Ladarius, being Ladarius, didn’t answer. He just walked on into her trailer, opened the refrigerator, and helped himself to a gallon of milk. He drained half of it, wiped off his short mustache, and turned back to her. “Doing shit.”

“Doing shit mean you can’t answer your damn phone?”

He shrugged and leaned against the kitchen counter, playing with the keys in his hand and refusing to look her in the eye. Ladarius McCade was a good-looking kid and damn well knew it, having been with TJ off and on now for the better part of the year. They met at the church revival out at The River, both of them coming back to the cross after a few side roads over the years. Like TJ, Ladarius had left school as a sophomore, throwing in with his Uncle Dupuy down in Sugar Ditch, doing things and running games he didn’t talk about. Over the summer, he’d tried to cut it flipping burgers over at the Sonic and that had all gone south after a week, the manager calling Ladarius no-good and lazy after catching him listening to Yo Gotti and smoking a blunt in the bathroom. Ladarius took it all in stride, saying weed made him a better cook. He could feel the right time for the flipping, make sure they were crispy and juicy at the same time. Just like the sign out front promised.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ladarius asked.

“What’s wrong with me is that the sheriff showed up with one of his deputies last night,” TJ said. “They drove up a little past midnight, giving me hell, waking up John Wesley and asking about when I saw my momma last.”

Ladarius nodded, stroking his thin wispy goatee. Cool, taking it all in. His hair shaved tight at the sides and the back, the top fade styled big and bleached blond.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you,” Ladarius said. “What’d you tell them?”

“You know,” TJ said. “Just like we talked about. I told him she was mud riding and partying down in Colfax, Louisiana. I said she’d gone and met a new man.”

“And who might that be?”

“Sheriff didn’t ask,” TJ said. “But if he would’ve asked, I’d’ve said it wasn’t none of my damn business. Or his damn business. Folks around here know how my momma is. She ain’t happy until she’s kicking one boyfriend out and hooking up with a new one.”

“Ain’t it the truth.”

“Ladarius?”

“Yeah?”

“What did I say?”

“You said you can talk about your momma but I can’t,” he said. “It’s cool. I get it. I get it.”