She looks at her watch. “As of twenty minutes ago he was snoring lightly. I left the door open some, so be quiet when you go up.”

  I nod. “Um, did you know Etta was getting hate mail?”

  Mom sits up straighter on the couch. “Yeah. She mentioned it and asked me if I’d rather she didn’t take you driving anymore. Concerned for your safety. I told her not to worry. That okay with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve known most of these people all my life, Ethan.” She sighs. “I can’t believe any of them would hurt you. But I also can’t quite believe they’d write those letters. Did she tell you what was in them?”

  “A little. They don’t mean anything though, right?”

  She smiles, but it seems fake. “Let’s hope not! Why don’t you get ready for bed now, honey.” Honey. First time she’s called me that in a while. “What time are you and Max getting together tomorrow?”

  Max. My pulse quickens just hearing his name. “He’s coming by around one.”

  “He’s driving?”

  “Yeah.” I wait. Will she put her foot down?

  “I looked into this, Ethan. If he gets caught, you don’t suffer; it’s all on him. That is, as long as you aren’t driving, which I know you won’t do.” She gives me a heavy look. “But tell me this, and tell me honestly. Do you trust his driving?”

  I think back to our drive to Bangor. “Actually, yeah.”

  “So you’ve gone driving with him before?”

  Trapped. I shrug and grin. “Once. He didn’t pull any stunts, or drive fast—nothing like that.”

  She gets to her feet; it looks like an effort. “Good. Just leave your phone on in case I need to reach you. And remember your promise of the other day. Now, good night. Give me a hug.”

  Before I head for the stairs it hits me that I haven’t seen her do anything fun lately. I wasn’t that wild about her going out with Jimmy Korbel, but at least she went out. Maybe she’s having second thoughts about kicking Dad out? If so, she needs to take action, or Connie will move in. I decide I have to ask. “You haven’t seen Jimmy again, have you?”

  She plunks back down onto the couch. “Mr. Korbel and I do not see eye to eye, I’ve realized. Mind you, I could have tolerated the difference of opinion, but he, evidently, could not.”

  “What opinion?”

  She looks at me like she’s wondering if I’ve lost my head, but she just says, “He can’t tolerate that I’ll fight to keep people from bringing the Bible into the classroom.”

  I blink at her. “And . . . he doesn’t want to see you anymore because of that?” As much as I’d rather have my parents together than not, this seems crazy to me.

  “Not only Jimmy. It might have escaped your notice, what with all the goings-on with your brother, but Nancy Hyde won’t speak to me. Or Jeannine Stevens, either. Seems my letting them know that Etta could use their support stretched a lifetime of friendship too far.” She takes a shaky breath. “So it’s good that you’re going out with friends, Ethan, because you’re the only one who seems to have any right now.”

  She turns away from me like she’s looking for the remote control, but I’m sure it’s so I won’t see her face. Nancy Hyde has been Mom’s best friend since, like, high school. I can’t believe this stupid ID stuff would make Nancy turn against Mom! ID. That’s part of BIID. Which makes you want to shed something that really belongs to you. With you. Like best friends.

  I want to say something, like, How can she do that? Doesn’t she know how much you need her right now? or How could she let something like this come between you? or Some friend she turned out to be! But I’m afraid that would only make things worse.

  Instead of any of that, I ask, “Does Mrs. Hyde know about Kyle?”

  Mom won’t look at me. I’m sure she’s either crying or trying not to. “Yes. Go to bed, Ethan.”

  I head for the stairs and climb slowly, racking my brain for something comforting to say, working through wild scenarios where I go to Nancy Hyde and confront her. I can’t come up with anything sensible, except that I wish I’d mentioned Etta when Mom said we have no friends. Etta is definitely a friend. At least, I think of her that way, and I feel sure Mom does, too. But that won’t quite make up for Nancy.

  I peek in at Kyle’s room. The light from the hall is just strong enough that I can see what Mom probably saw the last time she checked. I head to my room and nearly jump as my phone beeps at me. I tuck Edgar under an arm and pull the phone out of my pocket as I close the door to my room behind me.

  Max! Of course. It says, can u chat? have u heard the news?

  I respond, chat yes news no what is it?

  rocks thru all windows sylvia’s apt 1 with note

  saying?

  go back to city take darwin with you

  Well, this is creepy. It’s just like Heidi said. I type, man, weird. she ok?

  yeah shaken up staying with folks for now just wanted u to know cu tomorrow

  And my stroke of genius: dream of me

  always do

  I’m in love. I’m definitely in love. And my sheets could have told a tale that night.

  Chapter 8

  Saturday morning I wake up to the sound of Kyle and Mom arguing. What else is new? They’re in the bathroom, where I gather she’s changing the bandage on his hand. He’s complaining that he wants to do it, and Mom’s refusing to let that happen.

  I get up and move silently toward the open door; I haven’t seen his hand, just bandages. And after I peek around the corner of the door frame, I wish I hadn’t. You can tell it’s a hand, but just barely, through the bruises and dried blood where unhealed wounds have bled a little. I see puffy skin around what look like deep cuts, and dark spots where he must have stabbed it with something. The whole thing is swollen and misshapen. I have to step back quickly and lean on the wall for support, trying not to gasp loudly enough to let them know I saw. I couldn’t say why, but it occurs to me that it’s easier for Mom if she thinks I don’t know how bad it is.

  The image of that mutilated hand stays with me through breakfast so that I’m almost glad to go up to my room and do a little homework. Kyle is in the living room at the computer, supposedly doing some of the homework the school is sending to help him stay with his classes, while Mom runs a short errand. Even though I know she won’t be gone very long, I keep tiptoeing to the top of the stairs, creeping down just far enough so that I can see Kyle’s back where he sits at the computer, pecking at the keyboard with the fingers on his left hand. For all I know, there’s not much that would stop him going for kitchen knives and doing God knows what to that offending member he’s so convinced is causing him to stumble.

  BIID. I can’t remember what that stands for now, but I sure as hell remember what people who have it do to themselves. My stolen sight of his hand will make sure I don’t forget that.

  Nothing horrible has happened by the time Mom gets back. I go downstairs when I hear the car, and she comes in with stuff from the pharmacy—probably more bandage material. She throws her coat—not the shearling, not cold enough for that yet—at the closet door, obviously furious about something.

  She looks right at me. “Did you know what happened to Sylvia Modine? To her windows?”

  “Max texted me late last night. She’s staying with her folks for now.”

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  I shrug, not sure why she’s mad at me. I counter, “Were you going to tell me about Etta’s signs getting stolen, and the hate mail, and the town hall? I wasn’t hiding anything. It just happened last night, and I found out after I went upstairs.”

  She takes a few audible breaths. “I’m sorry, Ethan. It’s just that it’s all so stupid.”

  Kyle, who has moved quietly toward us, says, “It’s not stupid. They’re just expressing their opinion. They’re allowed to do that.”

  Mom wheels on him but then forces herself to speak calmly. “Kyle Poe, shame on you. That’s violence, not ‘opinion.’ They threw rocks through every last window in the place Sylvia Modine calls home. She had to leave. If someone did that here, would you defend them as ‘expressing an opinion’?”

  Kyle turns away and goes back to the computer.

  Mom turns her glare back to me, but it’s not at me any longer. “And that’s not all! Did you see—what did I do with it—have you seen any of these?” She bends over to dig in her coat pocket and comes up with a crumpled red paper. “It was on my car windshield.” She shakes it in my direction. It has a crude drawing of what is probably supposed to be Etta’s face in thick black lines, and underneath is a lot of typing, also in bold black. I take it so I can figure out what it says. It’s something vague about how by supporting evolution, Etta is by some association that isn’t clear to me supporting the ACLU, which according to this, supports NAMBLA, which it says is the North American Man / Boy Love Association. I can feel my face crumbling into confusion before I even look up at Mom.

  “Can you believe that?” she squeaks. “Of all the confounded, idiotic, asinine—words fail me.”

  “What’s NAMBLA?”

  “It’s a sick group of people who think it’s okay for adult men to have sex with young boys. That’s not the point. The point is—the point is that there is no point! How in God’s name they made that connection has got to go into the Guinness Book of World Records for the most labyrinthine logic of all time.”

  I decide not to ask what “labyrinthine” means. I can sort of work it out. But she’s really upset. “Mom, do you want me to stay?” And, surprising myself, I actually mean it. Much as I want to be with Max, right now I don’t know whether I’m more worried about Kyle or Mom. She can’t do this alone, and right now all she has is me.

  She wraps me in a hug that lasts maybe ten seconds. Then she pats my arm, not looking at me, and says, “Ethan, you go. Have a good time. Just don’t drive, and keep your promise. Come back to me whole and healthy.” Still keeping her face turned away, she picks up her coat, hangs it in the closet, and then goes upstairs with the plastic bags full of gauze and antibiotic ointment.

  Max is late. Again. At first I’m wondering if this is going to be a thing with him, but then I think maybe today it has more to do with what happened to Sylvia. Even though I want to support Mom, just sitting in the house waiting for Max gets on my nerves too much. I put on the silk shirt Max bought me on our last excursion, and then my black leather jacket, knowing the pea coat would be better for hanging around outside waiting but wanting to be in the leather for Max. I walk up and down the driveway a few minutes and then my iPhone rings. It’s not a number I recognize, but I answer, anyway. It’s Max, saying he’ll be another few minutes. I could go back in, but I don’t want to. And then I get an idea. I punch some numbers into my phone. My dad answers.

  “Whatcha up to, kid?” I don’t make my usual reply, so he says, “Ethan? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. I just didn’t know whether you’d heard about Kyle. Has Mom called you?”

  Slight pause. “No. What’s wrong with Kyle?” He sounds both angry and anxious.

  “I guess they’re still trying to figure that out for sure, but he might have this disease.” He doesn’t speak, just lets me explain as much as I can.

  When I fall silent he says, “How is he now?”

  I take a deep breath. “Um, well, his hand is pretty bad. He has to keep it bandaged. Mom does that. And he’s taking antibiotics. He saw one therapist last week, and he’ll see another this week. Kind of evaluations, like. You know?” I keep hoping something fatherly will kick in and he’ll take over the conversation, but there’s more silence. I imagine him grinding his jaw.

  Finally he says, “Ethan, thank you for telling me. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine. I mean, it’s weird, and I’m trying to help Mom, you know. But I’m okay.”

  Another short pause, and then, “Okay. I gotta hang up now.”

  I say “Bye” into a hang-up click.

  Now I’m a little scared. Mom hadn’t told him, and I’m sure I’ve just made things worse between them. But—damn it, he should know! If I had something wrong with me like Kyle does, I’d want Dad to know!

  I think.

  Anyway, he knows now, and Mom’s going to tear me a new one when she finds out. Which will probably happen while I’m out with Max. Fortunately I don’t have to stand there shivering and getting more terrified by the second for very long; the white Sequoia appears like a glorious steed. I slide my ear cuff on, get into the car, and Max whisks me away.

  I’m thinking we should kiss or something, but Max just smiles and then backs out of the driveway again. Once we’re on the road he says, “Bangor again?” and gives me this sexy look. “Same detour?” I’ve noticed already that the back of the car is prepared.

  I’m amazed and a little ashamed at how easy it is for me to respond to this suggestion. The first response is purely physical, and I nearly have to adjust my jeans. “You bet.” Then, when I’ve given that some space, I say, “How’s Sylvia doing?”

  “She’s being Sylvia. Which is to say she’s acting like she wasn’t scared shitless last night, which she was. She’s all furious now, going on about how she’ll show them they can’t frighten her, on and on. My folks are still scared, but she refuses to be. My dad took her to go get some more of her stuff. The window repair will have to come out of her security deposit, if that even covers it all, and meanwhile it’s cold as shit in there.”

  His iPhone rings, and he fishes it out of his pocket. It’s not the same one he’d had just last weekend; this explains the number I didn’t recognize. He doesn’t say much, and when he hangs up he says, “The folks want me back by five.” He sort of chuckles. “We’ll see.”

  “New phone?”

  “Yeah. You should save the number I called you from earlier. This is the latest phone, probably just like yours. Did a hand-me-up with the old one.”

  “You mean hand-me-down?”

  He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “No, dummy. There’s no one I’d hand it down to. I let Sylvia have mine. She didn’t have a cell at all, and with things like they are she might need one.”

  Here we go again. I want to ask, Is this chatter? Are you hiding behind all this hip talk? And does it make you feel good when you say things I don’t get? Instead I say, “Seen any juncos lately?”

  He turns to me for just a sec, something like fear in his eyes. “How did you know about that?”

  “You mentioned it last week. They came and sat on the car after . . . you know. Have there been more of them?”

  “For real. I went out onto the back deck this morning to get away from the tension in the house. There were no birds there when I went out. And suddenly there’s all these juncos. And they’re all males. Even Sylvia thinks it’s freaky now.”

  “D’you have bird feeders?”

  He shakes his head. “Haven’t put them out yet. My folks always wait until Thanksgiving for that. Something about not wanting to convince birds to stay if they ought to migrate, but the ones that stay will need food. I don’t know why they care. So, anyway, these little gray birds appear, one or two at first, but then it’s like Hitchcock. They flutter down to the floor of the deck and peck at nothing, surrounding me. I shooed them away once, but they came back. That’s about when I decided to go back in.”

  “They didn’t peck at you or anything though, right?”

  “Just hopped around me. Anyway, d’you wanna go back to This Time For Sure? Maybe there’ll be another one of those silk shirts.” He jerks his chin toward my chest. “I see you’re wearing the one I got you last week. Maybe in black this time?” His grin makes me forgive him for any amount of making me feel dumb. “You would look fabulous in a decent black shirt.”

  We take the same detour as last time. Max leaves the engine running so the heat stays on, and we get into the back again. I come first this time, then him, but then we don’t get back in the front seat right away. Instead, he has me lie down on my stomach, ass exposed, while he runs a finger softly around my tat, which is essentially healed now.

  “Gorgeous,” he says quietly.

  “Looking great, isn’t it.”

  He chuckles, low and sexy. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was admiring.”

  The next thing I know, it’s not his finger on my tat, it’s his mouth. The contrast between his tongue and his teeth, first one and then the other and on and on, makes me hard again. He’s kneading the other side of my ass with his hand, and pretty soon I can’t stifle a groan. He laughs again and turns me over.

  Now, mind you, I’m already well aware of that thing I’ve heard called a taint—that strip of skin behind my balls. But this is the first time anybody else has touched it. Max grabs a towel just in time, laughing in what sounds like delight. And then he’s kissing me.

  We lie there like that for a long time, touching each other everywhere, kissing and kissing. Max starts to doze a little at one point, and I watch his face, the beautiful mouth, the soft hair at his temples. Then there’s an odd shadow overhead, and I see a small bird has landed on the glass of the sunroof. Then there are two of them, their creamy underbellies giving away that they’re juncos. A few of them must be landing on the hood, judging from the sounds I’m hearing.

  I shift my position a little to try and see the hood, and Max wakes up. He shouts, “Fucking birds!” They all take off at once. “Did they crap on the car?”

  He scrambles into his jeans and shoes and jumps out of the car, walking around it, examining the finish. Doesn’t look like he finds anything. Back in the car he grins at me. “Hold me, charmer. I’m freezing! Warm me up.”

  I have to undo his jeans to do the job right.

  Back on the road, I tell him about my dinner with Heidi and Etta. I’m just about to get to the part where Heidi seemed to know something was wrong at home when I realize he’s not really listening. I back off of what I was going to tell him about power animals. I need to make sure he heard me the other day, about my friends being my friends.