They all stop talking when he comes through the door. David John and his mother are on the couch against the wall, the window catching their reflection. Earl is standing by the kitchen counter.
Jessup doesn’t know if he should be relieved or not to see that the cruiser belongs to Paul Hawkins. He’s still wearing his Cortaca PD uniform, but he’s sitting in the recliner, the chair tilted back, feet up.
And on the love seat, Brandon Rogers. Usually, when Jessup has seen him, Brandon has been wearing a suit and tie, but tonight, even though he still looks slick, he’s dressed more casually: dark, crisp jeans that look like they’ve been pressed, a pair of black dress shoes with bright blue soles that have to be expensive, a black button-down shirt layered with a black V-neck sweater. Of course, Jessup thinks, the BMW. He’s never known anything but money, so why wouldn’t he drive a good German car that Daddy can buy him?
Brandon pops to his feet. Sticks out his hand.
Reflex. Jessup shakes his hand.
“Why don’t you grab a seat,” Brandon says, as if it’s his house, as if this is some meeting he is running. But maybe it is, Jessup thinks.
“Give me a second. I’m kind of damp. Let me just go get changed,” he says.
David John says, “You get a ride home from Wyatt? Thought I saw his truck in the driveway.”
Brandon chirps up, “Oh, that was for me. I just wanted to have a quick word with Wyatt and he was kind enough to meet me here. He’s a good kid. Does his duty. Understands sacrifice. A real soldier for Christ and the white nation. One of the reasons I was the last one through the door. Well, last one other than our guest of honor.”
There’s something smug in the way Brandon says all of this. Judgmental. As if he’s deliberately calling Jessup out for being late, for not being committed to the cause. Jessup wonders if Hawkins would arrest him if he punched Brandon in the face. He wonders what any of them would say if he told them he’d gotten a ride home from Coach Diggins, replayed the conversation for them. “No. Got a ride from a friend,” he says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He slides through the room, smiles at his mom and David John—he’s not sure if they see how tight the smile feels—and is down the hallway before anybody can say anything else. He steps into his bedroom, and as the door closes, he can hear the low hum of conversation restarting.
He closes his eyes and stands there for a moment. Just stands there. Breathes. He can feel a swarm of bees behind his eyes, and he can’t tell if it’s anger at coming home to Earl and Brandon and Hawkins in the living room, or if it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness for the exact same reason.
Breathe.
Breathe.
He hangs his damp hoodie and his long-sleeved T-shirt on a hook on the back of the door and thinks about trying to take a quick shower—he smells like popcorn and condoms and sex—but knows they are out there waiting for him. Knows that would be pushing things. Grabs a clean T-shirt from his drawer and puts that on. Still cold. Pulls out a dry sweatshirt.
He unlocks his phone, opens his text messages. Still nothing from Deanne. He stares, waiting, as if that act alone will get her to acknowledge him.