“Tea leaves?”
Another shake of the head.
“Spices?”
His eyes flash open and I’m surprised to find them clear and blue. “Not spices,” he says.
It’s like my mind is trying to climb a sheer rock face, and its fingers are scrabbling for something to grab on to, but they keep coming up empty, keep sliding down it, getting torn by the stone, slipping farther and farther toward a fall that will eventually kill it. Nothing makes any sense. That’s usually when everything makes sense. It hits me.
“Is it some kind of medicine, like the concoctions the healers use?”
The look on his face tells me I’ve hit on something that’s close to the truth. “Abe made me promise not to talk about all that,” he says.
“All what?” Buff says with a growl, but I warn him off with my eyes. I don’t want to scare him back into his shell.
“Nope,” Neebo says, crossing his arms.
“What kind of medicine?” I ask. I soften my voice. “Please—it’s important.”
He bites his lip, as if he has to keep it from telling me everything.
“Please,” I say again.
“Uh-uh.”
“What’s the special cargo we’ll be picking up soon?” I ask.
His eyes close and he goes back to shaking his head.
“Do you know what happened to my sister?” I ask.
He stops shaking, but doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t give an answer. Just sits there.
We leave, knowing more than we did when we arrived, and yet knowing nothing.
~~~
It’s quiet on the home front. Mother’s passed out on the floor in front of a dwindling fire, a blanket draped over her, clearly placed there by Wes, who’s sitting in a wooden chair just watching the last few flames dissolve into hot embers.
He doesn’t acknowledge my arrival. Not even when I slam the door much harder than is necessary. I hate going home these days.
“I knocked about a hundred doors in the Blue District,” I announce. Wes flinches, as if I’ve pulled him out of a daze, but doesn’t turn or say anything. “No one was really in the talking mood.”
Wes just stares at the fire. He’s beginning to scare me. He’s always been the strong, responsible one—the replacement for my father. Mother could never cope, could never be the one to provide for us, but Wes was stalwart, unflappable. “Get on with what has to be done,” he would always say, mimicking one of my father’s favorite expressions and sounding a chill of a lot like him. But now, ever since Jolie…
Well, he’s still out of work. And it’s not like he’s just been sitting at home staring at the fire. He’s tried to find a job, but things are tight right now, and nothing’s available. Nothing respectable anyway. Luckily I’m making enough to support us—barely. I think that’s what hurts him the most, feeling like he’s relying on someone else, like he can’t stand on his own two feet.
I hate seeing him like this.
“You should get some sleep,” I say. Wes nods. “Are you gonna be okay?” He nods again. “Goodnight.”
My mother shifts in her sleep, murmurs, “Your hair is all a mess, Joles, let me braid it for you.”
Wes’s shoulders shake as he cries.
I go to bed, crying on the inside.
Chapter Eleven
Today’s the day. The special cargo delivery from fire country. Regardless of whether Nebo would answer our questions, we’ll find out soon enough what we’ll be collecting. As usual, it’ll be a night job, so Buff and I have got the whole day to kill.
Neither of us can take another day of knocking doors and getting them slammed in our faces, so we decide to go sliding for fun. It feels like forever since we’ve felt the freedom of the mountain without Abe and his gang surrounding us as part of a job.
We tackle the west slopes, where the pines thin out and leave a relatively unobstructed path of fresh powder. It’s not as cold as it was even yesterday, a clear sign that spring is here to stay. The snow might melt off in a few months, if it does at all, but today it’s as thick as Looza’s stew—perfect for sliding.
We trudge to the top of a steep hill, panting heavily by the time we reach the crest. Sitting next to each other, we grin like a couple of well-fed dogs as we strap our sliders to our feet. For a moment I feel like a child again, back when things were simpler, and my only responsibilities were having fun and getting in trouble. Although I still seem to have the trouble part down pat.
“Ready?” I say, as we push to our feet.
“Chill yah,” Buff says, still grinning.
“Go!” I yell, and we slip over the edge, letting gravity do all the work, practically sucking us down the mountainside.