The Serpent King(41)

Travis unhooked the electrical connection from the starter motor and clanked around with the wrench until he got onto the other bolt. He strained and loosened the bolt, supporting the old starter motor with his hand while he ratcheted the remaining bolt. The bolt came free and he lowered the starter motor. He wriggled out from under the car.

“You ever think about teaching your kids how to work on cars someday?” Dill asked.

Travis brushed dirt off his pants. “I haven’t thought much about having kids. But if I did, I’d teach them all kinds of things. And I’d let them read whatever they wanted.” Travis pulled the new starter motor out of the box and hefted it. He lowered himself to the ground and wriggled underneath the car.

He fitted the starter motor in place. He could see Dill’s face above him, through the engine compartment. They made eye contact. And all at once, Travis felt an overwhelming urge to relieve himself of one more weight that day, while he was on a roll. “Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

“Sure. As long as it’s not about Bloodfall. Save that for Amelia.”

Travis slid one of the starter bolts in and hand-tightened it. “Did your dad ever hit you? Before he went away?”

Dill hesitated before answering. “Yeah, I mean, he spanked me. Sure.”

Travis finished tightening the bolt with the wrench. “That’s not what I mean. I mean did he hit you hit you. Really hit you?”

He and Dill made eye contact again.

“No. Not like that.” Dill didn’t ask why he asked. Travis gave thanks for that. Asking the questions indeed made him feel lighter. Less alone, somehow.

“When I have kids, I won’t lay a finger on them. I mean, except to hug them and stuff. But never to hurt them.” Travis slipped the other bolt in and hand-tightened it, finishing it with the wrench. He hooked up the electrical connection and scooted out from under the car.

“Okay,” Travis said. “Moment of truth. Say your prayers.” He sat in the car and turned the key. The engine spun immediately to life. It didn’t sound healthy, but it never did. At least it ran and would get Dill’s mom from point A to point B for a little while longer.

Dill whooped and high-fived Travis. “Dude, you’re awesome. You did it.”

Travis slapped Dill on the arm. “We did it. Now let’s go get your fourteen-dollar core charge.”

“I owe you one,” Dill said, as they got into Travis’s pickup.

“Pay me back by making up with Lydia. It sucks for me when you guys are mad at each other.”





Dill didn’t mind walking the couple of miles to Lydia’s house. It had just rained, and the streets were covered with wet leaves; their earthy tobacco scent hung in the air, mixing with the spice of wood smoke. A wispy veil of clouds covered the sky and the bright waxing gibbous moon. Dill pulled the denim jacket (that Lydia had picked out) tighter around himself and buttoned it. While he walked, he rehearsed what he’d say. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I only want what will make you happy. Even his church sign had been semihelpful (this once): GOD DOES NOT FORGET THE SINNER, HE FORGETS THE SIN.

I could use some forgetfulness. He knocked on Lydia’s door, his heart racing. Her dad answered.

“Hello, Dill. How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks. Is Lydia home?”

“Yes. Come in, come in. Lydia?” he called upstairs. “You have company, sweetie.”

Lydia appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, her hair in a messy ponytail. When she saw Dill, she folded her arms and glared at him for a moment. Dill gave her a kicked-puppy-dog look. She waved him upstairs and stalked back to her room. Dill started to head up.

“Hey, Dill, before you go, remind me to show you this new Strat of mine, okay?” Dr. Blankenship said.

“Will do.” He went upstairs.

Lydia sat at her desk, composing a document on her new laptop. It appeared to be a college admission essay. She didn’t turn around when Dill walked in.

Dill took in the ordered chaos of Lydia’s room. The sheer amount of visual information always overwhelmed him. Records. Books. Magazines. Posters. Photos. Stuffed animals. Weird antiques, including a terrifying dental phantom from the 1930s that her dad had given her. Clothes and shoes, everywhere—all representing her ever-shifting obsessions. What was different this time were the piles of marked-up college admission essay drafts. Half-filled-out college and scholarship applications. The incidents of a life moving forward with great velocity and determination.

Her room always made him feel wistful and envious for the abundance in which she dwelled—a stark contrast with his even starker room. The piles of college materials didn’t help. Her bed creaked as he sat on it behind her.

Lydia still didn’t turn around. She highlighted a line and deleted it. She appeared determined to make this hurt. “So. Talk.”

Dill faltered. His carefully planned apology speech—formulated on the walk over—evaporated. “I’m—I’m sorry. For the stuff I said.”

Lydia continued typing.

“And I’ve missed you.”

Typing.

“And I want us to stay friends.”

Typing.

“And I’m starting to feel stupid now, so I’ll leave.” Dill rose from the bed with another creak.