Page 19 of Forty

You know what? I was.

I shake myself, stretch my legs. I should drop by Shirlene’s place. See if she needs anything. She’s retired now. Even though she keeps herself crazy busy, she might need help with her lawn or something. She’s a proud woman. Not likely to speak up if she could use a hand.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do tomorrow. I wrinkle my nose. It’s gloomy as shit in here. I pop up to my feet.

My heart’s raw, and everything’s wrong. For almost ten years, a drawer’s been open with a sweater hanging out. A chair is missing. Forty Nowicki has pink lipstick on his collar, and he still hates me.

I’m living off my little brother, maybe hiding out from the mob, and—to be one hundred percent honest—I’m not really sure where my pants are or why I’m hanging out in my underwear.

But I’m breathing a little easier.

There’s nothing in this room I haven’t carried with me in my memory.

I don’t need to run.

I can stand on my own two feet. I can walk out of this room. Shut the door. I left before, and I was young and broke and friendless. I couldn’t help but take this room with me.

But I’m older now. Maybe this is just a room.

Maybe I’m not what I learned I was here.

Maybe I’m strong.

Maybe I have been all this time.

4

NEVAEH

Isleep really well for the first time in forever. When I wake up, I spackle on the concealer and head over to Shirlene’s. It’s early, around noon. She’s already on her trike, strapping on her helmet.

When she sees me, the corner of her lip quirks up, just barely. She’s so happy to see me.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” She tugs on a glove. I give her a little salute.

“Is that new?”

She’s got herself a fancy touring trike in teal, complete with a trunk and everything.

“Yup. Had myself a midlife crisis. Bought a bike.” Shirlene pats the passenger seat behind her. “Hop on.”

“You got a spare helmet?”

“Your head’s hard enough. And I’m not planning on laying her down. It’s got three wheels.” Shirlene revs the engine. I shrug, grin, and climb onto the seat behind her.

Shirlene pulls off cautiously, gets herself up to an audacious fifty miles per hour, and I lean back against the backrest and lift my arms into the wind. The sun is warm on my face, and the sky is a perfect robin’s egg blue.

“Where are we going?” I shout as she turns down toward the river.

“Makin’ the rounds.”

I don’t know what that means, but I’m up for anything. I’m already bored out of my mind at the house, and I really need to let my face heal up more before I go job hunting. I spackled on concealer this morning, but it didn’t do much.

Shirlene takes it down to twenty-five as she enters a rundown neighborhood and turns into a cul-de-sac that ends at the river. There’s a boxy building that looks like it’s been broken into apartments, and across a parking lot, there’s a rancher right on the water with a very fancy two-story addition. A pier juts out into the slow moving Luckahannock, and at the end, there’s a grizzled old man in a wheelchair.

“Boots!” I swing off the trike and go running. I haven’t seen Boots in years. He always used to smoke me up back in the day and tell me stories about following the Dead.

He’s fishing. Well, he’s holding a pole, but he has a beer in the other hand, and by the way he startles as I go pounding down the wood slats, he was dozing.

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