“Because I wasn’t allowed to.”
“You knew where we lived.”
He opened his mouth.
“You knew where we lived. You knew my birthday. You found me today. So don’t tell me you couldn’t reach me.”
Nothing.
“You could’ve sent a card.”
His eyes shifted toward Mom.
“You don’t know what happened between your mother and me.”
“Then tell me.”
“This isn’t the place.”
“You had 14 years to find one.”
He looked around at the neighbors.
For the first time since he’d arrived, he seemed embarrassed.
Good.
Then he tried the keys again.
“Take the car, Jake.”
I looked at them.
I had wanted a car. Of course I had.
I’d imagined driving to school instead of standing at the bus stop in the rain.
I’d imagined picking up my friend
I’d imagined freedom.
And the car looked incredible. Black paint gleaming in the sun. Brand-new interior. Not somebody’s old hand-me-down, but the kind of car I’d never even let myself imagine owning.
For a second, I wanted those keys badly.
But then all I could see was Ray in old work boots.
Ray eating packed lunches.
Ray postponing repairs on the truck he needed to get to work.
Five dollars.
Fifteen.
Forty.
Whatever he had.
Again and again.
My father pushed the keys toward me.
“You deserve something nice.”
I took them.
Relief crossed his face.
Then I closed his fingers around them.
“I’ve wanted a car for two years.”
I looked at Ray.
“I wanted a dad for 14.”
Nobody moved.
I looked back at my father.
“I’m not waiting anymore.”
His face went blank.
“You’re choosing him?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“He chose me.”
My father stared at Ray.
Ray didn’t look proud.
He looked miserable.
Because that was Ray.
He hadn’t wanted to beat anybody.
He hadn’t known there was a competition until somebody showed up and announced one.
My father pulled his hand away.
“You’re 17. You don’t understand everything.”
He looked at Mom.
“You’ve done a hell of a job turning him against me.”
