Swallowing Stones (26 page)

Chase is fiddling with the radio. I stare at his hand on the tuner and wonder if he ever thinks about those times. Did he miss Gator as much as I did after we stopped playing with him? Chase never talked about it. And I never asked.

We are about a half mile from the turnoff to my house. There hasn’t been any rain here at all, which is the way it is sometimes. A few minutes later we are raising clouds of dust, tearing up the dirt road that becomes our driveway and curves around in front of our house.

I’m trying to decide whether to invite Chase in for some iced tea or something when he says, “Gotta go. I’m meeting some friends over at Whelan’s.” Whelan’s Drive-In is the local after-school hangout. Chase reaches across me and opens the door. Suddenly I get this crazy notion in my head. I want to grab his hand before he lets go of the door handle. Instead I stumble out of the car, mumbling, “Thanks for the ride.” But I don’t think he hears me with the radio blasting as he peels down our dirt road.