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about that, probably because tracking the stolen car would have given him something to go on.
    Ian’s aunt lit up her cigarette, took a long drag, and blew smoke up at the eaves.
    I wondered if stealing his aunt’s car counted as grand theft auto. I mean, Jamie borrowed his cousin’s motorcycle all the time, which I guess was technically stealing, since he didn’t ask first. But he always gave it back.
    “You must have some idea where he would have gone. Any information is a help.”
    She waved a dismissive hand at Dad. “You could check his cousin’s place. I called up there, but they might be lying to me.”
    “Got an address?”
    The woman nodded and disappeared into the entryway.
    Dad glared over his shoulder at me, acknowledging me for the first time. “I told you to stay in the truck.”
    “No you didn’t.”
    “Maybe not specifically. It should go without saying.” Dad gave me a look like he wasn’t sure what to do with me, but then the woman reappeared with a piece of paper.
    “Here’s the address,” she said. “If you find him, don’t bring him back here.”
    “You got it,” Dad said, offering her a card. “I’ll be taking him right to the warden. If you see or hear from him, though, give me a call. Don’t tell him I’m coming. Just let me know where he is.”
    She took the card.
    “Thanks for your help,” Dad said. He took me by the arm, and we walked back toward the truck.
    I climbed into the cab, speaking quietly so the woman wouldn’t hear. “She wasn’t very helpful.”
    Dad shrugged. “She gave us a lead. And she’s pissed enough that she’s probably not covering for him. If she hears from him, she’ll call.”
    “So where are we going next?”
    “Laramie, Wyoming,” Dad said. He looked at the address, grabbed his GPS and clicked some buttons. “Two-and-a-half-hour drive. We should pick up the trailer, in case we get another lead farther off.”
    “What is with cousins? Isn’t that where Alison was staying too?”
    Dad nodded. “Happens a lot. A cousin is a distant enough relative that it seems no one will look for you there, but still close enough that he lets you stay.”
    “I guess,” I said. Mom and Dad were both only children, so I didn’t have any cousins. Anna had thirty-five of them. I’d been to a couple of her family get-togethers, but they always felt more like block parties to me.
    I pulled out my notebook and added to my list of things not to do on the run. Don’t stay with your cousin. That’s not far enough away. Then I opened to the page where I’d written Ian’s name. Ian’s dad’s in jail, and his mom’s in rehab. Life sucks for him. That last bit wasn’t strictly an observation, but it was a small enough leap that I let myself slide. Of course, if I wanted to blog about Ian, I’d need to change his name. Maybe I’d call him “the woods.” Dad would get a kick out of that.
    Dad pulled out his clipboard to make some notes of his own. “Get going on your homework,” he said. “You haven’t even started for today.”
    I held up Ethan Frome . “This book is seriously unreadable.”
    “Then work on something else. Read me your math assignment, and I’ll try to help you through it.”
    “It’s algebra,” I said. “Doesn’t make a very good read-aloud.”
    “I took algebra once, if you can believe it.”
    “I don’t remember the math I took last year. How do you remember algebra from high school?”
    “I’m a smart guy. We’ll figure it out together.”
    As I read the chapter intro for conic sections, Dad drove us back to the RV park to hitch up. Then we headed up I-25 to I-80 West—the direction of Salt Lake.
    “You could drive me back to Grandma’s on your way.”
    Dad laughed. “That’s only, what? A twelve-hour detour?”
    “Six.”
    “I mean round trip.”
    “I’m sure Ian will wait.”
    Dad rolled his eyes at me, and even I couldn’t help but laugh.
    The phone rang, then, beeping steadily from the dash. Dad