"Because you went to school?"
He waits a beat before responding. "My dad said they'd come after me. He's right."
I turn my entire body toward Cain. "He's absolutely wrong. Do you think you could still get into that college in … wherever it is?"
"It's in Kansas, and I doubt it. That was almost two years ago."
"Think you could try being a walk-on? Isn't that a thing?" I grip my knees. "What I mean is, do you think you can still play?"
Cain looks at me. Our eyes meet, and he's as serious as I've ever seen him. For Cain, that's pretty damn serious. "All I need is turf beneath my cleats and a chump across from me who's ready to meet his maker."
I laugh. "Is that so?"
"It's so."
"You could have majored in something food related. You make a mean meal."
Cain cocks an eyebrow like he's thinking this over. I bite my lip, terrified of what I'm about to say. I stop myself several times before blurting out, "What if we just went there now? You and I. Kansas. You try to get into that college, and I'll … I'll cheer for you from the bleachers."
Cain glances at me to see if I'm teasing. When he sees I'm not, he looks back at the road. "I can't."
"Why not?" I ask, surprised by how crestfallen I am.
"I just can't."
But I hear the hesitation in his voice. Three beats before he answered. Maybe four. Enough so that I know he considered the idea, if only for a moment. I wonder how long it's been since he thought about leaving Madam Karina's home. Has he ever before now?
I think back to Poppet and the money I've earned that I need to start a new life. I can't leave, either, I suppose. Not yet.
"I was just kidding," I say, but my words ring hollow.
Cain turns on the radio, and I watch as the landscape changes from empty fields and broken down cars to one-story buildings and soda machines on front porches. A stray dog trots in the distance, keeping weight off his back leg, and four children play jump rope outside a white brick house. They could be Poppet's siblings, I think to myself.
Somewhere along our trek into town, the car thump-thumps over uneven terrain.
When I look in the side mirror, I realize we just crossed over railroad tracks.
Chapter Forty-One
Ice Cream Interrogation
On the way into town, Cain stops at an abandoned building. There isn't a shortage of them around here, but I like the one he chooses best. He digs around in the bag he brought and withdraws my can of orange spray paint, compliments of an apologetic Madam Karina.
"Thought you'd want it," he says. "I remember you tagged that wall in Detroit."
My cheeks warm, remembering him as a stranger in the gold sedan that night.
"Go on," he nudges.
And so for the next half hour, I leave my mark on Pox, Texas. This time, I don't write what's in my heart. I simply draw a fire upon the brown brick wall, flames licking their way upward. It seems the only thing powerful enough to do a bottle of orange spray paint justice.
When I'm done, I stare up at the building and imagine it ablaze, entrails crackling and smoking. I imagine who's on the inside, too. And what their faces will look like when they race into the night, seeking safety from the vengeful heat, their cheeks smudged and their eyes wide.
I don't have to wonder who started the fire.
It's us, right? Wilson asks.
After I've finished, Cain doesn't ask where I want to go, but he does a fantastic job of taking a guess.
In town, we pass squatting brick buildings with generic names-Auto Shop and Home & Farm Supply and Pox County Municipal. Cain eventually parks the vehicle and motions for me to follow him inside. The door chimes when we enter a shop appropriately called Ice Cream. It's one of those big, honking red signs that doesn't pretend to care. They know you want what they're selling, and that's all that matters.
Though the sign is tired, the décor inside is inviting. It's set up like an old general store with quirky gifts and jellies on stale crackers ready for sampling. Country music blares over the speakers, and a dozen round tables sit proudly on original hardwood floors. There isn't much light streaming through the single, dusty window, but it's more than enough to peruse the ten flavors of Bluebell ice cream.
"Can I use my credit to pay for this?" I whisper to Cain, knowing I should resist, realizing there's no way I will.
He digs his hand into his jeans. "Nah, this is on me." I open my mouth to object, but he cuts me off. "It's actually on Angie, if that makes you feel better. She slips me some cash for helping her out from time to time."