“I can’t talk to you.”

“Fine. Talk to Jase.”

I twist to look at him. Even that movement feels painful. Maybe I’m slowly turning to stone myself. Except that then things wouldn’t hurt so much, would they?

Tim looks at my face and the anger in his fades, replaced by concern.

“Please, Samantha. I know you. This is not how you act. This is how crazy, messed-up girls into power trips act. This is how assholes like me act. I’ve known you since you were little, and you were put together then. This doesn’t make any sense. You and Jase…you two were solid. You don’t just walk away from that. What the fuck is up with you?”

“I can’t talk to you,” I repeat.

His cool gray eyes scan slowly over my face, measuring. “You’ve gotta talk to someone. If not Jase, if not Nan…I’m sure not your ma…Who’re you gonna to talk to?”

Just like that, I start to cry. I haven’t cried at all, and now I can’t stop. Tim, clearly horrified, glances around the room as though hoping someone, anyone, has come in who can save him from this sobbing girl. I slide slowly down the wall and keep crying.

“Shit, stop it. It can’t be that bad. Whatever it is…it can be solved.” He crosses to the kitchen island, pulling a length of paper towel off the porcelain holder, thrusting it toward me. “Here, wipe your eyes. Anything can be fixed. Even me. Listen, I enrolled to work toward my GED. I’m gonna move out. My friend Connor from AA has this apartment over his garage, and I’m gonna live there, which means I don’t have to deal with my folks anymore, and I can…Here, blow your nose.”

I take the scratchy paper and blow. I know my face is red and swollen and now that I’ve started crying, I think it’s very possible I won’t ever be able to stop.

“That’s it.” Tim pats me awkwardly on the back, more like he’s trying to dislodge something stuck in my throat than comfort me. “Whatever’s going on, it’ll be okay…but I can’t believe ditching Jase is gonna help.”

I cry harder.

With a resigned expression, Tim shears off more paper towels.

“Can I…?” I’m now doing that hiccupping thing that comes after too much sobbing, making it difficult to catch my breath.

“Can you what? Just spit it out.”

“Can I move in with you? To the garage apartment?”

Tim goes still, his hand frozen in the act of wiping my eyes. “Wha-at?”

I don’t have enough breath—or maybe courage—to repeat myself.

“Samantha—you can’t…I’m flattered, but…why the hell would you wanna do something like that?”

“I can’t stay here. With them next door and with Mom. I can’t face Jase and I can’t stand to look at her.”

“This is about Grace? What’d she do? Tell you she was yanking your trust fund if you didn’t ditch Jase?”

I shake my head, not looking at him.

Tim skids down against the wall next to me, stretching out his long legs, while I’m crouched in this small hunched circle, knees to chest.

“Spill, kiddo.” He looks me in the face, unblinking. “Hit me. I go to meetings now, and you wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve heard.”

“I know who hurt Mr. Garrett,” I squeeze out.

Tim looks incredulous. “Fuck me. Really? Who?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Are you freakin’ crazy? You can’t keep that a secret. Tell the Garretts. Tell Jase. Maybe they can sue the bastard and get millions. How’d you find out, anyway?”

“I was there. That night. In the car. With my mom.”

His face blanches under his freckles, making his hair stand out like flame.

Silence falls between us like a curtain.

Finally Tim says, “I picked the wrong day to give up amphetamines.”

I stare at him.

“Sorry. Airplane joke. I’m immature. I know what you’re saying. I just don’t really want to know what you’re saying.”

“Then go.”

“Samantha.” He grabs at my sleeve. “You can’t keep quiet. Gracie committed a fucking crime.”

“It would ruin her life.”

“So you’ll let her ruin theirs?”

“She’s my mother, Tim.”

“Yeah, and your ma screwed up big-time. Because of that you’re trashing Jase’s life and Mrs. G’s and all those kids’? And your own…? That’s just fucked up.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Go over there—look Jase in the eye and say, ‘Sorry—you know that person you couldn’t believe existed, the one who would hit someone and drive away? She’s your next-door neighbor. She’s my mom.’”

“He deserves to know.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Nope, I sure as hell don’t. This is not exactly something I’ve run into. God, I need a smoke.” He pats at his shirt pocket but comes up empty.

“It would destroy her.”

“I could really use a drink right now too.”

“Yeah, that would help,” I say. “That’s what happened. She’d had too much wine and she was driving and—” I bury my face in my hands. “I was asleep, and there was this awful thump.” I look up at him through my fingers. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

“Aw, kid. Aaah, shit.” Gingerly, Tim wraps an arm around my shaking shoulders.

“Clay told her to keep going, to back up and drive off and…she did.” I hear my voice breaking, still incredulous. “Just like that.”

“I knew that guy was scum,” Tim spits. “I knew it. Worst frickin’ type too. Smart scum.”

We sit there in silence for a few minutes, our backs against the wall. Then Tim repeats, “You have to tell Jase, tell him all that.”

I shove my fists against my cheeks. “She’d have to resign and she might go to jail and it would all be because of me.” Now that I’m finally talking, the words are tumbling out of my mouth in a rush.

“No. No, kid. Because of her. She did the wrong thing. You’d be doing the right one.”

“Like you did the right thing with Nan?” I say quietly.

Tim’s eyes flick to mine, widening. He tilts his head, staring at me, and then realization crystallizes on his face, and he reddens, looks down at his hands.

“Uh well, hey,” he says. “Nan’s a pain in the ass and I like to screw with her and generally make her life miserable—but she is my sister.”

“She is my mother.”

“It’s different,” Tim mutters. “See, I already was a fuck-up. I didn’t cheat on papers, but I did every other shitty thing that occurred to me. Kinda seemed like karma that I’d get cheated from. But you’re not like that. You know who you are.”

“A mess.”

He looks at me. “Well…kind of. But if you blow your nose again, maybe brush your hair a little…”

I can’t help but laugh, which makes my nose run more and adds, I’m sure, to my general charming appearance.

Tim rolls his eyes, straightens up, and hands me the entire roll of paper towels. “Have you talked to your mom? Mr. Garrett’s got some infection now—this high fever, and things are just all messed up. Maybe if she knew how bad this shit is.”

“I tried. Of course I’ve tried. It’s like talking to a wall. It happened, it’s over, resigning won’t do the Garretts any good, blah blah blah.”

“Suing her ass would do them some good,” Tim mumbles. “What about the police? What if you gave them an anonymous tip? No, they’d need proof. What if you talked to Mrs. Garrett first? She’s cool.”

“I can barely stand to look at their house, Tim. I can’t talk to Mrs. Garrett.”

“Then start with Jase. The guy’s wrecked, Sam. Working at the store all the time and going to the hospital and keeping up with that crazy-ass training and trying to keep it together at home…all while wondering what the fuck happened to his girl—if you couldn’t deal, or if he did something wrong or if you think his family’s just a train wreck you don’t want to handle.”

“That’s Mom,” I say automatically. “Not me.” My theme song still.

But…it is me. Staying quiet, pretending. I am doing exactly what Mom has done. I am, after all, just like her.

I stand up. “Do you know where Jase is? At the store?”