Both of them jump when the back screen door opens, then slams shut; the sound of wet footsteps resound through the storm room. Cletus and Arden lean forward, as if doing so will give them a better look at the person heading their way. Arden swears he hears the heavy clod of boots, and wonders whether it was the right thing to tell his father where he was going. Surely he isn’t checking up on him in person, not when a simple phone call would suffice.

Carly is just upstairs. He has no time to warn her. She could appear any second and—

Julio steps into the light of the kitchen, soaking wet.

Thirty-Five

I can barely wrap my arms around the box. It’s heavy and the edge of it digs into my belly, but since I only have to carry it a small distance, I decide to suck it up and go with it. In Arden’s living room I pass Cletus, who’s sitting in an elegant leather recliner, looking groggy.

I stop and peer down at him. “You okay?” I ask, letting the box slide down so I can get a better look. I still worry that he’ll have a relapse, a second stroke or something, and that it will finish him off. But so far, so good. He doesn’t even need in-home health care anymore. He can shuffle around his house without getting too out of breath, and he swears he does his physical therapy exercises every day.

I’ll bet.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Girl, you’ve got bigger things to worry about than old Cletus. Now go about your business.”

“Must be exhausting, to oversee such a huge project like this,” I tease as I use my knee to push the box back up into my arms. Cletus isn’t able to help much with preparing the giant yard sale Arden’s mom suddenly decided to spring on us. But I know if he could, he would jump at the chance to be the first one to move the sheriff’s things out of this house.

“She should just throw it all in the trash, if you ask me,” he mutters. “That’s what I would do.” Then he closes his eyes and leans back, dismissing me.

I laugh and carry on.

Arden meets me halfway through the dining room. “Let me get that,” he says. “That thing’s bigger than you are.”

“I got it,” I tell him, maneuvering past him.

“Duro,” Arden says. He actually nailed the pronunciation that time.

“Your online class already taught you how to say ‘stubborn’? I thought you were still learning how to say ‘I am not a penguin.’” His Spanish classes are definitely paying off though. When I talk to Mama on the phone, he picks up bits and pieces of what we’re saying.

We’ve still got a few months until we visit them in Mexico. Arden was hesitant to come at first, because he wanted to give us some alone time with our family. But Julio insisted. I’m still shocked about that fact, actually.

Otherwise, I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. To hug Mama and Papi again. To finally meet Juanita and Hugo. I’ve already got a stash of candy for them I’m taking with me on the plane.

Arden shrugs. “I looked up how to say ‘stubborn’ on my own. Seems like an essential word to have in my vocabulary, with you as my girlfriend and all. And some cuss words too. You never know when those could come in handy.”

“If you cuss in front of Mama she’ll make you eat ghost peppers.”

Arden gives me a dramatic cringe and grabs a stack of his dad’s clothes that were draped on the dining room table. He follows behind me, out into the garage. “What if your parents don’t like me?” He keeps his voice low; his mother is standing about ten feet away, sorting through a box of what looks like hunting gear.

I watch her for a moment, appreciating the peaceful expression on her face. She looks older than I imagined her to be, with thin, wispy blond hair and bags under eyes, but I suppose she’s been through a lot. Really, she’s still going through a lot. She’s been turning the house upside down these past weeks, declaring it the filthiest house in the South. The truth is, she’s not cleaning so much as she’s been removing everything in the house that belonged to Dwayne Moss. She’s already sold his truck, and even repainted their bedroom. Arden says she hasn’t had this much gumption since before Amber died. We have a theory, Arden and I: The sheriff infused this house with his presence, like black mold, and his mother is trying to remove all traces of it.

And we’re happy to help.

I set the box down on the garage floor and extract the suits and dress shirts from Arden’s arms, placing them on a pile of other clothes. Then I pull him to me, taking his face in my hands. “They’ll love you. They already do. You’re their hero.”

“But all I did was get you in trouble. Julio is the real hero.”

“You went against your dad, Arden, to do what’s right. Family is a big deal in our culture. You risked losing yours to help us. That means a lot to them.”

“And you mean everything to me.” He lowers his mouth to mine but I only allow a tiny peck. I’ve met his mother just a handful of times since Arden’s father was arrested, and I don’t want to overstep my bounds with her. She seems to like me though. And I want to keep it that way.

“We’ve got reporters,” his mom says behind us.

The story of the sheriff’s deceit rocked not just the insignificant boundaries of Houghlin County, but it reached far beyond. Julio’s picture is still being flashed alongside the sheriff’s across major news channels as they talk about immigration issues.

The sheriff’s activities sparked a media wildfire. On my brand-new, unlisted cell phone I get call after call for an interview. Sometimes the reporters are mean. Sometimes they offer to pay me. Sometimes they act like I owe them the interview. They do the same things to Arden and his mother.