“Gusby!” the bus driver announced, sending chills through me.

It brought me right back to when I was a kid. I remembered my hair nice and neat, the yellow sweater over my red dress and even my shiny black shoes. I closed my eyes, trying to make out who was with me. I was clean and happy, smiling as I skipped to the back of the bus, a sucker in my grip.

“Kendall, let’s go!” Mason yelled from the front of the bus.

I shook the memory away and hurried to catch up. My hair fell in my eyes as I climbed out. The bus driver gave another nod before he took off.

I jumped down to the asphalt of my old stomping ground.

We made our way through town. Everything was still old. Storefronts were nothing but huge windows draped with dark curtains. The names were painted on them by hand like the last time I’d laid eyes on them.

The road was still brick and in need of repairs.

“The old church with the annoying clock,” Mason pointed out.

He was right. It chimed every hour on the hour—three dings. No matter if it was eight or three, just three dings.

“Remember the liquor store? And all the times you and I played outside while Payton or my mom was in there drinking free booze?” I said to Mason, laughing as we passed by it.

“They both blew Bobby Nathan behind the counter for free rum. Well, my mom did anyways.” He laughed dryly.

I was sure it wasn’t as funny as he was making it sound.

“Mom was more Vodka and Jack Daniels.” I sighed. He was right about the blow jobs, wrong about the drink of choice.

“I wonder if Bobby Nathan still runs this place,” Mason said. He stopped walking and spun back around on his heels heading right back to the old liquor store.

I gripped his hand tightly, afraid but intrigued. Mason didn’t hesitate, he marched right in. The bell chimed overhead, and, sure enough, there was Bobby Nathan—a little grayer but I still recognized him.

“Mornin’ all,” Bobby said, his thick southern drawl catching me off guard.

It had been a long time since I’d heard one like his. He was fatter than before. As he rounded the counter, his bulbous stomach jiggled with each step he took.

I wasn’t sure if he recognized us.

“Morning there, Bobby,” Mason said, looking around the store.

The wine lined our feet just like old times right by the old register. It was just as dusty and dark as the last time I stood inside it as a little girl. It even smelled the same—like dust and stale cigarette smoke.

Bobby studied us both long and hard. His eyes roaming over every inch of the two of us as he tried to solve the mystery. I could tell he remembered us but couldn’t place a finger on just who we were exactly.

“Now wait a minute, I feel like I know the two of you,” he said, waving a hand in the air as if to jar his memory.

Mason picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and set it down on the counter. Bobby grabbed a brown paper bag and bagged it up in a flash. He kept his eyes on me, stumped.

“You remind me of someone. Just can’t place a finger on it.”

I smiled a little. It was either Leon Talbot Halstead III or my most wanted photo. I wasn’t anything like my mom as far as I knew.

“Well, I wouldn’t know who that would be. Not passing out clues. Maybe it will come to ya.” Mason grabbed my wrist and moved me toward the door before I would spill the beans, which I knew I wouldn’t.

Bobby shot me a friendly grin, confusion still paining his features.

We walked around the building and Mason undid the bottle cap and downed some of the Jack Daniels.

“Want some?” he asked, leaning against the brick of the store.

I took the bottle and inhaled the nasty liquor.

“I remember he used to call me a mutt,” he said, his expression growing serious.

“Mason,” I said. I touched his hand.

“I’m not bothered. It’s just all these years I forgot about that until this very moment. It’s funny how things come right back to you.” He grabbed the bottle back and took a long swig.

“I know what you mean,” I agreed, staring off.

“It meant a lot to hear you tell me you love me,” Mason said.

It was sudden and caught me off guard that he would bring it up. I sighed, leaning against the brick beside him.

“It might have been the best thing I ever heard. And I wouldn’t want to hear it from anyone else but you, Kendall.” He moved in front of me and took my hands in his.

“You’re the only girl I want to marry. To have kids with. The only girl I want to do any of that crazy shit with. You know what I mean?” He concentrated on our hands.

“Yes, I know what you mean. The idea of it,” I said. I knew just what he meant.

“I don’t know what it is, but I have always felt okay with you. You know how to pull me out of the dark spots and back into the light. Even when life sucks.” He moved in, closing the gap between us and kissed me softly.

I grabbed the back of his head pulling him closer, the taste of whiskey invading my senses.

We broke apart and I looked into his eyes. “Why, Mason, I feel the same way about your crazy ass,” I said with a smile. We kissed again.

“I’d never forget you no matter where I was,” he said, closing his eyes. He pressed his forehead against mine. I tried to force him to look at me, but he wouldn’t budge.

Everything was silent suddenly.

“Mason?” I asked as his body started to shake. I was confused until his tears hit my hands. He wiped them away with his fingers, holding my head hostage as he lost it, sobbing noisily. I stayed still and tried to pretend I wasn’t disturbed Mason was breaking down right in front of me. He never cried.

“I wanted to be a good person. I wanted to be better than my dad and mom. I was a little fucking kid. I wanted to be a race car driver,” he cried. His voice faltered, his nose was a running mess, and he sniffled every so often to deal with it.

“You are better, Mason. You know that. Please tell me that you know that,” I said from beneath all his tears. I was pinned in place trying to deal with Mason’s breakdown.

“Do you think I got a shot at heaven?” he asked.

I wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me tightly, resting his chin on the top of my head.

“Since when are you worried about heaven? I don’t know anything about religion. I never went to church.”

“When we were in Jersey, I sat in bed every night thinking about the death penalty. I don’t think I could do it. What if all those people’s family come and wish me to hell?” He didn’t wait for me to answer, he just kept right on rambling.

“What if I die for all my mother’s wrongdoings? She’s probably sitting back laughing her ass off right now. I slept with people to get us to the next state. I shot people for her. I stabbed people. I set fires, lied, stole cars, beat up an old couple.” He cried harder, confessing his darkest secrets.

I wiped his face, breaking free finally. He took a couple of breaths, letting me clean him up.

“You are a good person. You are the only good thing that’s ever happened to me. And I want you to stop beating yourself up about any of this. There is nothing you can do. There was nothing you could do back then or now. No one hates you, Mason. And fuck them if they do,” I said, suddenly angry that he was so sad.

He sat down, his back against the brick, clutching the Jack Daniels, his legs sprawled out in front of him. “I’d never know what to be anyway, right?” he asked, taking a sip as he looked up at me.

I sat down next to him.

“Stop. I think we should get a motel and call it a day okay?”

“What do you think is better?” he asked, ignoring me, downing the last of the bottle. He tossed it out in front of him where it shattered. “Jail or death?”

“Mason, please don’t do this,” I begged, bringing my hands to my ears. Now I was freaking out.

“Because right now, Kendall, I have yet to figure that one out. But I do know one thing.” He held up a shaky finger.