Pa gingerly moved his neck side to side, front to back, and then swallowed several times. “Nothing a few aspirin won’t take care of.” He slowly stood and I joined him and we both made a quiet exit, not wanting to disturb the awfulness of what had just transpired.

We began the mile-long walk home, letting the darkness of night keep us company. Seemed that was the only companion Pa preferred anyway.

Once we neared the porch, I whispered, “There’s some of Foxy’s aloe ointment in the top bathroom drawer. It would do those scratches on your neck good.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that. You get on to bed now,” he ordered in a hoarse whisper but I couldn’t move.

“Pa . . .” The words rattling around my mind wanted me to ask why he tried killing himself again. They also wanted me to demand he go get some help, but in the end I chickened out. “I love you.”

He returned the sentiment before disappearing inside the dark house. Shaken to the bone, I followed.

With less than three hours total of sleep, I managed to get everyone to school and dropped off Boss to Tripp.

Needing a break as well, I decided to swing by Miss Wise’s house but her car was gone. Disappointed, I continued on toward the farm. With the images of Pa crumpled in a heap of rope and splinters fresh in my mind, the Silver Bullet shot right past our driveway. It happened with such ease that I decided to see how long that feeling would last.

It lasted all the way to Lake Murray, but after sitting on the brick steps of Vance’s porch for the better part of an hour, that ease began to morph into a ragging anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I’d peeped into the garage. The truck was parked inside, but his new sports car wasn’t in its spot. The car was what he preferred to drive to campus, claiming it was easier to park, so I figured he must have gotten held up at school for some reason.

Another half hour passed before the black Mustang pulled past the gates. My relief at watching it circle around to the garage was short-lived as three more shiny expensive cars pulled in behind him. A parade of fresh-faced preppy types exited the cars and moved toward me, each one with a grocery sack. Guys in an assortment of pastel polo shirts, collars flipped up in that annoying style, pressed Bermuda shorts, and tan boat shoes. The three girls were a feminine reflection of the guys, but with bright-white Keds. Each one offering a fake smile.