“But did you or not?”
Sonny gazed at Wyatt. Wyatt could feel him thinking.
“Hey, Racine!” called the big CO, the one who’d brought Hector in. All the inmates were lined up at the inmate door, all the visitors at the visitors’ door.
Sonny rose. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Don’t worry about me, whatever you do.” He gave Wyatt a little wave and joined the line. The inmates filed out and the door closed. From somewhere in the walls came a deep clanging sound, and then softer ones, fading away.
Greer was up early in the morning. Wyatt smelled coffee, opened his eyes.
“You awake?” she called from the kitchen, somehow knowing.
Wyatt sat up, suddenly very awake. He felt different today, different in a way that disoriented him for a moment or two before he realized what this feeling was. Wyatt felt older, more solid, somehow. Could that happen overnight? Being older seemed to be a physical feeling, hard to describe even to himself. Did becoming an adult, a man, just mean accepting one day that that was what you were, and getting on with life?
“Hey, Mister Deep Thoughts,” Greer said. She stood at the bedroom door, all dressed, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand.
He turned to her. She looked great, skin clear and glowing, eyes bright.
“Come here,” he said.
“You want coffee?”
“Soon.”
“Not too soon, I hope.”
Not too soon after that, they were at the kitchen table. Granola with banana slices on top, coffee. Whatever Greer put on the table was always so good.
“Now comes Mister Hungry,” she said.
Wyatt laughed, finished off his granola, plus half of hers.
“Know what we should do this weekend?” she said. He waited to hear. “Take a drive over to Millerville.”
Wyatt wiped his mouth on the paper napkin. “How about today?”
She shook her head. “School day.”
He rose. “Today.”
“Mister Bossman?” she said. “He’s new.”
Millerville was about four hundred miles away, the apex of a stubby triangle with the East Canton-to-Silver City line forming the base. They stopped for gas in a tiny flatland town at the halfway point, the wind blowing scraps of paper across the road.
“See if this works,” Greer said, pulling out a credit card.
Wyatt glanced at it: a corporate Visa card for Torrance Amusements.
“Maybe they haven’t blocked it yet,” Greer said.
Wyatt gave it back, went inside, and handed over a twenty. He returned to the car and was pumping gas, hunched against the wind, when his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, checked the number: his mom. He almost didn’t answer.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Wyatt,” she said, her voice unsteady with emotion, “this can’t go on.”
He straightened. “I love you, Mom. You and Cammy. But I’m ready to be out on my own.”
“What are you talking about? You’re sixteen.”
“I’ll be seventeen soon. And I’m ready.”
“You’re not ready. And even if you were, it doesn’t matter. You can’t leave home without my permission until you’re eighteen in this state-I checked with a lawyer.”
“Then give me your permission, Mom.”
“Absolutely not. I want you home today.”
“I just can’t,” Wyatt said. Inside the car, Greer had her earphones on, was nodding her head slightly to some beat, eyes front.
“Is this about Rusty?” Linda said. “Are you punishing me or something? I’ve been going to this website on blended families, and they say that often happens in cases like-”
“Aw, Mom, I’d never think about you like that. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then what? Is it that girl? I wish you’d waited…you know, before, um, an intimate relationship, and I know it must be exciting, but there’ll be other girls.”
Not like this. That was Wyatt’s thought. He kept it to himself.
“Wyatt? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“You know how hard it would be for me to come down there. I can’t miss work, not in this economy.”
“Why would you want to come down here?”
“To get you. Didn’t I just explain? You don’t have my permission.”
“Sorry, Mom. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“And I’m sorry, too, Wyatt, but it’s not your call. In the eyes of the law, you’re a runaway. I have the right to notify the police.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Don’t test me. I want you home tonight.”
“Come on, Mom. I’m no runaway. I-”
She hung up. The pump hit the twenty-dollar mark and shut off. Wyatt tucked his phone into his pocket and replaced the nozzle. Greer turned and blew him a kiss through the window.
19
Wyatt got back in the car.
“I’ve been thinking,” Greer said. “What if-”
Her cell phone rang. Greer had a cool ringtone, three resonating Dobro notes. She checked the screen. Wyatt happened to see it, too. HONG KONG, it read, followed by lots of numbers. Greer shrugged her shoulders, flicked the phone shut.
“Hong Kong?” Wyatt said. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah,” said Greer. “So here’s my question-suppose he really was innocent, like totally. What are we going to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” Wyatt said, pulling back onto the highway, which they had pretty much to themselves. The land flattened out and the wind came unimpeded from the west, sometimes buffeting the car. “What could we do?” Wyatt said. “Also, maybe it’s not even our problem. It’s for sure not yours.”
“Oh? What do you mean by that?”
He caught a sharpness in her tone, didn’t know what to make of it. A quick glance at her and he still didn’t know: she had her eyes on the road.
“Just that you have your own problems,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like what? Like this whole thing with the bankruptcy, handling that all by yourself.”
“Nothing left to handle. They changed the locks-you know that.”
They drove in silence for a while. A horse ran by itself in an empty field. Bankruptcy meant the end of something, and big changes-Wyatt knew that from what had happened at Baker Brothers Iron and Metal Foundry. “So what are you going to do next?” he said.
“Huh?”
“Your plans and stuff,” Wyatt said.
“What plans should I be having?”
