30
Jem woke up with the steering wheel somehow underneath him. And with a headache. And with his mouth tasting like someone had crumbled up a cheese doodle inside a shoe.
It took another bleary moment before he recognized that not only was the steering wheel under him, it was also supporting him.
He was leaning forward, half-falling out of his seat, with only the wheel to keep him from slipping down into the footwell.
And that meant, somehow, down had changed places.
He braced himself with a hand on the dash.
He twisted around. The Subaru was at a diagonal—either that, or the world was.
On either side of him ran rows of neat homes.
They were older constructions, most of them ramblers, most with carports instead of garages.
It was a neighborhood on the west side of the valley. And he knew where he was.
When he twisted a little more, he could see the tow truck behind the Subaru. And the back end of the Subaru in the air. Which explained a lot of things. Like why he was falling out of his seat.
Groaning, he opened the door. Tried to open the door, because it was locked. Tried again, and this time it opened. Cold air snapped in, and the fading smell of diesel exhaust, and from farther off, the long beep of a horn and the whoosh of traffic.
He eased himself out of the seat, caught the door, and steadied himself. His legs decided they were made out of McFlurries, and he had to plant an elbow on top of the Subaru to keep from melting.
Chaquille’s shitty weed. And then Tean. And after how horrible that had been, more of the weed, and that bar with the neon titties flashing on and off, and then the kid with the greasy hair and gauges selling his shit out of a toilet stall.
The sun was creeping over the mountains to the east, and the light was like a razor on the back of his eyes.
He turned his back, ducked his head, and fumbled the Subaru’s door shut.
He made his way toward the house he was parked in front of—cream-colored siding, a satellite dish, two rosebushes that looked dead in front of a fence that needed to be painted.
As usual, the front door was unlocked. The parquet floor looked a little more chipped than the last time he’d been here.
Beyond that was the high-ceilinged family room.
They’d painted the walls tan or sand or whatever it was called.
Voices came from the kitchen, so he slumped through the opening to his right.
Tony was at the range; the big man was wearing a baby carrier, and the dark-haired infant strapped to his chest was Febe.
Tony seemed used to her being there, moving easily as he spooned something into a pan where it sizzled.
At the table, the kids were busy with their tablets.
They had to still be in elementary school, didn’t they?
They were both still in their pajamas. Guillo’s hair stuck out on one side.
Dionica was grinning as she slaughtered some sort of alien-looking thing on the tablet.
“Hey,” Tony said with a laugh. “You’re up.”
Jem grunted.
Waving to the table, Tony went back to the pan. Pancakes, Jem’s nose decided as he dropped into a seat. Tony came over. Plates clinked on the table. “Eat,” Tony said to the kids as his steps moved away. “You’ve got five minutes.” Then fresh batter sizzled in the pan.
The only answer from the kids was manic tapping as Dionica butchered more aliens and Guillo did whatever he was doing. Jem’s eyes were still kind of sticky, but he squinted. It looked like Wizard Cheeseburger, but he hadn’t played this version of it. They hadn’t come out with a new one, had they?
“Oh.” The voice came from the stairs that ran along one side of the kitchen. Tinajas was carrying a basket of laundry. “So, you didn’t park in front of my driveway just to die like a fucking roach. I guess that’s good.”
She was a dark, muscular woman with a stocky build, and she’d put glitter strands in her hair.
Or, more likely, let Dionica do them. Jem and Tinajas had been in care together, and she was as close to a sister as he had.
Well, aside from Maeve, his actual sister; but Maeve was a new addition to his life, and Tinajas had been part of it for a long time.
As she carried the basket past Jem and toward the bedrooms, she said, “You smell like shit. Crawl outside and find a hole to live in.”
“He still hasn’t eaten,” Tony called after her.
“Fuck him and his eating.”
When Tony came back to the table, he set pancakes in front of Jem. Big pancakes. Golden pancakes. Stacked three high, drenched in syrup, swimming in butter. Tony patted Jem’s shoulder, and then he turned his attention to the kids. He flattened big hands on the tablets, covering the screens.
Guillo tried to jerk his away.
Dionica screamed.
The sound went through Jem’s head like an icepick to the ear. He bolted upright in his seat. Hell, even the hair on his arms stood up.
Laughing, Tony pulled his hands away and said, “Then eat your breakfast. You’re going to be late.”
As soon as her tablet was free, Dionica yanked it away and huddled over it. Guillo copied her. But Dionica did grab a fork and spear some of the pancakes. And Guillo reached blindly across the table for his, apparently not able to pull his eyes away for even a second.
Since it turned out that Jem’s head wasn’t going to explode after the screaming, he got his own utensils and cut into the pancakes.
They were as good as they looked, but the bad part was that he also had to taste the inside of his mouth, which was definitely furrier than he remembered.
His stomach did this queasy slithering thing as the food landed, and Jem put down his fork and knife and concentrated on keeping his asshole closed.
That was when Tinajas came back. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She snatched Dionica’s tablet. The girl screamed—icepick to the ear again—but Tinajas only leaned over the table to grab Guillo’s. The boy shouted a word in Spanish that Jem knew would have made most moms reach for a sandal.
“Eat,” Tinajas snapped. “You too.” To Jem, she said, “You’ve got great fucking timing. We’ve got taekwondo and piano this morning, and you decided to block my driveway.” And then, because she was on a roll, she shouted, “Eat your fucking pancakes!”
It took Jem a moment to realize this last order was for him. He wasn’t sure he could eat more pancakes—not and keep his asshole closed—but he cut them up and moved the pieces around.
Without the tablets to distract them, the kids devoured their food.
They also studied Jem. He figured he was kind of an uncle, but the kind that didn’t come around a lot, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to like him or think he was a little scary.
On the other hand, he did have a motorcycle, and that was probably in his favor.
Did kids still like motorcycles? They had to. Didn’t they?
“How’s taekwondo going?” Jem asked Guillo.
“Dionica’s got taekwondo,” Tinajas said from the sink, where she was scrubbing dishes before she loaded them into the dishwasher. “And you’re a sexist piece of shit.”
“Jesus Christ, Tin. Give me a break.”
“Girls can do anything boys can do,” Dionica told him.
“Yeah, I know. I just thought—”
“Want to see how far I can jump down the stairs?” Guillo said.
That actually sounded badass, especially if they put a mattress at the bottom. But then again, maybe that wasn’t what responsible uncles did. Even if they did drive a motorcycle.
“Go get dressed!” Tinajas shouted. “Tony!”
With a grin, the big man hustled Dionica and Guillo out of the kitchen. As he passed Jem, he mouthed, Good luck.
As soon as the kids were gone, Tinajas said, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Rough night.”
“No shit rough night. You smell like you passed out in a urinal.”
“I do not.”
“In an ashtray, then.”
“Hey, I’m going through something. Can I get a little sympathy?”
Tinajas threw down the scrub brush and grabbed a towel.
She marched across the kitchen, drying her hands.
Jem tried to sink down in his seat, but she grabbed his head and thumbed back his eyelids.
Those razor blades stabbed the back of Jem’s eyes again, but when he tried to pull away, Tinajas didn’t let go.
Finally, she said, “What the fuck were you on?”
“Nothing, God.” But she had some crazy mom-slash-big sister energy going right then, and he heard himself mumble, “It was just some weed. And a few drinks. And I think it was oxy, but he definitely cut it with some bad shit—”
She released him with a shove, and his head cracked against the chair. “You’re an idiot.”
Jem decided not to argue. Mostly because she was still close enough to grab him again.
But she went back to the dishes in the sink.
Apparently, their family used a million cups, and she was going to squeeze them all into the dishwasher whether they fit or not.
The water was still running. And Jem was starting to feel like maybe his stomach wasn’t going to snake away.
He gave the pancakes an experimental poke.
“Did you break up with him?” Tinajas asked.
“What? Oh. No.”
“Did he break up with you?”
“I don’t think so. I hope not.” He dropped the fork again. “I guess I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
He told her. Not all of it. Not everything with the wolves. Not finding Wendell. Not the gut-wrenching panic of realizing, too late, what he’d done—almost gotten Tean killed. But most of it. Enough of it.
When he finished, Tinajas said, “He should break up with you.”
“God damn it.”
“You’re a piece of shit.”
“I’m not a piece of shit. I made, like, one mistake—”
That, it turned out, was a mistake of its own, because she rounded on him, a dripping cup in one hand. “One mistake? One?”
“I—”
“You disappeared, dumbshit. You turned your phone off and disappeared. And when you showed up again, you were high as a motherfucking kite, and you picked a fight with him because you are a fucking mess.”