“Yeah…” he says through a heavy sigh. “But it won’t be here.”

“Owen says you’ll get to move back; when your mom finds a place,” I say. Andrew leaves his eyes on mine, doubt all over his face.

When I hear the door downstairs, I squeeze Andrew once more and step out of his room. Owen meets me at the top of the stairs, his hand finding its comfortable place on my cheek, his lips finding home on mine.

“How’d you do?” I ask about his science test.

“Good, I think. Seemed easy,” he says. “Hey, I have to run up to the home. You want to come with me? I know how you love Grampa.”

I do love Gus. But more than that, I’m doing everything with Owen, up until the very last second. I don’t even care if it’s a trip to the grocery store for toothpaste—I’m making it.

I nod yes and thread my arm through Owen’s as we move back down the stairs. I watch Owen as we drive. I’ve been watching him a lot, watching how he looks at things. He’s been living his life, day-to-day, ever since he told me about his family’s plans. His eyes never pause or seem sad when he looks out at stuff; every day passes, just as it always did, as if these days aren’t coming to an end. The only times he gets sentimental are at night, when we’re alone. For a couple of evenings, he sat in his window, on the phone with me, and we listened to each other breathe. But for the last two nights, he’s come over around midnight, letting me sneak him upstairs before my mom gets home. I lock my door, not that she ever checks on me anyway, and he holds me while we both lie awake…not talking about Iowa.

Emma remembers me when we enter the home this time, and she nods toward Gus’s room, urging me to go on while she and Owen talk.

“He’s expecting you,” she says as I pass. We exchange smiles, and I think to myself how much she reminds me of my favorite book by the same name.

Gus is facing the door, his cane in his hand, ready to help him stand as I enter. I can’t help but smile at the sight of him, and I get to him quickly, giving him a hand to his feet. He hugs me as if I’m his own, his hardened hands squeezing my shoulder then wrapping around my back, patting.

“How’s the metronome, young lady?” he asks. I feel guilty, because I haven’t used it yet. But I will.

“It’s keeping time,” I say, walking with him toward his door.

“Let’s bust out of this joint,” he teases, winking at me. His heavy eyebrows dip down then up when he winks, like caterpillars exercising. I wonder if Owen will look like this one day?

I hold Gus’s arm as we make our way out to the main room, to a small table with a checkerboard on it. Once he’s sitting, I take the other chair. Gus begins to put the pieces in place, his hands shaking a little as he drops the checkers onto their squares with careful precision.

“So, what’s this business about the boys and Iowa?” I’m surprised when he asks. I wasn’t sure how much Owen had shared with him, or how much he’d remember.

“I guess Iowa is the land of opportunity,” I jest, my answer laced with sarcasm.

“Horseshit,” Gus says, tapping his finger on the board between us, then moving his first piece. “That uncle of his ain’t worth a damn, and neither is his business. Now Billy…I always liked Billy. Owen’s dad? But Richard, Owen’s uncle? Well, let’s just say I have a hard time trusting a fella named Dick for short.”

Gus keeps his eyes trained on the pieces on our game board. I’m glad, because I’m blushing from his bluntness. I’m also feeling more uneasy about Owen leaving.

“I want him to stay.” My honesty surprises me. Gus, he has a way of filling me with comfort, and I have to talk to someone about how I feel. I think he might be my only outlet.

He looks up at me before reaching forward to grab a checker, his heavy brow cocked on one end. “You need to convince him it’s safe to stay,” he says, letting his hand go from the board. Gus leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his chest. He looks around the room, and when he sees Owen and Emma far away, sitting at her desk, he looks back at me.

“Owen’s always craved security,” he says. I can’t help the way I react, flinching in surprise.

“Owen laughs in the face of danger,” I say, my mind easily counting a dozen things I know about Owen that defy the very idea of feeling comfortable.

“I didn’t say safe. I said secure,” Gus says, patting his hands once on his belly. “That boy has a nose for danger. He likes thrills. But he also needs to know that when he comes back, after he’s done playing stuntman with all of his antics, that there will be something there waiting for him—a home.”