He shifts his weight and the door swings shut. I gasp. I don’t mean to. He’s shocked. It was an accident. He’s scared that he scared me. Worried what I think. He reaches for the door handle.

“Sure,” he says. “Give him the change?”

“Keep it.” I don’t know if I’m supposed to tip. I don’t stay in places this nice. If a tip is expected, it’s a terrible one.

“Have a nice trip,” he says. “I’m sorry about… all the confusion.”

He shuts the door and the tears come fast. I run into the bathroom and splash cold water, but it feels like drowning. I cough and sputter and cry like there’s something inside me trying to escape.

Deep breaths and I sit on the bed and put my head between my knees. In. Out. Dig my thumbnail into the fleshy part of my opposite hand. I get it under control. Choke it down. Banished to the very bottom of my lungs. But still there.

When I get to the car, Justin is sitting on the trunk, with his duffle bag in his lap, swinging his legs. He smiles and waves when he sees me. I expected him to be upset about his dad, but relief has made him perky.

“I can probably get you back to Binghamton on what I have.” I’m sure Arnie will let me play again or tend bar or something, so I can pull together what I’ve lost.

“I don’t want to go back,” Justin says. “If I do, my dad wins.” He’s not concerned with my drained reserves. It’s paid for. It’s over. He’s not getting arrested. He wants to win this battle I don’t even understand. But I’m not sure I have it in me to tell him I’m done. To stay in the car with his disappointment all the way to Binghamton. And then to be alone again.

If we keep going, I don’t know how Justin will get back. But I don’t make an issue of it. He knows how much money I have left. I decide he can make his own decisions, but then he says, “There’s always Motel 6,” and I realize he doesn’t understand.

“I think I know a place where we can stay,” I tell him. “On Anna Maria Island.”

“Is there a beach?” Justin asks.

“Yup.” I’ve been there before. I know my way around. Stay for free. Pick up a gig or at least play on the beach. Bradenton is half the miles it would take to get to Binghamton and I’m still tired. I’d rather push the crisis to the end of the week.

“That works,” he says, smiling. He hops off the trunk and gets in the passenger seat.

— Chapter 39 —