I blink. Several times.

“It’s an option. You play it right, you could serve some time, not a lot, keep your mouth shut and if you just happen to mention to someone you’re Mozart’s daughter...”

Then the cops would always be watching me. If Mozart’s daughter had become a dealer, then they’ll think that maybe I’m trying to reclaim his glory and the moment I was released, I would be the equivalent to a rat in a science experiment maze. Ricky wouldn’t want me back because I would bring unwanted attention to his business, and he wouldn’t touch me if he thought there were eyes on me.

My blood tingles. This could work. I serve time, but I could stay in Louisville. I wouldn’t have to stop being me. I open my mouth to say something, but Linus turns his back to me and walks down the ramp. “Goodbye, Abby.”

“Bye, Linus,” I say softly, and he glances over his shoulder at me and winks.

Another piece of my previous life fades from view and I begin to contemplate jail.

Logan

Outside crickets chirp and a half-moon smiles down at us as I hug Mom goodbye.

“It’s late,” I say. “You can crash here if you want.”

Mom pats my cheek then with one hand tries to squish my cheeks together like she did when I was younger, but fails. “Your father isn’t the only night owl. I’m used to being up late myself.”

She lets me go and frees her crazy curly hair from her ponytail and ruffles it out. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Would you have a problem with it?” I ask. “Me dating a girl who sold drugs?”

Mom tilts her head in amusement and I give a short laugh. Of course she wouldn’t.

“As long as she made you happy. That’s all I want, Logan, your happiness.” Mom’s gaze becomes far-off as she looks over my shoulder. “I want his happiness, too.”

She’s watching Dad. He’s in our garage with the hood up on his truck.

“I did him wrong and I regret it,” she says. “Be careful of whose hearts you play with, including your own, there’s some damage that doesn’t heal.”

A lot like the hole that will be left in my heart when Abby leaves.

She blinks then smiles like she didn’t just say something deep. “You’re going to stay with me when you go to school in Louisville, right? Don’t be stubborn and make the thirty-minute drive here.”

“I’ll stay with you some.” And I’ll also drive home to Dad’s. I love my mom, but I also like real food.

“Good. While you’re staying with me this year, I think I’ll be taking a man hiatus. Sort of like a cleanse. I think it’s time I figure out who I am without one.” She explains this all with a smile on her face, but there’s hurt in her eyes.

“Don’t have to do it on my account.”

The smile wanes. “I’m doing it for me. I’m tired of being alone. Even with someone in my bed, I’m tired of being alone.”

Not sure what to say to that, I hug my mother, long and hard. She kisses my cheek, and without another word, slips into her car and drives off. Her red taillights disappear around the long winding curve of our gravel drive.

Exhaustion from the past few days weighs me down, but I head to the garage regardless. Dad’s got a wrench and he’s doing something to his carburetor. We’ve spent countless hours in here since I was a kid after Mom left. We fixed cars, refrigerators, window units, washing machines, and even took a crack at a broken iPod.

At work he makes things. Out here he fixes things. Never buys new. Keeps things running longer than their expected shelf life, maybe even when it’s time to give up. He tried to make a life for him and my mom and it didn’t work. He couldn’t fix her. He couldn’t fix me. Maybe it’s time to fix himself.

“Mom says she’s taking a guy hiatus when I start school,” I say.

Dad’s eyes flicker to me from the belly of his truck. “That should be interesting.”

“Maybe you should do the opposite.” I rub the back of my head, unsure of how this will go.

The cranking of the wrench stops. “What?”

“Maybe you should...” Damn, bad idea. This is as comfortable as eating nails. “...date.”

Dad stares at me, motionless for a few seconds, then returns his attention to his truck. “Date?”

“Yeah. From the stories Mom tells you were capable of it once along with a few other things.”

“Your mother brought that out in me.”

“And maybe somebody else can, too.”

The wrenching stops again and then he continues, “You were in love with her? This Abby?”

I nod and then realize he doesn’t see it so I say, “Yeah.”

He straightens then goes to the workbench, cleaning then putting away his tools. “Not sure how I would have felt about you dating a drug dealer.”

“Not sure you would have had a choice.”

“A lot of that going around with you.” Dad leans his back against his bench and stares at his truck. “You’re wrong. I’m not ashamed of you.”

I don’t respond because he’s always been on me to be responsible and I get some of what he has to say, but the adrenaline junkie in me, it’s part of who I am, just like the diabetes.

“And you were right. Not knowing what you want to do doesn’t mean you don’t know who you are. I just worry about you. Hate to see you hurt.”

“You were right with me and taking care of the diabetes. I’m done with ignoring the diabetes, but the adrenaline stuff—I can’t promise that’s going to change. You worrying? Maybe you need to start focusing less on me and more on you.”

Dad nods because we’re both reaching our conversational and emotional limits for the night.

“I’m too old for dating.” But he didn’t say it like he meant it. He said it in the same tone he uses when discussing Mom’s cooking. The type where he still eats the meatless ball.

Next to Dad’s old truck is my grandfather’s 1950s Chevy that led me to Isaiah, who led me to Abby. Ever since I was in a car accident last spring with Isaiah, I haven’t touched the car. Seeing the disappointment in Dad’s eyes as I once again screwed up in my hunt for an adrenaline rush has kept me from getting behind the wheel.

It’s a beautiful car. Deserves more than a dusty garage.

Maybe Dad needs more than a date. Maybe Dad needs to remember how to live.

I dig for my keys in my pocket. “There’s this flat stretch of road between here and Chris’s where I’ve heard people can catch some awesome speed. I think we should try it. Me driving.”

I leave out I’ve already driven there and won more than a few drag races.

“Air conditioner has been making some weird sounds—”

“I’ll consider the pump if you come with me.”

That shuts Dad up.

I jack my thumb to the car and Dad starts for the passenger side. “Not too fast.”

I open the driver’s side and slide in. “Fast, Dad. We’re going fast.”

Abby

“I love you.” I kiss Grams on the forehead and ease away from her bed in the living room. The window is open and the white curtains billow in with the warm breeze.

Grams is awake and while she holds my hand, there’s absolutely no recognition in her blank hollow eyes. She watches me as if I’m a specter. Something she’s not sure is really there or what it is.

I think of the night I came home from the hospital and hug that memory tight. That was the last time she remembered any of us. The last time she remembered herself.

“All the drugs will be out of the house and I’ve already paid the nurses for three months of service. After that, sell the house and place her in one of those nice nursing homes. I checked the market, and homes here go fast. Respectable neighborhood and all.”

I wink and my uncle Mac tries to grin, but that’s a hard feature for such a weathered face.

“Even still, visit her daily in the nursing home. Read to her, even if it has to be from the Bible. Make sure they’re taking care of her. If you piss or drink the money away or don’t take care of her, Isaiah will know and then I will know and then you’ll be very happy I can’t reach you, but know someday I will find you.”

Mac doesn’t flinch at my threat, only gives a dry laugh. He’ll take care of her. If I can do what I am doing, he’ll do this for me.

I study the old man in front of me. The two of us may have made different choices in our lives, but we’re the same type of person. A bit of good and a bit of bad.

“Take care of you, too,” I say.

“I will,” he answers. “Same to you.”

I nod and drink in the house. The peeling wallpaper. The ever persistent grandfather clock that rings hourly to tell me that time is wasting away. The ghosts of memories. The happy times and the sad.

But like always, I don’t have the luxury of time to reminisce. I have a job to do and, as always, I intend to do it.

* * *

Taking a risk, I return to the park at the same time and sure enough, he’s there, the narc, and he appears just as giddy to see me today as he was yesterday. His eyes flicker to the two little girls currently shrieking as they go down the slide with their arms wrapped around each other. He fingers that wedding ring that was absent the night we first met.