Tean didn’t answer.But to judge by the glare the doc sent his way, he didn’t feel the same way.
After Daniel’s getaway, Jem had stumbled inside, only to find Tean and an eerily composed Lucy emerging from the building.Jem’s half-assed (and half-concussed) story about looking for Daniel, only to have Daniel get the drop on him and steal his keys, somehow seemed to work.Hospital security bought it.The police bought it.Even dumbasses Trevino and Van Cleave bought it.Probably—Jem eyed himself in the rearview mirror—because of the wheezing, the mussed hair, the oil stains, the fact that he couldn’t stand up straight, and, oh yeah, the road rash.
“I already kind of liked him,” Jem said.“Because of that thing with the pen.That kid isfast.But this was next level.”
“Can we not talk about it, please?”
“I’m just saying, I thought I was going to hate him because, well, he’s Ammon’s kid.And heisa manipulative little shit, which he definitely gets from his dad.But then I realizedI’ma manipulative little shit—well, I used to be, before I met you and reformed and became a new man.”
“You haven’t reformed.You’re not a new man.”
“I’m totally a new man!Babe!Last week, that lady wanted to write me a check for Scipio’s charity, and I wouldn’t let her.”
“That’s because there is no charity!You made it up because that woman at the park didn’t want you to let him play in the fountain.”
“But it’s a good idea, right?Bubble Puppies is killer.”
As though Tean hadn’t heard him, he continued, “And you got that extra order of onion rings from Sonic last weekend, and you didn’t pay for it.”
“Hold on, that was an honest mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake.You told the young man working there he had pretty eyes!And then you pretended not to have enough money for the onion rings.”
“He did have pretty eyes!Not as pretty as yours.Yours are the prettiest.”Jem directed the next words to their driver.“Ahmed, doesn’t my boyfriend have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen?”
Ahmed, who had to be pushing fifty, probably topped out at five-three, and had combed his hair into the sweetest side part Jem had ever seen, chuckled nervously.“I don’t know.”
“Look into his eyes,” Jem said.
“Don’t look into my eyes,” Tean snapped.“Look at the road so we don’t swerve into traffic and have an accident.Do you know how many people die on the way to the emergency room because they get stuck in traffic?”
“No, but I want to,” Jem said, perking up.“Is it six?”
“Is itsix?”
“Eight.Wait, let Ahmed guess—Ahmed, how many do you think it is?”
“More than eight,” Ahmed said with another nervous chuckle.
Tean opened his mouth—and for the first time in what felt like alongtime, that familiar, ghoulish light started up in his face.The one that was sometimes a little too close to glee.Then he shook his head, shut his mouth, and stared out the window.
“Oh come on,” Jem said.“Tell me.Tell me about orphan-wagons getting T-boned.Tell me about how manufacturer-designed crumple zones mean drivers are safer than their passengers, and so every driver has an ethical obligation to tell their passengers it’s every man for himself.Ahmed, I notice you didn’t give us that warning.”
“Oh my,” Ahmed said.
Still nothing from Tean, so Jem said, “Tell me about how many people get bowel obstructions because they can’t make it home for their afternoon dumps.”
“Jem,” Tean said, voice sharp.“Knock it off.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence.And it was a long way, made longer by the afternoon traffic.They passed Thanksgiving Point, which was decked out with black and purple balloons and had a sign advertising Spooktober and—this was even more badass—Dinos After Dark.They passed the glass-and-steel bulk of the Adobe headquarters, squatting above them and flickering orange in the sun.They passed Point of the Mountain, and the prison on the other side, where tiny figures moved behind the distant screens of wire-topped fences.Jem watched them, head slumped against the glass.You go around and around and you don’t get anywhere, because you’re fenced in on every side.All day, every day, moving and doing and trying, and you don’t evergoanywhere.You’re just stuck.Here.And it’s the shits.
When Ahmed finally dropped them in front of their house, it was almost six, and long shadows ran across the lawns.Inside, Scipio was making his slow descent from the couch, stretching, shaking himself, testing first one paw then the other, the tags on his collar jingling with every movement.
“Come on, boy,” Jem said, ruffling the dog’s ears.
After Scipio had done his business, they played fetch for a while.The cold wasn’t quite deep enough for Jem’s breath to turn white, but it sliced at his ears, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose.Part of that had to do with the deep shadows; the day had been lovely until the sun had gone down.
Scipio, of course, was unbothered.The Lab sprinted back and forth, chasing the balls that Jem sent across the yard: thumping when they hit the ground, hissing as they rolled through the grass, the chain-link rattling when Scipio couldn’t catch them in time and they hit the fence.Because there was a fence.All the way around the yard.On every side.
