“You know what? I think I’ve said enough.”
“Like, if we’ve had sex?”
“That’s the county jail.”
“I know where it is. I’m the one driving; I know where the jail is.”
“You’ve got to turn in here,” Theo said.
“I’m going around the block. I’m not ready to turn in yet.”
“Auggie, come on.”
They passed the entrance to the sheriff’s department offices and the county jail; at the corner, Auggie turned right.
“It’s just sex, Theo. It’s not a big deal.”
“So, you have had sex with him.”
“That’s not what I said. Why does it matter to you? Sex is sex.”
“You’re trying to get a rise out of me,” Theo said. “You’re trying to get me to say something I’m not ready to say. I told you the way I feel is complicated. I told you this is as far as I can go right now. We literally just had this conversation; don’t do this again.”
They turned at the next street. What passed for rush hour in Wahredua was picking up, which meant they were only creeping along. This part of town rolled down toward Market Street and the Grand Rivere; the water was a glossy brown ribbon running through the snow.
“Yeah, well, fine,” Auggie said. “But you can’t go butting into my life.”
“I’m not.”
“You can’t, Theo. If we’re just going to be friends, then we’re just friends.”
“I’m not. I won’t. That’s not what this is.”
Auggie braked and took the next turn. “Yes, it is. You can pretend it’s advice, but I’ve told you before: I don’t need another older brother, I don’t need a dad, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. My sex life isn’t any of your business. If I want to fuck around with Orlando, I will. It’s just sex. It’s not love; it’s not complicated. We both want things simple and fun, and that’s all it’s going to be.”
“That’s not the way it works,” Theo said. “You can blow smoke up your own asshole if you want, but that’s not the way it works. Sex releases really powerful hormones. It affects your brain chemistry. Maybe there’s one person in a million who doesn’t cross the wires, but you’re not one of them.”
“I told you,” Auggie said as he pulled into the lot, “I do not need a father figure, Theo. I don’t need a fucking birds-and-bees talk.” He slowed the Malibu, eased into a stall, and shut off the engine. “Besides, you don’t know anything about me.”
Leave it, Theo told himself. Get ten miles off. Get twenty miles off and just leave it.
But something wild was clawing at the inside of his ribcage.
Grabbing Auggie by the back of the head, he dragged him in and kissed him. It lasted three seconds. Maybe five. When he pulled away, Auggie’s eyes were owlish and had a soft glow like polished lead.
“Fine,” Theo said, not recognizing the scratchiness of his own voice, not familiar with whoever was taking those huge, furious breaths. “Tell me that was just a kiss.”
He gave Auggie another three seconds, with Auggie just staring at him, and then he got out of the car.
The Wahredua Sheriff’s Department Offices looked like they’d been built in the 70s, with narrow windows and unadorned lines, everything built low and long, because Wahredua had always had plenty of space. The jail was attached to the back of the building. Theo went in through the front and found government-grade linoleum, the kind that was brown and had lots of yellow and orange flecks in it, perfect for blending in the occasional upchuck or blood spatter. Everything smelled like Cup O Noodles. He asked for directions from the duty officer and followed a hallway toward the jail facility. Auggie caught up with him halfway, and under the light brown skin, his blush was an inferno.
They had to store everything except their IDs in rental lockers, and then they passed through a metal detector. After they’d signed in and listed Jessica Wallen as the inmate they were visiting, they had to sit on a bench; Auggie kept a clear six inches between them.
“Mr. Stratford,” a deputy said from a secure doorway. “Mr. Lopez.”
Theo followed her into the visiting room, which could have passed for a middle-school cafeteria: plastic-top tables with attached benches, vending machines, a drinking fountain. The only difference, of course, was the presence of the seven inmates, all dressed in the same teal uniform that vaguely resembled scrubs: cotton shirt, cotton trousers, socks, and sandals. A man on the far side of middle age was wearing an inmate uniform, talking quietly to two girls who might have been his daughters—until he leaned over and frenched one of them while the other cooed. A woman with a severe haircut was playing gin with another woman who might have been her mother. A woman and a man, both young, conversed quietly in Spanish. A black woman played with twin boys while chatting with a woman who might have been her sister.
Jessica Wallen was sitting at a table on the far side of the room. She looked like the girl from Robert’s pictures, although a little rougher after months in jail. Graying brown roots showed in her blond hair, and fine lines marked her eyes and mouth. They were the same hard eyes, though. The same hard mouth, even when she smiled at them.
“Who are you?” she asked when Theo got close enough.
“Theo Stratford.”
“Auggie Lopez.”
“And what do you want?”
“We’re actually hoping we could talk to you about Robert.”
“Last I heard, Robert was dead. Either of you have change for an ice cream sandwich? I just like the chocolate part.”
Shaking his head, Theo glanced at Auggie. Auggie shook his head too.
“Next time, you gotta bring quarters,” Jessica said. “Anybody in here’d kill for an ice cream sandwich.”
“You don’t seem very upset that Robert’s dead.”
“Why would I be upset? That
