It’s the coldest day we’ve had this October, and Kyle’s out there jumping on my old trampoline. Me and Dad are at the window watching him. 

“Look at him,” Dad says. “It’s that little ole fat boy who’s been taking all my tools.”

“That’s Kyle, Dad. Jack and Annabelle’s son.” I like to watch Kyle jump. He really is pretty fat. Sometimes he tries to do backflips. God love him, he’s almost got it. That’s one thing I’ll miss. “He’s just playing.”

Dad shakes his head and coughs. He’s shirtless, half a boner poking through his pajama pants. I smell his shit. This one is just as rancid as the others. I used to not cover my nose with my shirt, but now he doesn’t know the difference. He points at Kyle like he wants to scare him off.

“That’s the neighbor’s son. You know Kyle.”

I check the fridge for milk, but we’re out. I’ll tell Ikey to pick some up at the store before he comes over for his shift. He’ll need to get used to buying groceries, anyways. I’ve left a note for him on the kitchen counter explaining everything. I’m leaving this place with Candace. Getting out of the entire state of West Virginia. 

Dad shoves his hand down the front of his pants and scratches for a while. He needs a bath, too. I haven’t given him one in a few days. God knows Ikey won’t give him one, even though it’s his job. He’ll cave when Dad smells bad enough. I give him a week, two tops. 

Dad walks to the kitchen, places his coffee in the fridge, then opens the door to the garage. “Where’s my chainsaw? I’m missing a chainsaw.” 

“It’s hanging on the back wall. Put some shoes on. It’s cold.” 

“I didn’t put it on that wall,” he yells. “That boy’s moving things around.” 

Kyle’s still out there jumping like he’s going to reach the moon or something. Poor kid probably won’t do anything with his life. I don’t think his mom and dad know what to do with him. From what he tells me, he wants to be a pornstar. He says he watches porn all day and he’d like to be one of those lucky dudes that gets paid to have sex. I told him he’d have to have a really big penis, and he laughed with a bit of worry.

I sit back down at the table to finish off my pancakes, but the fork’s drenched in syrup. 

“Dad, I need to get going. Come here so I can change you.” 

I text Ikey and ask where he is. I tell him I’m about to leave. I scroll through Twitter, click on pictures of some fighter’s swollen face. Then I remember the hundred bucks Billy Plume owes me from a bet we made on a UFC fight a few weeks ago. That dumbass. I text him, “I’m leaving town tonight. Meet me at Dunkin’ Donuts by ten-thirty.” 

He texts back, “K” with a money emoji. 

“Where’s my lawn mower?” Dad comes out of the garage with a screwdriver and a full boner, saying, “I told him not to move anything.” He opens the fridge, takes out the coffee, and replaces it with the screwdriver, then sits down beside me at the table. 

“Here,” I say, “eat some pancakes.” 

“I’m not hungry.” His teeth are clenched, I can tell, because his lips are doing that weird

thing again. Almost like he’s chewing tobacco. 

“You haven’t had breakfast, Dad. You need to eat. Here.” I pull the fork out of the syrup and try to feed him some of my pancake. He opens his mouth while staring at the wall in front of him. I decide not to change him. I don’t want to leave with the memory of washing his shit off the sides of my hand. Ikey can take care of that, too. And then whoever Caring Senior Service decides to send after Ikey quits or gets fired will have to do all the wiping and bathing. 

I go to the sink and scrub the syrup off my fingers. When I turn around Dad’s watching me, scratching his head, his shoulders dusted with dandruff. “Alright, Dad.” I brush his shoulders off and look him in the eye. “I’m leaving.” 

“Where you headed? I need to go help daddy bail hay.” 

“No, you don’t. He’s got it covered.” My Papa doesn’t have anything covered because he’s dead. 

Dad stands up and looks around for his wallet, pulling out his pockets and stuffing them back in. I keep his wallet in the junk drawer. 

“I love you, Dad. I’m gonna be gone for a while. But I’m gonna check on you in a month or so, after Candace and I get settled. We’re moving to Cincinnati.”

“That ole fat kid must’ve taken it.” 

“You hear me? Ikey will be taking care of you now, every day. Him and someone else probably.” 

“Uh-huh.” He picks up the note I left for Ikey and pretends to read it. He smooths it out, folds it, and places it back on the counter. He crosses his arms and smiles at me like a boy presenting a school project. 

When I hug him, he pats my back a few times.

I take my toiletries bag from the bathroom and head out the door, but before getting in my car, I call Kyle over. He hops off the trampoline and walks like it takes every bit of strength to do so. 

“What’s up?” he says. 

“Wanna make twenty bucks?” 

He rolls his head back so that he’s looking at the sky. I can see straight into his esophagus.

“You’ll just have to look after him for twenty minutes. That’s a dollar a minute.” I hand the kid his money and take him into the kitchen. I tell Dad Kyle’s just going to watch after him until Ikey gets here. Before Dad can say a thing, I leave and turn my car on. I roll the window down. My muffler doesn’t work. Carbon monoxide leaks. No matter how cold it is, if I don’t roll down the window, I’ll pass out and die from poisoning. 

◆

 

Ikey texts me back once I’m walking inside Dunkin’. “Coming,” he says. Caring Senior Service should just fire Ikey already because he’s always pulling this kind of crap. It’s probably time to put Dad in an elderly center or something, even though he’d be much younger than everyone there. But the money. 

Dad used to say I should take him to a cliff and push him off before putting him in a home. That was when he knew he was forgetting things all the time. He’d be mid-sentence and get lost, shake his head and act like he had something better to do. I don’t know what cliff he’s talking about anyways.

Candace dances behind the register like there isn’t a guy in front of her trying to order half a dozen Pumpkin donuts. As I walk by her, she pinches my butt and winks at me. I clock in and check the board in the backroom, start with restocking the coffee cups. When Ethan comes out of the bathroom, I tell him I’m sorry for being late. “My dad’s caretaker held me up.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t give a shit.” And he really doesn’t. I’ve worked here almost two years now, and Ethan has never cared. He sells edibles to all his employees and is always telling us about the first and only time he received a blumkin. Every once in a while, Candace will buy something off of him. 

After she’s done boxing up the donuts, Candace dances over to me and swivels her hips like she’s hula hooping. She likes to dance to the music that plays throughout the restaurant, but she never matches the rhythm. She’s hoping to take dance classes in Cincinnati. “That’s a new one,” I say. 

“I’ve been watching a lot of Doja Cat videos.” Today she’s wearing my favorite wig, the long blonde one that curls all the way down to her belt buckle. The swirls bounce with the slightest movement. On our first date, she wore a sapphire bob that I thought was her actual hair. She told me almost as soon as we sat down that she had alopecia and was nearly bald. That was when I noticed her eyebrows had been drawn on. I didn’t mind. 

“Better hope the rain holds,” I say. We both look out the front of the store where her pick up’s parked beside my car. Her mattress is strapped down and bulging out of her little Tacoma’s truck bed. The blue swirls of paisley meet a nice, round yellow pool in the middle where she pissed the bed when she was younger. 

“I couldn’t find a tarp. And it’s only thirty-percent chance. It’ll be alright.”

My phone vibrates. Ikey texts, “Here. He’s all freaked out that kid stole his watch. And he thinks I took his wallet.” 

The shift goes by slowly. Most weekday shifts are like that, especially when it’s cold out. Candace keeps making wide eyes at me. She can’t contain her excitement, and I’m worried she’s going to tip off Ethan. Neither of us gave our two-week’s notice. Last Saturday we found an apartment on Craigslist. $675 a month, washer and dryer included. There’s even a dance studio nearby. 

While Ethan talks to the owner on the phone, Candace asks me if I’m excited. “How far you think we’ll make it tonight?” she asks. 

“It’s only a three-hour drive.” I pour out the decaf pot to start a new batch. “But we got to meet Billy real quick before we leave. He still owes me.” 

“Billy Plume,” she says and pretends to blow out her brains with two fingers. “He better be quick. I’m pretty sure it’s at least a five-hour drive.”

“It’s three hours. Look.” I pull up Google Maps on my phone. 

“It seems further away than that.” She pushes me aside and finishes making the coffee for me. “You make it too weak,” she says.

◆

 

Around nine, some old guy orders a Dunkaccino through the drive-thru. “And gimme the whip cream on top.” When he pulls around in his old truck, I tell him how much, and he takes a minute getting the exact change. He drops the money in my palms, then asks me if I’m looking at his sidekick. 

“Huh?” 

“You looking at my sidekick there?” He nods his head toward the passenger seat. The gun lies there with the barrel pointed at the glove box, black and looking like it weighs a thousand pounds.

“I’m looking at it now.” 

“Someday, that’ll save your life, kid,” he says. He drives off without his coffee. His money flaps in my hands from the breeze. 

I tell Candace and Ethan what happened. We laugh and make fun of the guy. Ethan says it’s actually me from the future warning that I ought to buy a gun. 

“Who calls it a sidekick?” Candace says.

“What should I do with this?” I say. I hold the Dunkaccino like it’s poisoned.

Ethan takes it from me and slurps the whipped cream off the top. With white, creamy sugar all over his face, he tells me to dump it out. “It’s no good, anyways.”

I pour it into the backroom sink. It leaves a brown film.

But the guy comes back just a few minutes before we close. He doesn’t mess with ordering, just comes straight to the window. His smile’s turned to a resting mouth with all its skin folded over. He tells me he’s sorry if he scared me, that he’ll just get his Dunkaccino and be on his way. He really needs caffeine. 

“I gave you your coffee, sir. You’re more than welcome to buy another.” I like messing with the customers sometimes. 

“No, you didn’t. So, I’ll just have it now.” 

“Sir, I can’t just give you a free coffee. My manager would fire me.” 

“Are you saying I can’t get the coffee I already paid for?” 

I look around for Ethan, or even Candace. 

“You know what?” he says. “If anyone asks, just tell them I pointed this here gun at your head and said, ‘Boy, you don’t get me my Dunkaccino with the whip cream I’ll kill you dead.’” 

I call for Ethan. 

“Dammit, don’t you make me pick it up. I’ll kill you dead, boy.”

◆

 

After the shift’s over, I text Ikey, who called me four times and left two voicemails. I know it’s just him bitching and moaning about me leaving. “Hey,” I text him. “Everything’s in the note. You’ll probably have to work more, but that means more money for you. Don’t call me unless there’s an emergency.” 

Candace and I stand in the parking lot, the smell of old, soured doughnuts wafting our way from the dumpster. I walk over, open the dumpster door, and drag out the trash bag full of donuts Ethan tossed out. 

“What are you doing?” Candace says.

“These were made just this morning. They’re still good.”

“Don’t the homeless people root through the trash? They probably depend on those donuts.”

I toss the bag in my car’s trunk. “We don’t have jobs now, Candace. We got to take what we can get.” 

“You can have all the donuts you want. That’s disgusting.”

I text Billy the same money emoji he sent me earlier with a question mark.

Candace throws her wig high into the night. “Look at the moon, Bryan.” 

It’s a big bowling ball about to fall down into the valleys of the mountains, coming for every one of us. 

She throws her wig again but misses the catch. 

“What are you doing? You’re gonna get your wig all dirty.” 

“So what?” 

“There’s dirt all over this parking lot. We don’t clean this parking lot.” 

“I can wash the wig. I’ve got plenty of them.” 

The only hair she still has left grows on the very top of her head, thin and soft. She bends down and picks up the wig then puts it back on. The thin strands of some dead lady’s blonde hair drape over her eyes, like the wig isn’t on right. I tell her to fix it. 

“You’re being mean.” 

“Come here.” I open her truck door for her and walk to the driver’s side. Her truck isn’t much better than my car but won’t kill you with the windows up. And I’m getting cold out here waiting on Billy. We’ll wait as long as we have to in warmth, alive.

“We really should get you a new car,” she says. “You’re gonna get frostbite driving to Cincinnati with your windows down.”

Heat warms our bodies. Stoplights color us green, yellow, then red. People we can smell from miles away, even in this truck, walk by with Hello Kitty and Spider-Man backpacks. 

“It’s almost eleven. Where is that asshole?” 

“Just have him Venmo you. We need to get going.” 

“This is the kind of guy who probably doesn’t even know what Venmo is.”

I call him, and it goes straight to voicemail, then text him, and the message doesn’t deliver. 

“Well, I know where he lives,” I say, putting the truck into gear. 

“What are you doing?” Candace sits up in her seat. She’d taken her wig off to pick out all the grains of asphalt from when she’d dropped it. Her bald head always looks funny when she makes quick movements. 

“I’m getting my money.” 

“Well, let me go ahead and drive to Cincinnati then. I’m tired.” 

“This won’t take but a minute.” 

◆

 

When we were kids, Billy Plume and I were best friends, or as best of friends as you can be when you’re eight. He lived in Riddle Mobile Home Park just across the train tracks—still does. One day, we decided to run away together, all the way to California. We were supposed to meet up around midnight at the tracks where someone put up a big cross, the words Gone Too Soon below the name of a kid who fell asleep drunk on the tracks. Neither of us even knew how to do multiplications. But Billy never showed. The next day at school Billy acted like we’d never made any plans. He said I must’ve dreamed it. 

◆

 

Clouds fog up the sky and the rain starts like I knew it would. It’s not a heavy rain but enough to ruin the mattress. Candace just smiles at me like she’s sorry. I look around in the backseat for anything that could cover it. 

“Nothing’s back there,” she says. “I should’ve just bought a tarp.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“We’ll just lay a few blankets on it tonight and then dry it out tomorrow.” She wrestles something out of her pocket that crinkles, and I already know what it is. She unzips the Ziploc bag and takes out two squares of brownies. “I was gonna save these for when we made it there, but I think you could use something to calm you down,” she says. 

“When did you even get that? You know he’s been lacing that PCP shit in his brownies.”

“It’s just weed. Ethan told me so.” 

“I’m just saying.” 

“I know you’re just saying.” She splits one of the blocks of brownie in half and puts the other back in the Ziploc bag. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Now you’ve got me all stressed out.” 

“We’ve got three hours of driving to do after this.” 

“I know that, Bryan. I’m just gonna have half. Is that okay with you or am I not allowed?” 

I tighten my hands against the steering wheel. “Sure. It’s fine. Drive while high.” 

She bends down with her hands in her hair then takes it off and throws it at me.

 “Would you keep this thing on?” I hold it in my hand for a moment, feeling the lining on my fingertips, then throw it back at her. 

“How about this?” she says and holds it out the window, until finally letting it fall from her grip. 

“Great. That’s great.” 

She shakes her bald head and crosses her arms. “You know what?” she says. She takes out the other half and eats the whole brownie. 

◆

 

I can’t stop looking at Candace’s head. Without all the hair bouncing and swaying, she looks like she has a stiff neck. It used to not bother me. I kind of liked it. 

“We’ll go ahead and fill you up at this BP. You’re almost on E.”

Her hands rest on her legs while she stares out her window. She taps her thighs with her long nails. She’s thinking up a storm, probably cussing me every way she can in her head. 

“What is it now?” 

“You can’t stand it can you?” 

“What?” 

“My head. You can’t stand my bald head.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with your head. You have a beautiful, beautiful head. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

“Sure,” she says. She brings her hands to her chest. The back of her head faces me again. “You know.” She looks at me, and I can tell the brownie is starting to do something to her. “This head is sacred. This head is wonderful. I’d be nothing without this head.” She pats the invisible dome surrounding her skull. 

“Good God.” 

I park the truck at one of the pumps and ask if she wants anything while I’m inside. 

“I wanna go somewhere. Anywhere,” she says. “That’s what I want.” 

“Don’t be dramatic. We’re leaving soon.” 

“Right.” She turns around and looks for something in the backseat, finding the big pink bag she’s stuffed all her wigs inside. 

“I’m leaving my dad for you.” I grip the gear shift, dig my nails into the pleather. I’m surprised to hear myself say it.

“Yeah. You’re leaving him for me.” She sits back up with a black wavy wig in her palm then slides it over her noggin. I help her position it the right way. “Just tell me something. Answer me this. You’re not attracted to me. You think I’m some freak.” 

I get out of the truck, start the gas, and walk inside the station to buy a Red Bull. The woman behind the counter watches me walk the length of the store. I get the Red Bull and feel like throwing it against the linoleum right there, getting down on my belly and slurping up the fizz right off the floor. Maybe I’ll rob this place. 

The woman keeps looking at me as I approach the counter. She probably gets messed with a lot. She seems the type to carry a gun below the register. She looks like she has pain to give, too.

 “Anyone come in here today and say something about a sidekick?” 

“What?” She scans the barcode on the Red Bull and waits for me to insert my card. 

“A gun,” I say. “Did anyone come in here with a gun?” I stick out two fingers and a thumb. 

She shakes her head and hands me my receipt. She doesn’t thank me or tell me to come back again.

◆

 

When I get outside, Candace and her truck are gone. I chug the Red Bull. I call her. 

“Where are you?” 

“I’m just gonna go ahead and go to Cincinnati.” 

“What are you talking about? You left me at the gas station, Candace.”

“I thought it’d be funny.” 

“Candace,” I say, “you’re high. You shouldn’t even be driving.” 

“I’m fine. Let me know if you need a ride.” 

“Candace.” 

◆

 

I start down the road toward Billy’s place. It really isn’t too much further, maybe a couple miles. The rain has let up. The steel factory clangs in the distance. Cars drive by every couple of minutes. I stick my thumb out. No one stops. Pretty soon, I hit the gravel road. 

I start to wonder if Candace drove off so she could go have sex with some other guy or something. But all that matters right now is that I get my money. That Billy Plume gives me what he owes me. 

The woods surround me on both sides of the road, but it’s bright enough for me to see Billy’s face in the dark, bright enough to see my money in my hand. Bright enough for my dad to leave the house and wander, like he’s prone to do on full moon nights. 

I knock loud on Billy’s door, bang on the windows. Call Billy’s name. He’s sound asleep in there with my money in his pockets, his mouth wide open, snoring like some idiot while I stand out here begging for the money I need before leaving this place. 

“Come on, Billy!” I say. “Where’s my money?”

A few other screen doors crack open from the trailers across the path. Some guy tells me to fuck off. 

A bathrobe with long dark hair creaks the screen door half-way open in front of me. I back up some and put my hands on my hips. 

“What do you want?” she says. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m here for my money.” 

She looks at me baffled. “I don’t know about your money.” She checks her wrist. “It’s one in the morning.” 

“Go get Billy.” I look around for Billy’s car. 

“I don’t know no Billy.” 

“You looking at my sidekick?” I say. 

“Huh?” She puts her hands in the pockets of her robe. 

“You heard me.” I have my right hand hidden by my thigh. “Go get Billy.” 

But she pulls out her own sidekick from the pocket of her robe. She holds the barrel pointed at my chest. I throw my hands up and walk backwards until I can’t see her anymore. I trudge through the night’s winding hills and roads for a couple hours, all the way back to the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Candace’s truck is right where it had been before we left. She’s inside it asleep, her forehead resting on the steering wheel, black wig lying on the hood. She looks like she’s dreaming about dancing. She keeps twitching her arms. I dig into the trunk of my car and grab the pillow she’d left at my house. I throw it on top of her damp mattress so she can rest her pretty face on it.

I get in my car, roll the windows down. Put my hands over the vents to catch some heat. 

◆

 

Before crossing the tracks, I see a man walking on the side of the road in pajama pants and house shoes. He walks toward me, and as I get closer, I see my face in his. But older. When I pull up beside him, he raises his arms like he’s been waiting for me. He gets in without saying a word.

“I need to get home. Daddy’s waiting on me to rake the field.” He buckles his seatbelt. Teeth chattering from the cold, he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

I’m about to tell him the truth. The home he’s looking for is gone. He’s dying, and I’m the only one to take care of him. Watching him slowly wither away. But I end up turning the car around and heading toward Papa’s place. We make it all the way to the interstate before Dad asks me where we’re headed. 

“We’re going home,” I tell him.

“That’s right,” he says. “The hay.” 

He rolls up his window then reaches across me to roll up mine. I give it a minute, then let the cold air back in.