When he sees me waiting for him, his mouth flattens, and he shakes his head. Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. The day matches our mood; dreary. I feel like I haven’t seen the sun in years. Connor stares out the window as the rain pelts against my car, the wipers swishing on high speed. The windows are beginning to fog, but I’m still able to see after wiping the glass with my hand. The ride home is silent. He hasn’t spoken a word to me—not one word. Finally, we make it home, and as I park the car and switch off the ignition, he turns his head and stares straight ahead at the garage. “How’s your head?” he asks, gruffly. I try to tame my sigh of relief. He’s talking to me. That’s something at least. “A little tender, but better,” I answer him. “Where’d you get the money?” His words are tight, his voice deep. Clearly he’s unhappy that I’ve bailed him out—as I knew he would be.
