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surface of the whetstone he held in his left hand. The hiss of metal against rock mingled with the sizzle of frying food. Misty was working on a new macramé project. Currently, she was wild about making plant hangers and wall decorations. She’d knotted together a belt to wear with her various hippie skirts and had recently completed a hobo bag with tassels so long they nearly swept the ground when she walked. Michael approached the table, pulled the ring from his pocket, and covertly dropped it into Misty’s lap. Her eyes lit up, but she said nothing. Rather, she moved her macramé over it and continued to work.
    Rebel stepped inside the house a minute later, the bottle of Jim Beam already missing its cap. He took a swig before advancing further inside, then slid the bottle across the table prior to collapsing into his seat. He slouched, kicked up his dirty shoes, and regarded his family with a bemused look. He was like a king looking down upon his peasants, watching them toil away at the mundane.
    â€œMakin’ another ugly belt?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at his sister.
    â€œIt’s a halter top,” she murmured beneath her breath. “Don’t see no reason for you bein’ rude, neither.”
    Michael stared down at his feet. He made a move to exit the room, wanting nothing more than to pull off his soggy boots. But he stopped when Wade posed a question: “You went out like that?”
    Michael turned to face the Morrows. Wade sounded as though he was directing his query at Reb, but he was surprised to see Wade staring at him instead.
    â€œYou have blood on them boots,” Wade said. “Probably have blood all over, but you went out anyway. Into town, right?”
    â€œNot into town,” Rebel cut in, defensive. “Just a goddamn gas station. No big fuckin’ deal.”
    â€œYou think that’s smart, Michael?” Wade asked, ignoring Reb’s interjection.
    Michael’s stomach twisted. He had made a mistake, and mistakes weren’t taken lightly in this house. He should have stood up to Rebel, should have insisted he had to change before they went anywhere. This stuff was a matter of staying safe or getting caught. He had put the entire family at risk.
    â€œAre you gonna answer me, or are you gonna stand there lookin’ stupid?” Wade asked.
    Michael’s jaw tensed.
    Rebel rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle, holding it just shy of his lips.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Michael murmured, afraid to meet his father’s gaze.
    Reb laughed, then took another swig.
    Wade’s movement was sudden. He shoved his chair away from the table, stepped across the kitchen, and slapped the bottle out of Reb’s grubby hand. It thunked against the hardwood and slid across the floor, spilling precious amber liquid onto the planks. Reb made a move to grab it, an exasperated, almost childlike yelp escaping his throat, but Wade gave him a shove back into his chair.
    â€œYou mean to tell me that goin’ to the gas station was ­ Michael’s idea?” Wade asked. “You tryin’ to lie to me about that?”
    Reb bared his teeth at his father and pushed him aside, snatching the bottle off the floor. He stared at it, wild-eyed. Only a fourth of the way full now. “Son of a bitch!” Rebel slammed the bottle onto the table. Michael flinched at the noise. Misty jumped, but her eyes sparkled at the exchange. Misty loved drama. Next to her records, it was all that she had. “I had to drive forty miles round trip for that shit!” Reb roared at his dad.
    â€œMight be cheaper to save on gas and pay for it in town, don’t you think?” Wade asked.
    Misty breathed a soft giggle, prompting Momma to twist away from the stove and grab her by the hair. She gave it a vicious pull.
    â€œYou best shut up, girl,” she hissed into Misty’s face. “You ain’t part of this.” Releasing her, Momma shoved