Credence

Getting busy, I reload all of the food into the fridge, faintly hearing some kind of machine running outside and guessing it must be Jake.

“So, when do you turn eighteen?” Noah asks.

I don’t stop as he just leans against the island, watching me.

“November first.”

“You gonna leave then?”

I glance at him, taking a moment to realize what he means.

I don’t have to stay now. Didn’t his father tell him he gave me a choice on the phone?

“I would leave,” he offers. “I would leave in a heartbeat. You’re here, and you don’t have to be. I have to be here, but I don’t want to be.”

“It’s as good a place as any,” I reply softly, placing some condiments back onto the door shelf.

“Why?”

“Because you’re still you, no matter where you go,” I retort.

I stop and look up at him, his sweaty hair falling in his eyes and his hat hanging from his fingers. He still looks puzzled.

“There are just as many happy people in Cleveland as there are in Paris,” I explain. “And just as many sad ones.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather be sad on a beach.”

I snort, smiling despite myself. I laugh a little, but I quickly turn away, pushing the amusement down.

But in a moment, he’s at my side, putting the A.1. and Heinz sauce on the rack on the door.

He stares down at me, and my stomach dips.

“You have a pretty smile, cuz,” he tells me. “If you stay, I’ll make you smile some more.”

Oh, geez. Isn’t he charming?

Ignoring him, I finish reloading everything, not even caring that nothing is organized. He laughs under his breath and helps me—both of us getting the job done in a few minutes.

Jake walks in and heads for the fridge, and I move out of the way, letting him in.

I gather the tools I used and start to walk away to put them back in the shop where I found them, but I hear my uncle’s gruff voice.

“Where’s the sausage?” he asks.

I turn toward him, seeing him sift through all the shelves, nothing where he left it now.

“There was mold growing on it,” I tell him.

I threw it away, along with a few other things.

But he just looks at me, and I steel my spine. “It can be cut off,” he says.

Cut off?

Gross. There are levels of decay. The mold just makes it easier to see the really bad parts.