Trevor Stratton was twenty years old. At six feet tall, 175 pounds, he was a well-built, good-looking kid in a slacker kind of way, at least when he got cleaned up. But like Kymberly, mostly he didn't see the need for that. Today, for example, he wore a wispy three-day stubble. His long hair was blonder than it was brown. Sporting tattered jeans and year-old ruined red tennis shoes, he was exactly the kind of guy Kymberly could never bring home to meet her mother, which made him perfect.
Not that it had been that hard, but Trevor had helped talk Kym-berly out of actually attending college when she'd been on the verge of going away. He himself had started at university last year at USF, and had completed most of his freshman work. But his parents back in Illinois had never flown out to visit him, or asked to see his grades, and he realized that they never would, so he stayed for the summer, bought the van, and told his parents that he was living in an off-campus flat. So they sent him $1,500 checks for food and rent every month, which he picked up at a friend's apartment. It was a pretty great existence most of the time.
Except for having to deal with Kymberly's moods and stuff. But most of the time she was up for sex, and her whole attitude was radical and kind of cool. Plus she was a lot prettier than she thought she was. Really pretty, in fact. Trevor got a lot of points with most of the guys he knew for just being with her.
Except now, and for a couple of days now, she was in one of those difficult moods. Manic to the max. He didn't think she'd slept more than an hour or two per night since the funeral, when she'd been so depressed. Then this morning, deciding she needed to visit her father in jail. And that hadn't worked out, except to make her cold. Then they'd come out here with the van and had a few hits-trying to slow her down-but instead she got it in her head that they needed to play some music for tips, so they'd broken out his conga drum and guitar and walked down to the cable car turnaround. He'd strummed his acoustic guitar and sang a bunch of his own monotonic songs while she'd slapped the drum tirelessly for a couple of hours.
When Kymberly got going on something, she had tremendous energy. He had to give her that. And they'd made nearly twenty bucks, which was definitely worth it. But all of it had been in the steady drizzle, and while Trevor had worn his rainproof parka, he hadn't been able to talk Kymberly out of her flip-flops and T-shirt with no bra, which probably didn't hurt the tips.
But now, back in the van, she was whining again, still wound up and endlessly needy. He might have to try to talk her into taking some of the lithium, although it brought her down and got her off her high, when she'd get as boring as she was exciting now. She'd probably sleep for a couple of days if he did that, so he thought at least they ought to get it on one more time before she checked out.
"I just want to get some more clothes," she was saying. "I'm cold."
"Just use the blanket there, Kym. Here, let me wrap you up."
But she shrugged that off. "Too hot, too hot, too hot. Aren't you listening to me? Plus it smells bad. What did we do with those clothes I got with Debra? Did I leave them with her?"
"I don't know. I didn't see them."
"You did too!"
He shook his head. "You never brought them back here."
The suspicion was back in her eyes. Lately this seemed to be her fallback position with him. Not trusting him. When in truth he was the one providing for her-this ride, her food, her dope, her drink, her needs. But this was the thing, he knew, that made her so difficult at certain times and so kind of fascinating at others. You just never knew what her reality was going to be. And suddenly, now, she sat up, her stoned eyes flashing in anger at him. "You sold them, didn't you? That's what you did, Trev. You turned them back in at the store for the money."
"No I didn't, Kym. You never brought them back. You left them at your aunt's."
"I wouldn't have done that. I liked those clothes." "You said you hated them."
"I did not. You're making that up." But something about it seemed to strike her as possible, if not actually true, and she shifted gears in that infallible way she had. "Let's just go up to the house." "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? Nobody's there. I've got my old clothes in my room, in my closet. I'm really cold, Trev. I'm not kidding. I don't want to get sick."
"You don't get sick from being cold. That's an old wives' tale."
"I don't care about that. And I don't believe it either." She was patting her pockets, feeling around in the pile of blankets and other stuff on the mattress with her. "Where are my keys? You're not the boss of me. I'm just going."
"Kym." He picked up the blanket from behind her and tried to wrap it around her shoulders. "We can't go up to your house. We just can't do that."
She grabbed at the corner of the blanket and pulled it off her again. "Where are my keys? Did you take my keys, too?" "I didn't take them. You gave them to me." "So give them back now. Do you even know where they are?"
"Yes."
"So where are they? You have to tell me. They're mine."
"They're ours, Kym. And they're in a safe place. Can't you leave this blanket over you, please? Just until you warm up. Then we can talk about it."
"But I want to go to my house and get my clothes."
"Kym. Your mother was killed there. Remember that? You said you'd never be able to go in there again."
"But I could now. My mom's not going to…" Whatever the evanescent thought was, it had vanished. She sighed and said, "Anyway, you could come with me."
"I can't go in there, Kym. I can never go back in there. Don't you get that? If somebody saw me and knew that you were with me and then they got my fingerprints somehow, they might put me in jail."
"No! You can't go to jail, too!"
"I know. I know. But if anybody saw us there Sunday…"
"Nobody saw us, Trev. It was in and out; I know the combination, we hit the safe, take the money…"
"We should've taken all of it. And the gun, too."
"No! That would have really been dumb. I know my dad. He wouldn't have known exactly how much he'd put in the safe, but he'd notice if all of it was gone. And we don't need the gun. What do we need a gun for?"
"We could have sold it someplace. And there was just so much more there, Kym, for the taking. Stuff they never even would have missed, I bet. But now that chance is gone forever. We should have got more when we could."
But then she had that faraway look in her eyes again, and she went silent, now reaching for the towel and pulling it tightly around her, smell or not. "I knew you wanted to go back. It's so lucky you didn't go back." She reached out and touched his leg. "You didn't, did you? Go back."
"Of course not, Kym. You know I didn't. I told you that."
She recited the explanation as though she memorized it: " 'I stayed with Jen and you went to Jeremy's and bought this weed instead,' " she said.
"Right. With the money we got from the safe. And luckily I didn't go to your house, 'cause whoever was there might have… I mean, I might have got in the way too."
"Like Mom did."
"Right. Just like that. But that's why I can't go back there now. They might think somehow I had something to do with your mother. Which I did not, Kym. I swear to God, I didn't."