“You know, our mother was very tough on us,” Josie said, almost apologetically. “I couldn’t ever really handle it, but your mom was always — she used to get between us and just take it. And it — you know. Like I said, your mom is tough too.”
Carver nodded, absorbing this.
“We can talk anytime. Anytime. Just text me.”
“Okay. I will.”
“And, um, before I leave you to Scott —” Josie glanced over his shoulder at the van. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but he’s a good kid.”
“We’re all thirty-six, Aunt Josie,” Carver stage-whispered back.
“You’re kids to me still. Don’t make me feel old.” She was smiling. “He’s a good kid, and he means well. I know he tries to make himself seem like this self-contained rolling stone, but he needs people. He’s just afraid to admit it, I think, ‘cause he’s always had to rely so much on strangers, you know? It gets you off on the wrong foot with people if they get the idea that you need them more than they need you.”
“Yeah. I hear what you’re saying.”
“Okay.” Josie patted him on the arm. “Good night. See if you can’t get him to come inside, you both know where the spare key is. I’m gonna go to bed now.”
“Night. And thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Carver watched her go and waited to hear the front door’s deadbolt click shut before he made his way over to the van.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Scott wasn’t sure where he was when he woke up. He lay there blinking in the darkness, aware of his right hand feeling around for something without understanding what he was feeling around for and why. Then he heard banging on metal, three quick knocks on the van door. Right, he was in the back of his van, sleeping on the camper mattress. What he was feeling around for, instinctively, was his phone — to make use of the flashlight.
He found it and did so, then squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily blinded. Whoever was knocking did it three more times. “I’m coming,” he shouted almost unintelligibly, kicking away his comforter and blanket and sitting up.
When Scott heaved the sliding door open, he was freshly disoriented by the sight of Carver.
“Hi,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “What? Hi. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Carver said. His voice sounded thick and scratchy like he’d been crying, but he was smiling. “Can you quit shining that in my eyes?”
“Sorry.” Scott leaned back into the van and stretched up to hit the big battery-powered push light on the ceiling. “Come in, it’s cold out there.” He was only wearing a tank top and boxers.
Carver stepped into the van, and Scott shut the door behind him. Carver settled on the mattress beside him and looked around, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
“What happened to your knee?” Scott said, noticing a Band-Aid.
“Tripped in the parking lot,” Carver said. “Is this mattress always back here? Where do you put your stuff?”
Scott yawned. “I secure it against the wall normally, so it protects stuff if it slides around… and what it’s resting on is this, like, wood frame I built, with storage bins inside, so there’s stuff under it. And I haven’t picked everything up from the country club yet, they told me I could come in tomorrow morning.”
“If your guy can’t fix this thing, are you gonna have to get a van with the same exact dimensions so everything fits the same way?”
“I can’t even think about that right now.”
“Sorry,” Carver said, grinning. The more awake Scott became, the more Carver’s demeanor confused him. It was like he was sixteen and thirty-six at the same time: he looked as tired as he did puckish. He was disheveled but didn’t seem to care, for once.
“What’s going on?” Scott said. The details of the evening were coming back to him, now. “I saw you running away from your parents.”
“And you saw the holes in the wall, per my mom?” Carver said, still grinning. “Yeah, it’s been a weird night.” He smoothed his hair back. “Sorry for waking you up, by the way.”
“It’s all good, I wasn’t —”
“I can tell you were dead asleep.”
