Now he saw: the happiness was the barreling forward.
That was it. The movement, the drive. He thought of Liza Bailey, of being young, of waking up next to a woman he’d met just hours before, touching hot skin.
Was it too late? Could he still gather strength, just throw himself at something, if only to feel that velocity again? What was there to lose, when you gave up on figuring it out…or worse, when you saw that there was no figuring it out?
It was the velocity.
His phone beeped again. What the hell? It was a forty-dollar payment from someone named Domino.
Salvatore stood and went inside, walked by Joe’s room and noticed the light on. He turned the knob and saw his son hunched over a glowing object. “Joe?” he said.
Joe dropped the object—it was a phone that Joe had plugged into his wall—and looked up, panicked. “I just found it! I just found it on our doorstep,” said Joe.
“Found what?” said Salvatore.
Joe held up a shiny iPhone. “People sent money,” he said, starting to cry. “I just wanted the Air Force 1s.”
Salvatore took the phone from his son. He wanted to leave, examine the call log. But he had seen what happened when parents, in the name of “protecting” their kids, stopped connecting with them. Sometimes, keeping a kid’s head above water depended on having uncomfortable conversations, hearing things you didn’t want to hear.
“What happened?” he said, fighting an urge to look at the phone and not Joe. “Start from the beginning.”
“I heard a car,” said Joe. Salvatore wanted to ask for the details of the car, but stayed silent. “I went to the door, and found the phone.”
“OK,” said Salvatore.
“I…I don’t know. It didn’t have a code. I just texted my friend Kobe.”
“Your friend Kobe has a phone?”
“Dad,” said Joe. “Everyone but me has a phone.”
Salvatore nodded, trying not to let his judgment show. “Then what happened?” he said.
“People just sent money,” said Joe. “I shouldn’t have responded.”
“Can you show me?” said Salvatore.
“Yeah,” said Joe. Salvatore sat next to his son, both of them leaning back against Star Wars pillows. Joe wore athletic shorts; Salvatore should have put him in pajamas. Did Joe even have pajamas that fit him anymore?
Joe hooked his bare foot around Salvatore’s calf. “Do you know how to turn on an iPhone, Dad?” he said kindly.
Of course he did. But he needed to let Joe drive. “Show me,” he said.
“OK,” said Joe, navigating to messages and handing over the phone.
Joe had written to some friends trying to impress them, but for the most part, the phone was empty. It was so empty, it seemed someone had wiped it. But there were three text streams between the phone’s owner and people who wanted to buy “candy.” One of the people buying “candy” was named Lucy Masterson. She’d bought twenty tablets of “candy,” paying with Venmo, meeting at the Barton Hills 7-Eleven （“by the Redbox”） two hours before an untraceable caller dialed 911 to report the discovery of her dead body.
Salvatore hit “Contacts,” dialed the one named MOM.
He gazed at his son. A panicked voice answered the call.
“Hello?” said a woman. “Hello?” said the voice. “Roma? Roma? Is that you?”
“Who is this?” asked Salvatore.
“This is Whitney Brownson. Who the hell is this?”
-1-
Xavier
XAVIER WAKES IN A hospital bed, his mother and sister at his side. “Oh my God,” says his mother. “He’s awake. He’s awake!” She leans close to him, touches his face.
“It was her,” Xavier manages.
“Shhh,” says his mother.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” says Roma. “He eats something and gets food poisoning and it’s my fault?” She stands, crosses her arms over her chest.
“Be quiet,” says Whitney.
“This is insane! Why do you hate me, Xavier?”
“Shhh,” says his mother. A doctor, a young woman in a white coat, comes into the room and looks relieved. Roma winks at her brother. She seems cheerful, amped up.
“He’s going to be OK,” says the doctor.
“Oh, thank God,” says Roma, transforming her face into the face of a concerned, loving twin. “That was so stressful for Mom and me,” she adds.
Xavier closes his eyes. He imagines taking Bobcat up on his offer of borrowing his father’s gun. Just to warn Roma, to wait until she is asleep and press it to her temple. She would wake up and see that he is not scared of her. That she has to leave him alone. He tries to tell himself he could do it. For just an instant, he imagines his life without her, how light and beautiful every morning would feel.
“Oh my God, he’s crying,” says Roma. “Mom, look, he’s crying like a baby!”
Xavier imagines pulling the trigger of Bobcat’s gun, imagines it being over—all the fear, the attempts to win her, the poisoning, the pain. Roma is a part of him, always, but something inside her is twisted. Bobcat’s dad’s pistol would be cold in his palm. It would be so easy, just one pull of the trigger, one shot.
-2-
Bobcat
ROBERT DRIVES TO LUCY’S apartment, the gun in his glove compartment. He’s still shaking from what his father made him do.
（His father, a coward.）
Xavier has sent a text: TURTLE ISLAND, 8PM, BRING IT PLEASE. I’M READY.
Xavier is even polite when he’s texting about killing someone. Not that Robert thinks Xavier will do it. They all know Roma’s a psycho, but there has to be a better way. Sure, drunk on the greenbelt, Robert had talked about his dad’s pistol, about how Xavier could end all his misery with one shot. And who would suspect Xavier, the perfect twin? All they’d have to do is maybe write a fake suicide note for Roma, or…who knows? Make it look like a burglary, or like she was hiking and got attacked. But Robert didn’t mean it and neither did Xavier. They like to talk a big game but they’re not murderers.
（Though in Call of Duty it feels fantastic to kill.） （But that’s not real.）
（Still, he likes it, maybe too much.） His father also talks a big game, but he gets off on making Robert shoot a coyote. Pathetic. Robert almost refused, but he knows how close he is to being sent to his grandparents’ house in Midland. He’s “one more thing” close. If he even gets a B, he’ll be packed off to the middle of nowhere.
（Fuck.）
（His grandpa is worse than his dad.） （None of them even know what a motherboard is.） The coyote’s burial was the worst part. But Robert took a long shower and scrubbed off all the dirt, the stink of death. His father asked where he thought he was going as Robert left. Too many triumphant whiskeys in to even notice Robert had the gun.
He should probably lock the car but he forgets. All he can think about is Lucy, her body, her low laughter.
（He actually loves her.）
（He actually does.）
（He knows it.）
If she wanted to get married, have a baby, seriously, he would say yes. Probably not legal, but whatever. She doesn’t want that, doesn’t seem to want much, actually. He just shows up when he can, and if she’s home, they’re good. She is often not home, and does not answer his texts.