“I need to get home,” he said.
Wendell nodded, as if he had expected that answer.
“Let me drive you.”
Jaylen’s shoulders tightened.
“It’s not far.”
“It’s hot enough to cook breakfast on the hood of this car.”
“I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
Jaylen studied him again, weighing the danger of kindness from a stranger against the distance home and the medicine in the bag. Finally, he gave one small nod.
“All right,” he said. “But just to the turn by Miller Creek. Mama doesn’t like people coming up unexpected.”
Wendell opened the passenger door.
Jaylen hesitated before climbing in. His greasy hands hovered above the cream leather seat.
“It’s fine,” Wendell said.
Jaylen sat carefully anyway, holding the grocery bag in his lap like it contained something breakable.
The ride was quiet at first. The SUV floated over the rutted dirt road with a softness that felt almost insulting against the harshness outside.
