I hesitate. “And you’re not going to close the door and leave me trapped here?”
She makes an exasperated face. “Jesus, Suit. You’re weirdly good at coming up with pranks. I feel like I should be writing these down.”
I toe my way out onto the roof, following Hannah to the edge. She dangles her legs over while I sit gingerly beside her, leaning back to brace myself.
She glances over. “Stop thinking so hard.”
The night’s dazzling—the stars; long, swooping lines of the bridge; dark water; and even darker mass of Alcatraz like something you’d see on an album cover. My shoulders relax. “This is pretty cool.”
“I thought you’d like it.” Hannah taps her foot against the roof.
“You’re making me nervous being that squirmy next to the edge.”
“So,” she says, ignoring me. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”
“Which elephant?”
“The Whitesnake one.” She cuts a glance at me. “Or is that something you don’t talk about?”
I shrug. “I don’t mind.”
“So what happened? Did you see any signs your dad was on his way out before he left?”
“Not really. I was pretty distracted that year.”
“By what?”
I give her a bright smile, which is what I do whenever I’m about to reveal something serious about myself to another person. “I was getting bullied at school. Kids used to tease me for stuttering. And wearing the same clothes too often. Said I looked poor.” I turn up the wattage on my smile, making it clear it’s no big deal. “We lived in this tiny town in Virginia. My mom was a Dollar Tree clerk and my dad was a handyman, and we were always racing to make rent. The bullies were probably right.”
Hannah watches me. “I guess that explains those fancy clothes you wear, huh?”
I frown. “What?”
She shakes her head. “Never mind. Continue.”
I lie back on the roof until I’m looking up at the stars, my arms folded beneath my head. “My dad must’ve been hiding how unhappy he was. I never saw a hint. One day, he just left. With only a duffel bag, and, you know, at least he didn’t rob us on his way out. But I used to think . . . he didn’t even take anything to remember us by. My mom’s the strong, silent type, so when he left she just zipped up. She had to take a second job, so she was rarely home, and when she was, it was like she was a different person. Always sad. Didn’t want to leave her bed.”
“I can’t imagine walking away from anyone I loved,” Hannah says.
“I like to think he had a good reason.” Off her skeptical look, I add, “People are complicated.” It’s funny, but being on the road makes me feel closer to my dad, as if this is where he disappeared to, somewhere out here on America’s highways. There’s a fluidity to picking up and leaving, sliding from city to city—a freedom in it. Sometimes I wonder if that’s whathe longed for. As much as it hurts, a small part of me can understand it.
Hannah scoffs.
“Or maybe he was a selfish monster and I never really knew him,” I say. “Anyway, I figured the least I could do for my mom was not give her any trouble. So I threw myself into school, got a part-time job, aced the SATs. Got into Dartmouth.”
“The unimpeachable son. What happened when you were sad or angry?”
“Whitesnake.”
“Mm.”
“I like to think he left me his records as a parting gift. Or, you know, a sign. And I swear listening to all that music helped me with my stutter. Does that sound weird?”
“No.” She shakes her head, then lies down next to me. Her voice drifts skyward. “Not to me.”
Her music is the kind I would’ve played over and over in my room as a teen: intense, unrelenting, emotionally expansive. Three and a half minutes of sound and fury to brace my heart.
“So you’re familiar with contingent affection,” she says, still gazing at the stars.
