Ann could have said anything, but to tell him to get out of her life? Nothing could have hurt more. He nursed that hurt all day at school, his stomach a mess. He walked home slowly, his backpack heavy from textbooks, his mood as low as the heavy clouds that hung over the lake. He used to be able to turn to Poppy, his former ally, but she was just as distant as Ann, stoned all the time and doing God knows what. She was never home. She’d finally found her group, a new crowd in his own grade that Michael didn’t approve of: Chris Bonner, Priscilla Madden, Leah Bagnoli, people with runny noses and long pinkie nails. They hung out at Fuel Café instead of Coffee Trader, went to the Grateful Dead tape night on Thursdays at Thurman’s, got high and played hacky sack on the UWM concourse. Poppy even dressed differently, in oversized burlap harga shirts, ripped jeans, and Birkenstocks. She snuck out at night, and snuck back in. She reeked, and her pupils were dilated.

The wind off Lake Michigan was strong and damp. He turned down Newberry Boulevard. The Gordon house, with its Victorian turret, was visible in the distance. A car with tinted windows pulled into a driveway just in front of him, practically rolling over his feet. The window rolled down slowly, like in rock videos on MTV when limousines slow down and musicians invite someone to join the party.

Only this was no limo, and it was no party. This was Anthony.

“What are you doing here?”

“Get in, Michael. Let’s go for a ride,” he said. “We need to talk.”

THE CAR SLID THROUGH THE STREETS on the East Side toward Lake Michigan, where it turned south to head downtown. Stately mansions lined Lake Drive, huge Tudors and Colonials, homes that were bigger, nicer, classier, and more solidly built than Anthony’s place on the Cape. Ann once told Michael that she thought it was a bad omen if the lake and the sky were the same color. On this day, they were the same flat dark gray.

“Milwaukee isn’t bad,” Anthony said. “Parks, the lake. Old houses. I expected factories, Laverne and Shirley. Happy Days.”

“Why are you here?” Michael asked.

“I’ll bet this does seem curious.”

What a pompous ass, Michael thought. “Curious”? More like wrong. To see Anthony in Milwaukee was about as normal as seeing the waves crash sideways. “What is this about?” Michael asked.

“It’s sensitive. And it concerns you. Me. And Ann. Your sister.” He put special emphasis on that word. “It’s important to her that we talk. But let’s not discuss it now, not while I’m driving.”