I still wasn’t quite sure why Pop was being so kind to me or what “potential” he saw, but questioning it wouldn’t do me much good. One thing was certain, though. I was being given the opportunity I’d been waiting for, and there was no way in hell I was going to screw it up.

JIMMY BOY JOGGED down the gull’s driveway back toward where I sat on the edge of the truck’s bench seat. The door was open just enough for my leg to poke through, and I kept it from swinging wider by bracing it with one hand as if it were a shield between me and potential disaster. I tried to relax. Being tense or seeming nervous would be a sure sign something about this deal was off, and it could tank the whole thing. All I needed to do was relax, talk fast, and keep him from looking too closely at the trailer.

“Okay,” Jimmy Boy said, gripping the door through the open window. “He’s coming down to have a look. All you need to do is give him a good story about why we’re selling this thing in such a hurry and at such a good price. Got it?”

I nodded. “So what’s the story?”

“I don’t know, but you better think of one quick,” Jimmy Boy said, wrenching the door open and pulling me along with it. “Because he’s coming.”

Panic began to well up in my throat, and I fought to keep my breath even. Don’t fuck this up, I reminded myself. This is your shot.

“You’ll be fine. Tell him you knocked up your girlfriend and need the money to help her with the baby.” Jimmy Boy chuckled when I scowled at him. “Whatever you tell him is fine as long as you make it sound good and convincing.”

I moved away from the truck and shut the door, then turned to see a heavy-set man plodding down the driveway. He had thin black hair that hung over his forehead in greasy strings. He reached us and ran a hand through it, extending the same hand to me. I hesitated a moment, then took it and gave it a quick shake, afterward surreptitiously wiping my palm on the leg of my jeans.

“So you’re the one selling the trailer, that right?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, though the words came out louder than I’d intended. I glanced at my brother who relaxed against the front of the truck with his arms crossed. He urged me on with a jerk of his head. “It’s a real wrench to give her up, especially for so much less than she’s worth, but it’s the only thing I have that I can get any money for. You know how the economy is. No one’s buying trailers these days.”

The man leaned back to have a better look at the travel trailer still hitched to the old truck. He narrowed his eyes and shifted his head from side to side. “Looks brand-new. Why you in such a hurry to sell it?”

I thought quickly. “My wife and I,” I said, slipping my empty left hand into the pocket of my jeans. “We’re expecting our first baby this winter, and you know how it goes. Kid’s costing me a fortune, and it ain’t even been born yet.”

The lie rolled off my tongue as easily as the thick twang I used to speak it. I glanced at Jimmy Boy, who flashed an amused grin before putting up a hand to hide it, pretending to scratch at the scruff on his jawline.

Feeling bolder, I pressed on. “You wouldn’t believe what doctors charge just to keep us waiting for an hour, and that’s a bargain compared to the price of this fancy baby carriage my wife wants. I’ll be broke in a month if I don’t pull in some more money soon.”

“That’s just awful,” the man said, though nothing in his tone indicated he actually felt sorry for me. He continued his appraisal of the trailer as he spoke. “So if you ain’t got money for the baby, where’d you get a trailer so state-of-the-art?”

From a scrapyard, I thought, though obviously I wouldn’t tell him that. In truth, the trailer was only worth the five to six hundred that had been put into making it appear as though it were worth thousands. This was why it was so important I made the sale quickly before the buyer decided to take a closer look.

“Wedding gift,” I said. “From my in-laws. They’ve got money and offered to help with the baby, but I don’t take charity.”

The man finally looked at me. I knew I had him on the hook, and now all I had to do was reel him in. “So, you get a good deal, and I get to buy my wife all the baby stuff she wants. It’s win-win.”

“Women, eh?” he said, and I grinned. Something had told me this particular buffer didn’t think much of the fairer sex, and I was glad to see I’d been right. “Well, son,” he went on, “it looks like she’ll be getting her over-priced buggy. Though if you were smart, you’d tell her I jewed you down some and pocket the difference.”

I forced a laugh as I took his greasy hand in mine again. We shook on the deal, and as soon as he handed me the money, I jumped in the truck and slammed the door, happy to be out of his company.

“Brother, you are slicker than owl shit.” Jimmy Boy shot me a look filled with both pride and wonder before returning his eyes to the road. “I thought you’d lost him at first, but he sure came around fast.”

“Yeah, well, imagine what I could do if you actually gave me a heads up before I made the sale.”

“It’s good practice for thinking on your feet. Quick thinking is a Traveler’s best asset.”

The first few notes of “Brown-Eyed Girl” came through the truck’s speakers. My hand shot out and turned it off almost as a reflex.

“What was that?” Jimmy Boy asked. “I thought you love Van Morrison.”

“I do.”

“Then why’d you turn it off?”

“The man had almost forty albums, but somehow ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’ is the only song anyone knows. It makes me sad.”

“Aww, how sensitive. You gonna cry about it?”

“Shut up.” I smacked the thick envelope in my palm, wanting to change the subject. “This is the biggest score we’ve brought in so far. How much you think Pop will let us keep? A thousand—maybe two?”

“I wouldn’t go making any big plans just yet. We weren’t much more than errand boys. We’ll be lucky if we get back the gas money we used getting down here and back.”

I made a faint noise of disgust at the back of my throat. “Seems like a waste if that’s the truth. I know it wasn’t our trailer, but we should get paid for our time at least.”

“You should be happy Pop trusted you to do this at all. You’re never satisfied, Shay, and that’s going to get you in trouble.”

I STOOD ON the postage-stamp-sized front deck of the trailer and stretched muscles that were stiff from another night spent in the foldout bed I’d outgrown years ago. The events in Terrebonne Parish had boosted my confidence. My indiscretion with Rosie hadn’t come back to bite me in the ass, and my reputation as a buffer was fading, too. My cousin, Pete, had already stopped by to congratulate me on a job well done, and he’d heard about my success straight from Pop Sheedy himself.

A ladybug landed on the front of my shirt. When I brushed it away, it took flight, heading northeast. I couldn’t help but think of Mary Sheedy’s confidence that her husband would be from Georgia, thanks to a ladybug that probably hadn’t made it past the woods before getting eaten by a bird. I chuckled to myself as I stepped off the porch and crossed to the picnic table.

The day promised to be a scorcher, and I made a mental note to sleep outside that night rather than in the stuffy confines of the tin can Maggie called a home. I straddled one of the benches and blew a sharp whistle through my teeth. Yeats padded over and slipped his head into my lap, patiently waiting for a scratch.

“Morning, boy.” I dug my fingers into the folds behind his ears. “Where’s Beckett?”

I’d named the dogs after discovering the Irish writers in a freshman English class. With their grizzled and scraggly appearance, the names seemed fitting. Yeats lifted his head and huffed, clearly annoyed he was once again tasked with finding his errant companion. I chuckled as he lumbered away and disappeared around the side of the trailer.