I scolded. “I saw the sign and wanted a slush. Figured you’d want one too. If you don’t, I’ll throw it away and just drink mine.”

I only got one step away before he stopped me and took the bright red slush. We leaned against the car together and drank without talking for a while. “Man,” he finally said, when we were about halfway through. There was a look of wonder in his eyes. “I’d forgotten how good these are. What kind did you get?”

“Blue raspberry.”

He nodded and slurped loudly on his. That dark mood still hung around him, and I knew a childhood beverage wasn’t going to undo what his father had done anytime soon. The best I could hope for was a few moments of peace for him.