I don’t know much about the stages of grief. If one of them is circling the drain, Tatum officially hit it before I picked her up today. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks, and I expected her to cry when Cricket started shit. Instead, she blossomed in my presence. Now as we head back to her house, I watch the depression returning. She no longer even smiles at my witty comments.

Poet’s sage advice returns to me, and I know what I need to do. As soon as I pull my SUV to the curb, I turn off the engine and announce, “You’re moving to my house tonight. Let’s go inside and pack your things, so you don’t need to come back here.”

Tatum doesn’t look at me or the house. She stares straightforward as words lifelessly pour out of her mouth. “You want me to live with you and to work for you. How can we ever have a real relationship when I owe you everything?”

“Then we won’t have a real relationship. You can use me to get healthy and then dump my sexy ass. Until then, let’s pack up your shit and get you set up in my guest room.”

“It seems like a mistake,” she says without conviction.

“Because you’re thinking the way normal people think, and normal people play shit safe because they know no other way. I’m not normal, though. You can’t be normal either now that you’re trapped in my gravitational pull. So scoot your pretty ass out of this car and go pack a bag.”

When she doesn’t immediately move, I climb out of the car, walk around to her side, and gently tug her from her seat.

“At my house, you’ll have two cats to pamper,” I whisper in her ear while maneuvering her toward the house. “You never even got to meet Camel Toe. She’s the one who really needs more attention, but she never took to me like Muffin Top.”

Tatum stops walking and turns to me. “I’m doing this.”

“I know.”

“It makes no sense. Nothing has since Mom died. Fuck the healthy sane choice,” she says, still uneasy when embracing my gutter language. “I feel myself sinking. I can’t give up after my mom worked so hard to prepare me. I’m doing this with you, and I’m doing it at a hundred percent, and that might scare you, but it’s what’s happening.”

“I’m not scared at all,” I say, grinning at her wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“You have no idea how I’ll be at a hundred percent,” she warns. “I don’t either.”

“I’m ready.”

“I need you to give me everything, Chipper,” she says, powerfully seizing my arms with her seemingly small hands. When she tightens her grip, I worry she might be cracking. Oddly, a crazy Tatum feels right to me. “I need a family and a job and friends. I need a reason to get out of bed besides trying to kamikaze Howler. You have to give me everything a person needs or I’ll die. Can you handle that, Chipper Wilburn?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, ready to start my life with this fair maiden. “Let’s pack your stuff, so I can move you into my place. I’m a huge fucking fan of having easy access to you at all times.”

Narrowing her gaze, Tatum mutters, “Don’t try to distract from my insanity by acting insane yourself.”

“Growing up with Cricket, I’ve learned how to play second fiddle in the insane Olympics.”

“Good. Now help me pack because I always get depressed when I’m up in the attic.”

“Who wouldn’t?” I say, taking her hand and tugging her to the front door where we’re intercepted by a middle-aged woman and her pissed dog.

“No men in the house without prior permission,” she tells Tatum.

“Ma’am,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, I fucking hear you.”

“I just wanted to make sure because I know people of your age can sometimes not hear so well, and I wanted to be extra certain you heard me.”

“What?” she growls, not enjoying my dig at her age.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’ll move out of the way. Second, we’ll pack Tatum’s shit and head out. If these two things don’t happen, I’m leaving in a huff and returning later when you’re asleep to burn down your house with you inside. Any questions, ma’am?”

The woman says nothing, giving me a dead-eyed stare.

“Bitch, are you deaf?” Tatum cries before slapping her hand over her mouth and looking at me. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m calling the police,” the woman says.

“Good. Tell the sheriff you’re hassling Chipper Wilburn from White Horse.”

I don’t know if the woman recognizes my name or just knows enough about the local politics to understand how the powers in this town are linked to those in White Horse. Possibly, she isn’t willing to start trouble over something as small as a man in her house. Who knows, but she steps out of my way and walks into the living room where I catch her lighting a cigarette. Yeah, my wonderful personality has been known to drive people to smoke, drink, and even take a hit of the reefer.

Tatum runs up the stairs, and I take several steps at a time to keep up with her. Two flights later, she unlocks the attic door and throws it open. This room was clearly decorated for the relative you just don’t want to stick around long. My grandparents in Cincinnati have a guest room that’s so fucking creepy no one sleeps at their house for more than two nights before deciding they’d rather be homeless than trapped with whatever hell lives in the too narrow closet.

“I don’t have much,” Tatum says, grabbing a blue vintage hard suitcase.

“Did you buy that in the eighties?” I ask as she dumps two drawers’ worth of clothing into the suitcase.

“It was my grandma’s.”

“So she bought in the eighties then.”

“Probably. Can you go get my stuff from the bathroom?”

“Why?” I ask immediately suspicious.

“Just do it.”

Tatum’s green-eyed gaze challenges me to tell her no. Grinning at her sudden gung-ho manic energy, I walk into the bathroom and nearly give myself a concussion on the low-as-fuck ceiling.

“This isn’t a bathroom,” I grunt.

“I know, so don’t ever think I’m not taking a huge step up by moving in with you.”

“I kinda already knew that,” I say, leaning out to smile at her.

Tatum still wears her tough chick snarl. “But also never forget what lame poop I can endure if I have to. If you aren’t right for me, I’m not above leaving you and finding a shithole to call home. Understand?”

“Roger that, my feisty Breezy. Just one thing,” I say while dumping her beauty supplies into a grocery-bag-turned-traveling-case.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t say poop. It’s beneath you.”

“Fine. Then help me finish packing my caca, and we’ll go live in your house like two insane people without a care in the world.”

“Technically, I’m lazy and possibly a drunk and most definitely a spoiled bitch, but I don’t know that I’m full-on crazy.”

“You will be soon,” Tatum says, sounding a little unhinged while she shoves her beauty supplies into her suitcase. “That’s it. Well, I do have my most treasured mementos in my van. Otherwise, my entire life fits into this single suitcase.”

“Well, it’s also on your phone where you mom’s pictures exist.”

Tatum exhales, looking suddenly very tired again. She doesn’t speak for nearly a minute, and I don’t rush her. I’m uncertain where her head is, and I’m in no hurry anyway. Tatum is driving this crazy train.

“I’ll need to follow you in my minivan.”

Kissing the top of her head, I take the suitcase and scan the room. “I’ll try not to speed my way back, but I really don’t like Hickory Creek. It smells too much like a biker’s armpit.”

“Poet smelled fine.”

“Please don’t sniff my brother-in-law,” I moan, opening the door to return to the many, many flights of stairs. “I don’t want to have to throw down with him.”

“Do you think you could win?”

“Sure. I’d cheat, and he wouldn’t. The guy’s got too much class.”

Tatum snickers as we walk down the dark stairway and finally past the three women in the living room. They shoot us dirty looks, but I’m more interested in how this night ends rather than the unpleasant, biker’s armpit-stinking speed bumps on the way.