“New Jersey,” I corrected. “And I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?” she asked, changing lanes smoothly and speeding up slightly.

“Because,” I said, shaking my head, “it’s a work thing for him. And it’s in public. I don’t want to tell him in front of a ton of people. . . .” My voice trailed off as I remembered the argument Clark and I had had about Karl and Marjorie and the declaration of love in the crowded tavern. I closed my eyes for just a moment, remembering how seriously Clark had seemed to take it, how he’d fought for it. “Oh god,” I said hollowly, as I opened my eyes, realizing what I had to do. “I think I have to go to Clark’s reading.”

Palmer grinned at me. “Okay, so we’ll go tell your dad, and then we’ll head to . . .”

“New Jersey,” I filled in for her. “Do you have a mental block about this state, or something?”

“New Jersey,” Palmer said, talking over me like I hadn’t said anything.

“You don’t have to come.”

“You think I’d miss this?” She looked at me incredulously. “Not a chance.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded, and I watched as she tapped her fingers on the closed driver’s-side window, then brought her hands back to ten and two, then moved them again. “What is it?” I asked.

She glanced over at me before looking back at the road. “Bri and Toby,” she said, shaking her head. “We have to fix it.”

I nodded. From the way she said it, though, I could tell that she had about as much of an idea for how to do this as I did. “Yeah,” I agreed. “But how?” The question hung between us in the car for a moment before I reached over and turned on the radio, sensing that both of us needed a break from our thoughts.

When we were ten minutes away from the fairground where the event was being held, something started happening to the car. The engine was making a groaning sound, and though Palmer had started driving more slowly, it didn’t seem to be helping. “What is this?” I asked, leaning over to try and see the dash. “Why are you breaking my car?”

“Do you think it knew you got another one?” she asked, “and so it’s mad or something?”

“It’s probably nothing,” I said, hoping that if I said it out loud, it would turn out to be true. “Right?”

Palmer frowned as she looked down at the dash, tapping it once. “This is moving over toward the H,” she said. “It’s the temperature thing. I have a feeling that’s not good.”

“It’s probably just because it’s hot,” I said, nodding, glad to have an explanation for this that made sense. “It’s just really hot out. I’m sure it’ll get better once it has a chance to cool down.”

“Maybe,” Palmer said, still frowning at the gauges, most of which I’d never paid any attention to before now. Right as we turned into the parking area, however, the CHECK ENGINE light came on, which didn’t seem like a good sign to either of us. We both got out of the car, and I felt myself wince. Things seemed to be even hotter here than they’d been at home. “Go find your dad,” Palmer said, leaning against the car and pulling out her phone. “I’m going to call Fitz and see what he says about the engine. He’s the only one in my family who knows anything about cars.”

“Great,” I said, shouldering my bag and heading toward the area where a stage had been set up. “I’ll meet you back here,” I called as I started to run toward the stage, then stopped when I realized that this was walk-fast weather, not running weather.

I’d been around enough of these things that I knew my way around. But there was nobody behind the stage where the sound guys were running mic checks, and the assembled crowd was still aimlessly milling around, people trying to find as much shade as possible or lining up by the food trucks. So it was clear that I wasn’t too late—but I also didn’t know where I was going to find my father.

I turned in a circle, as though I would see a labeled politician holding area, or something—when I saw two campaign buses parked on the other side of the street and realized that maybe I just had.

? ? ?

“I don’t understand,” my dad said, frowning, as he stood outside the bus with me. He’d been inside with Peter, enjoying the air-conditioning and reading through his speech, and I was just glad that I’d met Walt earlier this morning, since he had recognized me and opened up the doors, rather than calling security when I started yelling about how I needed to get onto the bus. “Topher said this?”

I nodded, then had to look away from the very strange optical illusion of my dad standing in front of a giant picture of his head. “I don’t think you should do this,” I said, looking back toward the stage where things now seemed to be happening, the crew guys moving with more purpose as they hustled around the stage, even in this heat.

“And you came all the way here? Just to tell me?”

“Of course,” I said, and just for a second, remembered the picture on his computer, the moment my mother had captured. “Wouldn’t you have done it for me?” I asked, hoping I knew the answer but needing to hear it anyway. “If I was about to get hurt?”

“Of course,” he said without even a moment of hesitation. “You know I would.”