Bonnie nodded once, her eyes big, her lips bruised. “I got a little worried that you might be a bad man.”

“Well, it’s about damn time,” he said on a sigh.

“What does that even mean, Clyde?” she asked.

“More games, Bonnie?”

“No.” She shook her head emphatically.

“So say what you need to say.”

“What’s with the swastika?”

Finn felt his heart sink. Even though he had known what she was going to say, he had still hoped it was something else. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation with snow starting to fall around their heads and his toes growing numb from the slush that had seeped into his old boots.

“It’s a very long story. And I’ll tell it. But not right now. I will promise you it wasn’t about hate. It was never about hate. Does that make sense? I was a scared kid. That’s all. And it seemed like the only solution.”

Bonnie released her pent up breath, nodded slowly as if she understood, and then picked up her bags. “I can live with that. But I can’t live with wet clothes, and these bags are both wet on the bottom. For that matter, I’m a little wet on the bottom!” she called over her shoulder as she hurried to the Blazer. “Let’s go, Huckleberry.”

Finn rolled his eyes and immediately obeyed, but he couldn’t completely smother his grin. And just like that, Fisher strolled through his mind—blond, smirking, and way smarter than anyone gave him credit for being. He used to call Finn Huckleberry sometimes too. And Finn had hated it.

“YOU GONNA MAKE your move, Huckleberry?” Fish was suddenly by his side, and he hadn’t missed the back and forth looks going on between Finn and the lovely Jennifer.

Jennifer was pretty. And she kept staring at him. Finn studied her, wondering if he would still like her when they were done making out. He found he usually didn’t, which made him hesitant to approach her.

“Nah.” Finn sighed.

“Why not?” Fish was obviously perplexed.

“I’ll be bored as soon as I do. Plus, she’s more your type than mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Fish pursed his lips, as if considering whether this might be true. He shook his head as if he, too, was going to pass.

“What is your type, Finn? So far, I really don’t think you have one.”

“I don’t know. Tall, thin, smart. Quiet. Good with numbers.” Finn shrugged.

“You’re describing a ruler. Not a girl.”

“I’m describing myself,” Finn conceded with a laugh.

“Oh, and wouldn’t that be fun. Dating yourself. What happened to Libby? She was hot, she was into you, and she’s a damn good kisser.”

Yeah. She was hot, Finn thought to himself. And she was a very good kisser. She’d taught Finn a few things. Things he’d like to try . . . with another girl. Plus, he didn’t like being with girls Fish had already sampled. If you thought about transference, which he did, it was disgusting. But Libby had been talented, he had to agree with Fisher there.

“I liked the kissing. But that was all. Quit trying to set me up. I’ll choose my own girlfriends.” He shot his brother a warning look. As usual, Fish was not deterred.

“Not a good idea, Bro. None of us know what’s good for us. We think we know what our type is, but we have no clue. That’s why I burn through as many girls as I can. See, I’m tryin’ to find what’s good for me—’cause I just don’t know. And neither do you. You think you know because you’re a genius.”

“If I’m the genius, why are you the know-it-all in the family?”

“You think you’re the only one who studies? I study. But I study girls. I study music. I study life.” Fish took a swig of whatever was in the cup. It was probably beer, but it must be his first or second round because he was still his slick self, smiling and waving and working the crowd all the while giving his brother his unsolicited opinion.

“It’s my own theory. I may not think like you and Dad, but this is solid math, man. The girl you think is the perfect girl for you is never the perfect girl for you. One of these days, a girl is going to come along, and you won’t even see her comin.’ And she’ll rock your world.” Fisher said this like it was a done deal.

“Oh yeah?” Finn already wanted to leave. But he wouldn’t. He would stick around until Fish was ready to go. And who knew when that would be.

“Yeah! And I guarantee she won’t be your type. And you’re going to strategize, and think, and make lists. And it’s not gonna add up.”

“That’s not your own theory, Fish. It’s chemistry. Opposites attract.”

“Yeah. But it’s more than that. You can have opposites that don’t attract. It has to be just the right kind of opposite. And you won’t know what you’ve got . . .”

“Til it’s gone?” Finn finished the tired cliché, not really listening, his eyes straying back to Jennifer, reconsidering.

“Til it’s gone, baby. And then you’re gonna wonder what the hell hit you, and I’m gonna laugh my ass off and say, ‘who’s the genius now?’”

“GRAN CLOSED HER credit card. My credit card, I should say. I tried to get another room back there at the motel, and the clerk told me it was declined. It kind of scared me. She knows I have it.” I shrugged. “Guess it’s her way of telling me she’s still in charge.”