Chapter 5: The Spare Room

They kept me five days.

On Monday morning a nurse wheeled me to the hospital doors with a bag of pills and a printed meal plan.

My parents were waiting on the curb, standing four feet apart.

Mom held out a winter coat that was Dexter's.

"It's cold, honey."

"I have a coat at school," I said.

I did not have a coat at school. I had a hoodie.

Norman's truck idled behind them with the heater going.

"Quinn," Dad said. "I sent my share this morning. Twenty-two fifty. Three months of what I owed."

"I saw it."

"I'll send the rest every month. On the first. To the right account."

"Thank you," I said, and meant it a little.

Mom's mouth tightened.

"I sent mine on Saturday," she said. "With a note."

"I saw that too."

The note said: Eat.

I climbed into the truck, and Norman pulled away from the curb before either of them could say anything else.

The apartment over Hendry's Diner had one bedroom, one bathroom and a kitchen with a stove that clicked before it lit.

Norman carried my bag up the stairs without asking.

"Spare room," he said. "It was my son's."

"Where is your son now?"

"Not here."

He put the bag on a made bed with a blue quilt, and I did not ask again.

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