He was so tired, but he hated sleeping. He couldn’t remember a time when thinking everything would be okay hadn’t turned out to be a trick of the light. Peace was a feeling that seeped away as soon as it ever settled in him, something that blended into the air with every breath he let go of. And just as meaningless.

The thought of breaking a window in John’s house held surprisingly little glee for Roy. Just another ugly thing in an ugly life. He tried to picture delivering the painting to Marcelline, her triumph, her hugging him in happiness and even gratitude. It would pay. He could maybe . . .

Hope hurt in his already-groaning stomach. He wasn’t the only way for her to get the painting. She could do it herself. He was so tired.

He put the truck into neutral and let off the parking brake. His right foot held the whole thing in place. He pumped the brake, rocking the big truck on its exhausted springs. The tree frogs chirruped, call and response. The truck was so full that it would sink like a boulder.

Roy knew that he would be able to stay still as the water rushed into his lap, into the crook of his arms as he held the steering wheel, all the way up to his unscarred jaw.

But he didn’t know what he’d do when it closed over his head. Would he sit still and just let it happen?

He slid his foot off the brake. The truck lurched down the bank a full roll of the tires, slipping backward toward the water, then a little faster into the next rotation.

Roy jammed his foot back down and stomped the parking brake into place. The truck snapped to an obedient stop, just waiting for its command. Give it gas and go forward, back onto the road and into tomorrow, to do what she’d asked of him. Or give up the brakes, pull up your fool foot and let it go, relent into the slide, and surrender backward. Either way was fine with the truck. It didn’t mind.

He grabbed up the lace pillow that still smelled of flowery perfume only at the edges. He covered his face with it and screamed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Mom, where’s the picture that was hanging in the front hallway?” Carly asked.

Her mother looked up from her computer, distracted, mentally replaying the question that she hadn’t clearly heard when Carly asked it. “Um, John took it down when he nailed up that new thing, but I don’t know where he put it. I think he got rid of it with the rest of the stuff. Why? Did you want to hang it up somewhere? Is there a blank space we need to fix?”