Tony asked Will, “Why’d you bail on the Air Force?”

Will gnawed at the chicken bones, sucking the marrow.

Again, Cayla tried to intervene. “I love those Gulf beaches with their white sand. Don’t you think, Tony? The Atlantic’s too cold.”

Tony beamed. All it took was a little positive attention. The tough guy was gone. The gnat was back. He joked, “Shit, girl. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know what beach I like.”

“You don’t know nothin’.”

Will let Tony and Cayla debate the finer points of sands and tourist bars while he watched Benji. The boy moved like a bird, his arms held close to his sides like he was afraid of knocking something over. At the children’s home, they had all eaten like ravenous animals, shoveling down food, wrapping their arms around their plates to keep thieves at bay. This kid had obviously been trained to be seen in public. He kept a napkin in his lap. He wiped his hands and mouth. He made sure that he chewed each bite before swallowing.

Will was a teenager before he realized that the reason he kept choking every time he ate was because he wasn’t chewing enough.

Benji gave Will a furtive glance. He knew he was being watched. Will winked at him. Benji quickly looked back down. He was probably thinking about his mother—wondering where she was, if she was thinking of him, what he’d done wrong to make her go away in the first place.

Will had seen that look before, too.

“Hey.” Tony snapped his fingers in Will’s face.

Will was with Bill Black on this one. He slapped away Tony’s hand.

“Damn, son.” Tony held his hand to his chest. He nodded toward the faucet. “I was just asking could you help me with that?”

Will realized he’d been hearing the leak since he walked into the kitchen. “Probably needs a new washer.”

Cayla’s voice got high-pitched, the way some women’s did whenever they asked a man to help them. “You wouldn’t mind fixing it for me, would you, Bud? I’m not good with tools.”

Will hesitated. Fixing things was what he did for Sara, like replacing a blown lightbulb or painting the tops of her doors. “Don’t have the right tools.”

“I got some in the truck,” Tony offered.

Before he could stop himself, Will said, “I thought you told me you borrowed the truck.”

Tony grinned. “Borrowed everything on it, son.”

“You got a washer?” Will asked. “That’s probably what it is. Might be ceramic. That’s not a cheap faucet.”

Cayla seemed pleased to hear this. “I got it at the Home Depot. Figured I could treat myself for once.”

“Store’s still open.” Tony started playing with the faucet. “Why don’t you and me go fetch a washer, fix this sink right up?”

Will sat back in his chair. He felt trapped between his job and Sara. He hadn’t forgotten about their conversation on the phone. His girlfriend needed him. At least she would until Will told her the truth. Then again, Tony seemed relaxed and chatty. He might be more forthcoming about his past without Cayla around.

Tony turned off the faucet. “Shit, Bud, come on. It ain’t like I’m askin’ you on a date.”

“Speaking of which,” Cayla inserted. “Bud, why don’t you follow Tony on your bike? That way you can drive yourself back here.”

“Hey, now,” Tony said. “That ain’t nice.”

“Ya think?” she countered. “Come on, Bud. That sink’s been driving me crazy for weeks.”

Will looked at Benji. The kid stared back. Will asked him, “What do you think?”

Benji chewed his lip. The skin was chapped. His eyelids were heavy. Will could see dark circles underneath. Maybe he stayed up nights looking out the window, waiting for his mother. Or maybe he couldn’t sleep because the guilt of losing her was too much.

Will stood from the table. Being around this kid was screwing with his head. “All right,” he told Tony. “Let’s go.”

Will rode alongside Tony in the truck. His bike was in the back, strapped down with some bungee cords Cayla had in her garage. Every turn, Will could hear the bike groan in protest, but the night had turned cold and rainy and Will was grateful to be in the warm, dry cab.

Tony was supposed to drop him off at the home improvement store. Will still couldn’t decide whether or not he was going back to Cayla’s. She’d seemed certain Will would return. She’d kept touching him—rubbing his back, grabbing his arm. She’d even kissed his cheek before he left. Will had tolerated the contact, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of returning to that cramped house with its stuffed dolls and air of desperation.

Besides, Tony was looking like the better way into Macon’s ever-changing drug scene. He’d loosened up on the drive. He talked a bit about Hilton Head, his boyhood summers spent sleeping on the beach and stealing wallets from stupid tourists who left their stuff out in the open while they swam in the ocean.

As with the previous night when they’d driven to Lena’s house, Tony was fidgety—playing with the radio, tapping his fingers on the dashboard, keeping one hand barely on the wheel. His music selection was surprising. The Madonna CD in the player was from the eighties. He hit the replay button on “Like a Virgin.”

“I saw her at the Atlanta Omni back in ’87.” Tony took a sip of beer. He’d already washed down a couple of pills from a Baggie in the glove compartment. “She’s a tiny little thing. Got them weird bras make her tits look like bullets.” Will stared out the window.

“Sorry about before,” Tony said. “When I got mad about Florida.”

Will shrugged.

“I had some bad shit go down in Sarasota when I was sixteen.” Instead of asking for more, Will shrugged again. “No problem.”

“Got arrested down there. Near ’bout got my ass throwed in jail.” He gave a wet-sounding belch. “Gave the cops my brother’s name. Half brother. He’s a stupid little shit. Got hisself thrown in for twenty years off a bank holdup.” Tony laughed. “Dumbass hit a bank. Can you believe that?”

Will shook his head. As crimes go, robbing a bank offered the lowest payout with the highest risk. “Not too bright.”

“You damn right. They tracked him straight back to his old lady’s door.” Tony finished the beer. He rolled down the window and threw out the can. “Don’t tell Cayla what I said about giving his name to the cops.”

“She won’t hear it from me.”

“Good deal.” He popped open another can of beer. “Cayla’s all hung up on us being related, but my daddy was with her mama less than two years. That ain’t nothin’. And even if it was, I don’t care.”

Will held back a response.

“I seen you lookin’ at her, Bud. I don’t mind that. I know she’s pretty. Lots of men like to look at her.” He pointed his finger Will’s way. “Just don’t touch her.”

There was a threat in his voice, but Will was so far removed from being interested in Cayla Martin that he couldn’t take it seriously.

“Her mama’s got four other kids. They put me in the basement with the boys. She used to come down there when she was drunk and show me a good time.”