49

Scar

Boston's a comfortable temperate toward the end of summer. Not too hot, not too cold. Finn Callahan picks me up from the airport in a black sports car wearing dark sunglasses, his hair pushed back. I toss my bag in the back and sit shotgun. "No driver?" I ask, feeling mildly surprised.

"I like to do my own driving." He pulls into traffic, going faster than he should. I buckle my seatbelt. "Dad's happy you're visiting. The big move's coming up soon, isn't it?"

"A few weeks," I say, nodding, thinking about what I left behind. Rita, sulking quietly. A week away from starting her new job.

"You'll like Boston," he says, navigating into the city. "It's not Texas, but it's a good place to live."

I shrug, not really caring either way. "I'm not here to sightsee."

He laughs. "But you still got to spend your days here. Might as well get a feel for it."

Boston's an old city. Where western cities were made after the invention and spread of cars, East Coast cities were too entrenched and dense