watching me from the living room window. He must've thought this was better than any soap opera.

My hands started to shake as I began to remember. It took me a while, but I had a good memory. I had just stopped Cindy Claire and told her what was what, that was all. Just like Mom had explained everything to me. She didn't have to leave so soon, acting like a crazy woman.

I walked up the steps and through the front door. Still standing at the window, Pop shook his head at me, slow and sad. The bags under his eyes were dark, and his mouth was drooping into a frown. He put both hands on his back and gazed at the TV.

"I got her bill," I said. "She'll be back to take care of it."

"They don't come back, son," Pop said in a low voice, folding his body slowly into his chair. He knocked his clay ashtray to the floor and spilled butts and ashes across the carpet. "Once you make them mad, they don't come back."

The trailer floor creaked under me on my way to the garage. I left the light off and felt my way to the overhead door. I lifted it slowly, the wheels turning and grinding until it caught at the top and stayed. The night sky was hazy from the lights of the trailer park, but I could make out some stars. One set of stars formed the outline of a face, with glowing white eyes that watched over me. It was there if I looked hard enough. I sat down on one of our ramps, opening my eyes wide in the dark, like an owl looking for sparrows and mice. "Cindy Claire," I whispered to the night, rolling her name across my tongue until it lost its sweetness, and all I was left with was the greasy dust of Pop's garage.