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month for gas money.”
    “You can’t do this,” Sylvia objected. “It’s not fair. Is this even real?”
    “The money, you mean?” James replied. “Now who’s not being fair?”
    Afraid that his mother might be about to hand the envelope back, A.J. decided it was time to stage an appearance. After quickly opening the door, he slammed it shut. “Hey, Mom,” he shouted from the entryway. “I’m home.” When he entered the living room, he stopped short. “Sorry. I didn’t know we had company.”
    He was relieved to see that his mother, seated on the couch, was still holding the envelope. James, standing by the window, wasn’t actively smoking a cigarette, but the room reeked of secondhand smoke.
    He turned toward A.J., holding out his hand in greeting. “So this must be A.J.,” he said with an easygoing grin. “Glad to meet you. I’m your dear old dad.”
    So that’s how he’s going to play it, A.J. thought—as though he and A.J. had never laid eyes on each other before; as though the conversation in front of Walgreens had never taken place.
    A.J. glanced at his mother, staring at the envelope as if mesmerized. At last she raised her head and looked at A.J., giving an almost imperceptible nod. A.J.’s heart skipped a beat because he recognized the look of abject defeat lining Sylvia’s face. The nod implied affirmative answers to both questions—yes, this was his father, and yes, she was going to let A.J. keep the car.
    “It’s true,” she said. “A.J., this is your father, James Sanders. He’s offering to give you a car.”
    A.J. took the proffered hand and shook it. “Glad to meet you, sir,” he said.
    That was the first real lie he ever told his mother, and he knew at once that it wouldn’t be the last.
    “I got my first car when I turned sixteen,” James explained. “I thought you should have one, too. Did you see that Camry outside in the driveway? It’s yours, if you want it.”
    A.J. turned to his mother. “Are you kidding?” he asked, trying to act as though he hadn’t known it already. “A car of my own? Really?”
    Sylvia nodded again. A.J. understood why. His mother was nothing if not practical. The car parked in the driveway and the contents of the envelope had wiped out all her objections to his having a car. The car was paid for; the insurance was paid for; the gas was paid for. End of story. Besides, if A.J. had access to his own transportation, his mother’s life suddenly would be far less complicated.
    “Happy birthday, son,” James said with a grin. “Maybe you and your mom would like to take it for a spin.” He tossed a set of keys in A.J.’s direction, and A.J. plucked them out of the air.
    “Thank you,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”
    Sylvia sighed and got up. “I’ll go get my purse,” she said, heading for her bedroom.
    While she was out of the room, A.J. and James stood in a conspiratorial silence. Between that first meeting and now, A.J. had come up with a million questions he wanted to ask his father, but there in the tiny living room, he didn’t give voice to any of them. He didn’t want to make a mistake and say something that would arouse his mother’s suspicions.
    “Nice car,” he said. “I was looking at it as I came inside.”
    “Only two years old,” James said. “Got a good deal on it. It’s got a couple of dents in the trunk, like maybe somebody backed into a bollard, but other than that, it’s in great shape.”
    Sylvia returned with her purse. “Can we drop you someplace?” she asked.
    James took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. “Sure,” he said. “You can take me back up to Indian School. I’ll catch a bus from there.”
    Since Indian School ran for miles, east and west, catching a bus there offered no clue about where he was going or where he was staying.
    After dropping James off at the corner of Indian School and Seventh, right across the street from Madeline’s drugstore, A.J. drove his mother as far as