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spirited, but for that look on Sean’s face. She had found something to believe in again. She had found a sense of purpose. Something bigger than what had happened. She could explain to them. Even to Sean, in time. “But Mom,” said Sean. “You have nothing to back it up with.” Dean Holbus put a hand on Sean’s shoulder. “But Sean, I do. We do. We are right about this. And it’s a good feeling to know that you are right.” She needed to hold someone. She wrapped her arms around Melina and lifted her off her feet. Ten years old, not a baby anymore, though Melina hugged her back, tightly. What did Sean mean? she wondered. Does he think courage needs a gun? Or something else I don’t have? Or was that just re›ective of his own feelings of not being up to this job, being man of the house. Well, he doesn’t have to, he isn’t. He’s only fourteen. But maybe in his psyche he needs to take responsibility for us. Oh my God, I need to read some books myself. Adolescent male psychology. What goes on inside the head of a teenage boy who doesn’t have a father. This is just out of my ken. 12 Two weeks after the manure in the driveway, school started. And Alex had made her decision: in one week, she’d be leaving for Seattle. When she looked up at Sean leaning in the open doorway of her bedroom, the night before the ‹rst day of school, she thought, he knows we’ll miss each other, and she warmed with an odd feeling of tenderness and vulnerability. She smiled at him. “I’m not riding the school bus tomorrow,” he said. “Oh.” She turned her book face down on the bed and wondered what he wanted. It wasn’t a tender goodbye, after all. It wasn’t a moment of team spirit. “How you going to get there?” “Ride my bike.” “Yeah. So, what’s the problem with the bus?” “Just ain’t going to ride it. You know how they do.” He folded his 110 arms and scowled at the ›oor. “They all know what happened. They’ll say, you still got some on your shoes.” “Aw, Sean.” He was embarrassed. “Fine, it don’t matter to you. Ten miles? I can do that in forty-‹ve minutes, I guess.” He peeled himself off the doorjamb and looked at her. “Or you’re not doing anything, you could drive us.” Of course he was telling the truth. Kids getting on the junior high school bus at rural stops were often teased. “What’s at smell? Eww God man, whyn’t ya clean off your shoes,” a boy would erupt in a pretense of spontaneous insult, as the farm kid came down the aisle; and then a few others would make a show of moving to different seats. The last kids on the bus had to sit next to the unlucky kid tainted by manure or stand. The bus driver would pull over and yell at all of them until the perpetrators abandoned their act and everyone took a seat. She saw the dread in his tight face. Kids would know that Sean Leader had shoveled a truckload of manure from his mother’s driveway , wouldn’t they? They’d pretend to smell it on him, even two weeks later. “Mom needs the car for work,” she said. “Yeah, but not till later. You can take us in if you want. I don’t care.” “You think that will help?” “Like I said, I don’t care. I’m just not riding the bus.” “Well,” she said at last, “why not? I’ll see if it’s okay with Mom.” His face relaxed. Would an actual thank you be too much? “Nnnh,” he said and turned away, but she heard the grudging “thanks” anyway. He spoke to the wall, but she heard it. How much would they all miss each other? It felt strange that you could break up a family, just like this. But in two years at Interlochen she’d gotten used to goodbyes, and used to her own freedom. This time, though, she couldn’t come back, not until Christmas. When Melina threw her usual tantrum after being told to wipe down windows or help fold sheets and mop ›oors, and screamed, “I hate you! I can’t wait...
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