The first night after the passage, as he slept in the enemy’s
country, a vision appeared to him. He seemed to see in his
sleep the eldest of sons. . . . but he missed the true meaning
of the dream, which was sent by God to forewarn him.
   —Herodotus, The Persian Wars

IN 1912, Shoshone Lumber cut five hundred million board feet of timber, enough to build homes for a city of fifty thousand people. First the company built the Potlatch mill on the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene, and soon smaller mills proliferated all along the St. Joe waterways. The company filled the lake with floating logs. Timber workers were so much in demand that the company built next to the mill a series of tiny cabins, rent payable directly out of day wages. For a decade, they were filled with itinerant lumber workers.

But by the mid-1960s, there was only one sawmill left from an operation that had once taken a significant dent out of the largest stand of white pine in the world. By 1969, even the flagship Potlatch mill was abandoned. Finally, in the wake of Shoshone’s devastating bankruptcy, Weyerhaeuser took over the remnants of the corporation. The equipment and various outbuildings—including the workers’ cabins—were auctioned off at pennies to the board foot. The vast hulk of the Potlatch mill itself sat derelict, until in 1982, Valerie Herrick used her father’s mining money to purchase the old lumberyard, knocked down the mill, and began construction on the Coeur d’Alene Resort.

All through the foothills of the Silver Valley, one could still find old Potlatch cabins, some fully renovated, most relegated to hunting, fishing, and holiday weekends.

Matt Worthson’s family had placed their piece of the Potlatch on a clearing reached only by a winding and unpaved mountain road an hour south of the St. Joe riverhead.

“This is where Pop taught me how to hunt,” Matt said to Kev as they pulled off the road and into the clearing. “I’ll show you. We got some memories here.”

Inside the cabin, Matt took out a pair of books, two feet square. The covers were quarter-inch-thick pieces of cherrywood. Small metal hinges held them to a two-inch piece that bound the pages with a leather strap, wound twice through each page, and tied so tightly that it cut into the wood. The nearly square pages had been cut from some massive roll, each page thickly irregular, a paper as heavy as cardboard.

The covers had once been varnished, and a trace of gold embossment was left on the front of one, some vanished letters. Now they were worn smooth by many hands.

“Cabin books,” Matt said. “We take them down for the winter. Left them here one year, and a porcupine got in and chewed ’em.” He tapped one splintered corner.

“Damn, how long have these things been around?” said Kev.

“Oh, thirty-odd years. Everyone writes in ’em when they come up here for a visit. I wrote in them, every trip up here.” Matt flicked past a page or two. “You can read all about our vacation when I was a kid, if you look. Gotta remember to take these with us.”

Kev kept looking through the books. Most pages were covered in writing. Photographs were taped here and there throughout the book, along with other mementos.

“You ever come up with Doug when you guys were kids?” asked Matt.

Kev shook his head. All morning long, Matt had been showing him things at the cabin. He’d woken Kev up early—he’d wanted help up at the cabin. Kev didn’t have anything better to do. On the way, Matt had even stopped for a donut and juice for Kev.

Kev didn’t know if he should mention to Matt the one time Doug had taken him up here to the Potlatch cabin. They’d smoked a big bag of weed. He simply shook his head. “So what else do we do here?” he asked.

Matt was sifting through the contents of a closet. “Winterize the place. Drain the water, shut off the power, close the chimney, all that stuff. Ah!” He held up a rifle and a pistol. “Found the guns! Now where’s the ammo?”

“You guys use this cabin for hunting, huh?”

“Pop and I used to, but we don’t hunt much anymore. Could you take these boxes of ammo out to the car?” Matt snapped his fingers. “Oh, and while you’re out there, bring back some of the firewood, wouldja?”

At the truck, Kev looked up at a leaden sky. It was close, something about to fall.

He shook the box in his hand, feeling each bullet rattle in its little slot. He opened the box and slipped one out. He looked at the smooth curve of the steel cartridge, the line of copper that surmounted the cartridge, and the dull metal tip, pointed like a missile.

Then he glanced back at the cabin. Matt was still inside.

On the floor of the truck, Kev saw an eye looking up at him. It was sketched in charcoal, and photocopied. He pulled out the piece of paper and saw that it was a poster, torn in half. Even with only half the page and one eye to go by, he still recognized the face. It haunted his dreams. This time, seeing it again, he decided to say something.

“Hey,” he called. “I seen that guy. Guy on this poster.”

“Yes?” said Matt. He dropped a load of branches and turned. Matt’s mood seemed to have lifted now, his smile was back.

“Well, you probably already caught the guy an’ all—right?” Kev waved the tattered piece of paper.

“No, it’s only a few months old,” said Matt. “We haven’t caught him. He might match a body we found in the lake, but we’re waiting for the fingerprints from the body to come in. Body had tattoos that might be traceable—”

“What kind of tattoos?”

“Miner’s tattoo on his arm—Haul Ass or Haul Ore.” Matt stopped talking and looked sharply at Kev. “Why do you want to know? He’s wanted for murder. Have you seen him?”

Kev thought of the way the man had stared up from the floor of the station, an insistent malevolence overtaking his face. A strange reluctance seized him. “No,” he muttered, turning away. “Nothin’. I just thought . . . I just thought I mighta seen him, but it’s not him, it’s, ah, nothing.”

He dropped his load of wood, and let the poster drift down to the ground. Then he looked up at the sky. “Looks like it’s gonna snow,” he said.

Matt looked up too. “Yeah, I see that. We timed this just right—it might snow on the way down. I nearly forgot to take care of the cabin, what with everything else.”

Matt began to wrap the guns up in a blanket. He opened the closet again.

“You leave the guns here?” said Kev. “And take the ammo?”

Matt grinned. “Kind of bass-ackwards, huh? Sall won’t have guns in the house, so this is where I keep them. Besides, kids who might break in here can’t shoot off the guns unless they have ammo. So I just take the ammo out of here. Bring it back in the spring.”

Kev tapped the barrel of the gun. “What do you shoot with this one?”

“Oh, with the .243, I’ve shot deer mostly. Badger once. Tried to shoot a cougar with the old pistol once. It used to be my Pop’s. But I missed.” Matt tucked the wrapped guns carefully into the closet and brought out a set of fireplace tools. “I’ve heard people shoot elk or bear with their deer-hunting rifle, but I’ve never gone in for that.”

“What about the little gun? Can you shoot deer with that one too?”

“No way. The little pistol, I think it just shoots .22 bullets. For squirrels and rats. But don’t get me wrong, just because the .22 and the .243 are lighter cartridges, doesn’t mean they can’t hurt someone.” Matt brushed ashes and charcoal out of the fireplace. When he scratched his chin, he left a black mark behind. “When I was a kid, I knew someone who got killed by a stray .22 bullet. That’s why Sall doesn’t want ’em around.”

After he’d finished with the fireplace, Matt moved outside. He took the ladder out of the truck and put a cover over the chimney on the roof. For a while, Kev watched him. “Cover keeps out the porcupines and raccoons,” explained Matt.

“Damn,” said Kev. “You have to know all this shit to take care of a place. Drain the water, open the refrigerator, cover the chimney. Damn.”

Matt shrugged and crawled carefully across the roof. “It’s no different from taking care of a car. Every detail counts.” He came down the ladder and began to scrub moss off the side of the house.

Then Matt turned and clapped Kev on the shoulder. “Speaking of which— now that the car is running, where are you going to go? I bet your folks can’t wait to see you.”

Kev glanced up at Matt, weighing the hand on his shoulder. The moment buoyed him up. He opened his mouth. It surprised even him when the truth came out.

“Well, yeah, like, I thought so. But I guess I kinda like exaggerated that one.”

Kev had expected Matt to lift his hand, to move away from him, even to dismiss the moment. Unexpectedly, though, Matt was still there with him. If anything, his hand had grown heavier. “What do you mean?”

“I, uh, I really dunno what I’m gonna do . . .” The words began to come in a rush. “I thought maybe my mom—not my stepdad, he hates me—but I thought she might want me around. But I guess they kinda agreed that they don’t. Even if they did, I dunno if I want to drive to Seattle. I’m always going somewhere new. I get tired of it, man.”

Kev looked at the ground, glancing at the poster that lay there. “I dunno,” he finished lamely. Immediately, he felt like a fool for trusting Matt.

“Hmm,” said Matt. He took his hand off Kev’s shoulder and continued to scrape moss off the house. “Well, with the car running, you’ve got some choices at least.”

Kev kicked at the ground, covering the poster in a shower of dirt.

“Here,” said Matt finally. “Take the ladder around the side. What do you want?” “I dunno,” said Kev. “I want to work on cars. That’s what I want to do, I guess.”

Matt set up the ladder and climbed up to the loft window. Kev squinted at him in the gray light. So far, Matt seemed unperturbed by the news about his stepdad.

“You know,” said Kev. “There was this guy who saw me drive in for my shift at the A-1 last week. He saw the ’Cuda. He liked what I did to it—and he has some old cars he wants to get running. Two classic Mustangs and another Plymouth—a Valiant.”

“Uh-huh,” said Matt. He pounded nails into the shutter. “So, did you tell him to go to hell? Or did you do the work on his cars?”

“I did the work,” said Kev. “Fixed the carburetor on a Mustang. Took two hours.”

Matt pounded some more. “Did he pay you?”

“Yeah. Fifty bucks.”

Matt whistled. “You know, an old car like that—some shops would charge five hundred dollars for the kind of work you can do. He got a good deal.”

“Huh, I didn’t know.” Kev shrugged. “Should I ask for more on the other cars?”

Matt climbed down from the ladder. He looked at Kev until Kev glanced back at the ground again. “You’re actually doing a job for this guy? You’re doing the work?”

Sullenly, Kev grunted affirmation. “Yeah. Why—you surprised or something?”

“No, I just . . . ,” Matt stuttered. “I just—it’s a good thing.”

“Huh,” said Kev. “Yeah, you were about ready to boot me out on my ass, huh? I mean, I’ve been thinking—since I got some money coming in from more places than my stepdad, maybe I should pay rent, y’know.”

“It’s just a garage.”

“Yeah, but I wanna stop fuckin’ with people so much, like live and let live, man.”

“Hmm.” Matt moved the ladder to another window and pulled out a handful of fresh nails. “You know, North Idaho Community College has a great automotive technology AA program. I took a class or two there myself. They have a good shop.”

“I don’t know. Sitting in the classroom—it just never worked for me. Always getting on the teacher’s shitlist, y’know?”

“They work on cars. They don’t sit in the classroom. You do things. Heli-Coils, engine rebuilds, electrical system work.” Matt climbed up the ladder.

“You mean, I could do this as a job? Get paid?” Kev carried Matt’s toolbox toward the truck.

“Sure,” said Matt absently. “I don’t see why not. As long as you don’t screw people over, you should do just fine. Just stay honest about it.”

Kev kicked at the poster on the ground. He thought again of the man in the bus station, the grunting sounds that had come out of him as Kev pulled back his leg for another kick. He flipped the poster over with his foot, and tried to forget the memory of the rage flooding through him, the blood running over the man’s eyes. He looked up at Matt on the roof.

“Shit, I dunno,” he said. “You think I could have my own shop, someday?” “Maybe.” Matt looked down at him. “But hell, no one hires a skinhead—” “Fuck you!” Kev threw the toolbox at the side of the truck. “I don’t even believe that shit anymore—I don’t know if I ever did. I’m not any fuckin’ skinhead! Not anymore.”

“Well, hell—you sure never told me when that changed,” said Matt as he climbed down from the roof. “I can’t ever tell what you’ll do next. Who the hell knows what you’re capable of? Maybe. I don’t know.”

Kev lowered his brow and picked up the tools from the ground.

Matt pulled the shutter closed and placed a nail into the corner. With two quick strokes, he pounded it into the wood. Then he spoke again. “You graduated high school?”

“Sorta,” said Kev. “Took my GED three years ago, sophomore year. Did all right. Got the certificate thingy somewhere.”

“Well, that’s enough for them.” Matt hesitated for a moment. “Maybe.”

“I got rid of the Aryan shit.” Kev held up his hands, turning them to show off the leather bicycle gloves. “No one even sees the fuckin’ swastika anymore.” Kev shrugged and rubbed a hand over his scalp. “I like the skinhead hair though. Damn cool haircut.”

Matt pushed another nail into the wood and pounded it in. Then he turned away quickly, but Kev could see something had changed in his face. Something familiar filled Kev’s belly, an upswell of resentment. When he saw that Matt was laughing at him, he tried to still the buzzing energy that threatened to fill his head.

Matt took the nails out of his mouth. “Hey,” he said. “Would you mind grabbing more stuff from inside the cabin? There’s a bunch of crap still in there—stuff I’ve been meaning to clean out for years, but it’s not snowing yet, we may as well get to it, eh?”

“Huh,” said Kev. He wandered back inside.

Dust hung in the stale air of the cabin. A pile of old coats and worn gloves waited on top of the plywood window seat. Kev sighed and put them beside the door. Underneath were wormy pieces of wood and a stack of musty newspapers and magazines. He picked these up too, a musty cushion with them.

The damp sogginess of the pad disgusted him, and he dropped it on the floor. As he turned to go, he saw something in the wood, under where the cushion had rotted away. It was a small, rusted hinge. He reached out and touched it, pushing on it to see what was underneath. A corroded twist of wire broke away in his hand.

The hinge had held the top board down tight. Carefully, Kev put down the newspapers he held. He lifted the hinge. When the board slid out of place, a centipede crawled into the corner, scrambling away from the light. Inside was a square hollow. A place to store things.

He squinted into the dark space. There seemed to be nothing inside except a moldering stack of election posters: “WORTHSON for Sheriff / Vote for Justice & Safety in Bitterroot County in 1984!” Kev flicked rapidly through the mold spotted handbills. Underneath, there was another collection of paper—a drifted pile of envelopes, each one addressed in the same handwritten ink, to Matt Worthson, c/o Stan Worthson, 101 Pinecrest Drive, Kellogg, Idaho 83837.

Kev glanced at the doorway. Outside he could hear that Matt was still pounding shutters closed. Quickly, Kev reached under the posters, scooping out the collection of letters. Unopened letters, each one still sealed and closed. He flipped the top one over. Carefully, he rubbed at the back of the yellowed envelope. The dried-up glue gave under the rubbing of his fingers. Slowly, the back flap separated from the rest of the envelope. The paper inside crinkled and broke as he bent it open. Inside, words were scratched across pages in thin and spidery strokes.

Dear Matt,

You haven’t forgotten about me, have you? I hope you’re able to get to the hospital to see me soon. They tell me that now that I’ve come out of the coma, I’m on the uphill swing, but since I’ve got one of those infection thingys, it could be up and down for awhile. So I’d sure love to see you before I go ‘down,’ so to speak.

No pressure though. I know how you are about pressure. I mean, that’s why you were running away from Sall, am I right? And you got that election to finish—I was surprised that you weren’t sheriff already when I woke up. So I guess you’re still running for office. Far be it from me to give you pressure to come see me . . . what kind of claim do I have on you, after all? I just figured it had been three weeks, so I might be seeing your smiling face sometime in the next century.

Kev flipped the page over. There was a lot more, but the letter just ended with a simple “Your friend, Irene.” No love letters here. Nothing too juicy. Yet no one had thrown them away—and they’d never even been opened. He reached out and picked up another one from the stack. A miasma of mold had crept across some of the envelopes, corroding the text.

You were in a good place when this accident happened, Matt. You had it beat—you were going to AA, talking to your sponsor. Really, I think they keep telling me this lie, hoping that I will press charges against you. But there’s no reason to do that. Why would I? You weren’t at fault.

Two-faced bastards. They’re playing some game on me. Maybe playing one on you, I don’t want you to blame—

A spot of mold concealed the final word. Insects had eaten all the way through the paper package, punctuating the text with neat bullet holes. Kev turned to an undamaged page and found the faded thread of words again.

Suddenly, Matt’s voice spoke in his ear. “Wondered where you’d got to. What’s that stuff?”

Kev felt himself startle, the hair on the back of his neck rising as he glanced down at the broken spot in the window seat, the envelopes and the election posters flung down around the open hole in the wood.

“Nothing,” he muttered. He felt his face redden as he looked up. “Old papers.”

Matt shouldered him aside, yanking the envelopes out of his grasp. “What the hell are you doing with these?”

Kev watched him stare down at the address on them. “These letters—they’re like all from the same person, right?”

Quickly, Matt made to shove them back in the hole, as if the touch of the paper scalded his skin.

“You just gonna put ’em back—not open a single one?”

Matt looked up, bemused astonishment washing across his face. “What business is it of yours? Yeah, I’m just going to put them back. That’s why I put them here in the first place—because I didn’t want nosy losers like you finding out about them and—”

“A nosy loser, huh?” said Kev. He leaned forward, his pulse shaking in him—something growing out of resentment and frustration, his curiosity becoming a nervous anger. “You ain’t hiding them from me. Who the fuck you hiding ’em from—you afraid Sall’s gonna find out who you were screwing like fifty years ago?”

Matt turned halfway toward him, the blood rushing up to fill his face. “Look, kid, how many ways can I tell you that it’s none of your goddamn business?”

“You don’t trust me, man. C’mon, tell me what’s up with the letters.”

Matt looked at him. “Goddammit, Kev, it’s not that I don’t trust you—it’s just that these are just private papers. It’s all in the past. None of your damn business.”

Kev felt something spark inside, a fire raging out of control. “Hey, man, whatever you say—I know you’re fuckin’ afraid.” Kev inhaled deeply and twisted his face in derision. “Smell it, man. Like a dog.”

“Oh yeah, Kev—you think you can smell things like this? This is just too complicated, too complicated to explain to you.”

Kev sniffed the air again. Then he waved his hand. “Hey, whatever, man. All’s I’m saying is you stink. You’re scared. Shitless.” He turned and sauntered toward the truck.

A moment later, he yelled again, an afterthought. “I got shit I know too—an’ I’m not afraid to tell you! I got secrets too, man!”

To his surprise, Matt followed, his voice now tight and furious. “Look, kid, these are my private letters. If I choose to hide them, that’s my own damn business!” Kev kept walking, and this time Matt sped up behind him. “You got secrets, huh? So what! You’re talking about Doug, aren’t you—is that what it is? You really think you can tell me something about him I don’t already know?”

Kev turned, his back against the truck. Suddenly, Matt seemed larger than before as he propelled himself forward, the envelopes still clutched in his hand. Kev edged around the side of the vehicle and scrambled with one hand behind his back in the truck bed for something heavy—a tool he could use as a weapon.

Matt was still shouting. “You’ve got nothing on me! Just stay the hell out of—”

“Yeah man?” taunted Kev. “If I got nothin’ on you—how come you never opened all them damn envelopes? Huh? You’re scared, man, scared!”

Matt slammed a fist against the side of the truck—Kev felt it rock under the blow. Now his mouth was dry and parched. He swallowed and grasped the handle of a hammer. Then, unexpectedly, Matt stopped moving, his head sinking against the truck window.

“Okay,” Matt sighed. “So someone wrote to me and I’ve never had the guts to read ’em. I’m scared of what she wrote, of what she’ll accuse me of. So what?”

“Okay, man, okay.” Kev nodded. Slowly, he let the hammer slip out of his hand. Then he brought his arm out from the bed of the truck. He spread his hands out slowly in front of him. “It’s cool. Hey, it’s cool, man.”

He waited a moment, feeling the sweat trickle down his neck. Matt stared at him, holding his eyes. Then Matt turned to go back toward the cabin.

When Kev glanced down at the ground, he could see the eye again, the one on the torn poster. “Dude,” he said. And it came to him, a secret he did have.

Then when Matt failed to turn around, he said it again, louder. “Dude!” He cleared his throat. “I seen that guy on the poster before.”

Matt still did not turn around. “Yeah, I know, at Pop’s house. On the poster.”

“No, I seen him myself. In the flesh—I kicked his ass.” Kev furrowed his brow.

“Yeah, sure you did.” Now Matt turned. “Let me tell you—that guy is a serious suspect in a murder case. I doubt you had the cojones to kick his—”

“Fuck you!” Kev lowered his brow. “I kicked that guy’s ass at the Greyhound station. He was fuckin’ with someone.”

Slowly, Matt reached down and picked up the old milking bucket that held the cabin door open. With a grunt he shifted it to the bed of the truck. Then he paused and gave Kev a sidelong glance. “At the station? You were at the bus station? Who was he with?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m gonna get fucked by the police if I know something. You guys don’t play fair. But Jesus, that guy was one freaky mo’fo.”

“If you didn’t do anything wrong, nothing will happen to you,” he said. “If you’ve really seen him, you’ll be asked to give testimony, but nothing will happen to you. Tell me what you know.”

“Nah.” Kev glanced at him. Then he picked the poster up from the ground and crumpled it up.

“Why? This is a murder case, Kev. Did you hurt someone?”

“Jesus, man, no, not really. It was like this—the guy on the poster was with a little girl and another guy. In fact, I was talking to that other guy forever on the bus. Turned out the guy on the poster and the guy wearing a suit on the bus knew each other.”

Matt turned to the bed of the truck and pulled out a worn tarp. Then he spoke again. “When was this?”

“I saw him at the Greyhound station, before we met up at Pop’s house.”

Matt gathered the loose ends of the tarp together and strapped it down. “Are you sure it was at the bus station? I think this was just something I said.”

“Ah, you don’t believe me anyways.” Kev sighed and let go of his end of the tarp.

“No, no,” said Matt. “I’m thinking. I want to hear this. Are you sure it was the night you saw him?” Matt pulled down on the tarp, stretching it taut again.

“Seems like,” said Kev. “I mean, I know it was the guy on the poster. He was there with that other guy, the one wearing a suit, talking my ear off ’bout his little girl.”

“What color was the suit? Was he wearing a cross too?”

“Blue suit. And yeah, he had a cross.” Kev glowered. “Why’s it matter to you?”

Matt swallowed, “Well, this could be really important.”

“Huh.” Kev reached down and picked up a fallen branch. It was bigger than he was. “That usually means I get fucked over when it goes down. Maybe it was a different guy.”

“Wait,” said Matt. “Tell me when this happened. What was the date?”

“I dunno. Like August. Maybe September something. Before Labor Day.”

“Hmm . . . ,” said Matt. “It could be.”

Kev sighed. “I knew it.” He shrugged. “No one ever fuckin’ believes me.” Savagely, Kev hefted the heavy branch into the woods.

Matt looked up suddenly. “No, I just want to be sure. I just—”

“I don’t know why I brought the damn guy up.” Kev shook his head, angry now at himself. “Dude, I need a john. You got one in there?”

Matt pointed at the cabin.

“Okay,” said Kev. He walked to the door and looked back to see Matt cinching the ladder closed, tying it into the bed of the truck.

Inside, Kev went directly to the window seat. Quickly, he stuffed the bundle of envelopes into his backpack. Maybe he’d read them all.

When they got in the truck, Matt seemed almost happy to have him there. “I want to hear more about this guy you saw, about this man in a suit and that girl. Are you sure you saw them at the station?”

“That guy with the Mustang, he didn’t believe I did the work on the Barracuda myself. I had to prove it to him. No one trusts me worth a damn.”

“Kevin,” said Matt. He snapped his seat belt on. “I trust you. Tell me.”

“Okay,” said Kev belligerently. “You trust me—so tell me what those damn letters are about.”

Now that Kev was closer, he could see sweat on Matt’s brow, a twitch in Matt’s shoulder. He felt as if the air itself was suddenly charged, everything tense and still.

“No.” Then Matt sighed. He held up a hand, flat like a stop sign. “Dammit, Kev.” Slowly, he lowered his hand back to the steering wheel. “Okay, so I’ll tell you once about this—no questions. Her name was Irene. She was a woman I was with during the last election. I killed her in a car accident. At least, I think I killed her. I guess I’d been drinking heavily, because I don’t remember much. In any case, I lived, she died. Before she died, she wrote me letters, but I just chucked them in there. I just couldn’t read her accusations, because I already knew what I’d done, it wasn’t worth reading about—”

“Jesus, man, she said in those letters that she could tell you the true story— don’t you want to know the truth? What’s up with that?”

“Goddammit!” Matt yelled, and pulled the truck back on the road. “You damn kid—I don’t want to hear her voice ever again. You don’t understand what I went through!”

“See man, see, you don’t fuckin’ trust anything I say.” Kev kicked furiously at the dashboard. “You’re scared, so you never read ’em!”

“It’s none of your damn business. Fat lot of good it would do if I did read them. Now lay off.” Matt floored the gas pedal and Kev was thrown back against the seat.

After a moment, Matt looked over again. “Okay, look, we can’t keep this up over dinner. Sall’s been cooking hard all day today.”

Kev looked out the window. “Yeah, well, you go on an’ enjoy your dinner.”

“It’s Thanksgiving, dammit,” said Matt. “Sall has a turkey going. Eat with us.”

Kev grunted.

“We’ll take some food over to my pop later. He’s in the hospital again. He said he’d like to see you—he was real impressed with the work you did on the ’Cuda.”

“Uh-huh,” Kev grunted. “That’d be all right, I guess.”

“He’s an old guy, I know, but he hasn’t died yet—”

Kev kicked at the floor of the truck again. “Fuck, I said I was sorry for that,” he muttered. “Try to help, an’ you just get bullshit. No trust. That college stuff prob’ly won’t work either. All I get is bullshit. That chick really liked you, sounds like, to me.”

“Kev—look, forget the damn letters, they’re crap—I want to hear about the bus station, and the guy in the suit, the guy on that poster—”

“Fuck you—so what if I made the whole thing up anyway.” Kev pounded a fist on the truck window, and a cracking sound reverberated through the door.

“Watch the damn window!” Matt put out a hand and held on to Kev’s fist.

“Okay, okay, I’ll watch your damn window.” Then as soon as Matt let go, Kev punched the glass again before rolling his body to the side, away from Matt. A stony silence filled the cab all the way back to the house, as the snow began to fall.