The rehabilitation center did not rearrange itself around school pickup. Buses ran late. Schedules changed. Jonah had heard his mother on the phone asking Diane for help and thanking her too many times.
Diane knew exactly what she was threatening to remove.
Jonah’s mother bent and picked up his jacket.
“I won’t.”
The answer scared Jonah more than shouting would have.
He knew enough about their life to understand what it might cost.
His mother held the jacket open for him.
“Come on.”
Jonah put it on.
Walt reached for his cane from beside the wall.
“I’m coming too.”
Diane looked stunned. “Dad.”
“You can be angry with me tomorrow.”
“It’s Thanksgiving.”
Walt nodded. “That’s what makes this worse.”
They left through the back door.
Cold air hit Jonah’s face.
His mother’s car was still warm from the drive over. She put him in the front seat because Walt needed the back for his hip, then went around to the driver’s side.
Before she started the engine, Jonah said, “I’m sorry.”
His mother gripped the steering wheel.
Walt leaned forward from the back seat.
“For what, boy?”
Jonah stared at the dashboard.
“For making Mom not have help anymore.”
His mother made a sound that was almost a sob.
She turned toward him.
“You did not take help away from me.”
“But Aunt Diane said—”
“Diane was not helping if the price was hurting you.”
Jonah’s eyes filled.
