“Just get in.”
I climbed inside, hugging myself to keep warm while Tyler slammed the passenger door and jogged around to the other side. He was brooding, unhappy about something.
He drove us down to the magazine so I could drop off my flash drive to Jojo. She greeted me with a smile, eager to upload the pictures to her computer.
“Daddy is loving these,” she said.
“Yeah? Does that mean I’m done?” I asked.
“Maybe. I need you to write up what you’ve learned so far, and I’ll clean it up for you. We might need some pork.”
“Um … pork?”
Her finger tapped the computer mouse. “You know … material we might use later.” She scanned me from head to toe. “Go home and get some rest, Ellison. You look like hell.”
“On my way,” I said, taking back my chip and heading for the door.
Tyler’s truck was still running, the exhaust fumes billowing into the night sky. The moment he saw me walking toward him, he leaned over the console and pushed open my door. I climbed up again, and he rubbed my leg quickly.
“We need to get you home. You’re exhausted.”
“You’ve been working a lot harder than me.”
“But I’m used to it. Jojo should give you a few days off. You’re going to get sick.”
“I feel better than I have in a long time, actually.”
Tyler put the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb, heading toward my house. He lit a cigarette and handed it to me without me asking, and then lit his own. We didn’t talk much. Instead, I left Tyler to the seemingly millions of thoughts in his head.
Tyler pulled his truck into my drive and slowed to a stop at the gate. I leaned over him to press in the code, and the gate whined, beginning its slow journey open. Tyler pulled forward and drove the mile-long path to the house.
It was dark, and I assumed Maricela and José had gone home for the night.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, gathering my things and climbing down to the concrete below. I walked around the front of the truck, took a few more steps, and then froze.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Ellison, she knows,” Sterling said. He stepped out from the shadows, looking thin, his whiskers a few days past a five o’clock shadow. He stumbled down the steps, his tie loose and his shirt stained.
Tyler’s door opened and closed, and his footsteps crunched against the snow and rock until he stopped just behind me.
“Hey, Sterling,” Tyler said. “Good to see you.”
Sterling’s eyes were wet. I could smell the whiskey from ten feet away. “She fucking knows, Ellie. She won’t answer my calls.”
“I’ve told you, she never answers your calls when she’s on holiday.”
“She fucking knows!” he spat.
“Hey,” Tyler said, stepping between us. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I bet it will make more sense in the morning. Let me take you home, Sterling. You look like you’ve had a rough day.”
“Fuck you,” Sterling said, still staring at me. “And you, too.”
“Fuck me?” I said. “Who’s the one who passed me the mystery pill?”
“She’s never going to speak to me again. What am I going to do?”
“You’re overreacting, Sterling,” I said. “You’re being paranoid. Whatever you’re on isn’t helping.”
“I know this is your fault!” he snapped, his voice carrying through the trees between our homes. “You’re not just the town whore; you’re the world’s whore. Everyone knows who to call for a fuck if Ellie’s in town,” he said.
“Wait just a goddamn minute,” Tyler said, taking a step. I grabbed his coat, holding him back.
Sterling laughed. “What are you going to do, lieutenant bad ass? Change my mind?”
“Keep talking,” Tyler growled. “You’ll find out.”
Sterling held up his hands in mock terror. “Put that blue collar to work.”
Tyler took another step, but I put my hand on his chest. I turned to face him but looked down instead, ashamed. “He’s drunk. He’s upset. He lives next door. Just let him go home.”
Tyler’s jaw muscles danced beneath the skin, but he let Sterling pass, even after Sterling nudged him with his shoulder.
I trudged up the steps, using my keys to gain entrance to my parents’ home. It was quiet, every step and movement we made echoing through the halls.
Tyler closed the door behind us, and then followed me to the kitchen. “Your house looks a lot different this time.”
“Nearly empty?” I asked.
Maricela had left me a covered plate in the fridge with a toothpick flag on how many minutes it should cook in the microwave.
“Wanna share?” I asked. “It might be a day or two old, but at least it’s not an MRE.”
“Nah. You go ahead.”