After wavering for a moment, Monica’s mom closed the door and disappeared.
Isaac threw the last three eggs in quick succession and Gus then guided him back toward the car.
“See, Isaac, if you just take—we’re coming to the curb now—the feeling of legitimacy away from them,
if you turn it around so they feel like they are committing a crime by watching—a few more steps—their cars get egged,
they’ll be confused and scared and worried and they’ll just return to their—you’ll find the door handle directly in front of you—quietly desperate lives.”
Gus hurried around the front of the car and installed himself in the shotgun seat.
The doors closed, and I roared off, driving for several hundred feet before I realized I was headed down a dead-end street.
I circled the cul-de-sac and raced back past Monica’s house. I never took another picture of him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A few days later, at Gus’s house, his parents and my parents and Gus and me all squeezed around the dining room table,
eating stuffed peppers on a tablecloth that had, according to Gus’s dad, last seen use in the previous century.
My dad: “Emily, this risotto...” My mom: “It’s just delicious.”
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