Page 11 of The Code

He sinks roughly to the curb. His shoulders slump. His head lolls forward.

He knows there is always something to do but he is so, so tired and he cannot think of anything.

Thunder roars again and the sky opens up. He miscalculated that, too.

It pours down on him.

He lets it.

Pouring off the back of his head, draining off his cheeks, his lips.

He wants to melt into the gutter and wash away.

“Hey,” a voice says behind him. And then: “Hey!”

His head feels like it’s filled with sand. With great effort, he turns.

It’s the flustered mom from inside, leaning out the doorway, one hand pressed flat to the glass pane. “D’ya need my help, hon?”

He has no idea why this question—this tiny kindness—makes him want to cry.

“I’m two bucks short,” he says. “To get home.”

“Well, come on up out of that rain. We can certainly find you two dollars.”

His aching muscles obey on a slight tape delay. But he rises.

“C’mon now,” she says, one hand on his shoulder, guiding him in and back to the ticket counter. “You look like you’ve had a tough run.”

Approaching the counter he feels ashamed and so, so grateful.

He tries to thank her but his mouth just clutches.

“It’s okay, hon,” she says, dipping into her wide-mouthed purse. “Sometimes we all just need a little help.”

When at long last Evan hobbles up the long dirt road to the farmhouse, there is a strange truck in Jack’s driveway. A Chevy Silverado with a UVA law school license-plate frame.

He stares at it, frozen in his boots. He is not sure he can handle one more surprise this night. It might as well be an alien spacecraft.

He does not know how long he has been standing there, shoulders zombie-tilted, staring at the truck. But at some point he comes back into himself.

As he has been instructed for circumstances like this, he circles the house to enter through the back door. No one is to see him. He is a secret, an Orphan.

Given Jack’s meticulousness, he is not to leave a trace in the house. He rinses off with a hose that has been coiled beneath the back stoop to ensure it doesn’t freeze solid. After shedding his boots, he washes his blistered feet, cringing as the water sluices across his left toe.

The cold water is nearly unbearable.

He pats dry as best he can and digs dirt out from beneath his remaining nine nails.

He leaves his clothes in a filthy heap beneath the stoop with the hose. He will burn them later. He wears boxer briefs and nothing else. Shivering violently, he enters the back door into the kitchen.

Voices carry up the hall from Jack’s office.

A young man’s voice. Confident.

Once or twice Jack has mentioned a first cousin once removed who is in college.

Trembling and mostly naked, Evan eases silently through the kitchen and up the hall.