Daniel isn't even paying attention to the XXXTentacian song coming through his earbuds. He just has them in so Sean doesn't talk to him.

He is so fucking pissed he could scream.

He gets it. Dad is worried about him. Sean is acting like he's worried about him. But, one, he doesn't want to talk about Noah. He's tired of feeling angry and embarrassed and frustrated and hurt all the time, and he wanted this trip to be a week where finally he could stop thinking about it.

And, two, it's the way Sean asked. That vague, "Oh I'm talking about 'the Trolley Problem' but really I'm talking about your issues, enano" way that Sean approached it. It felt so condescending, like his brother thinks he is some stupid five-year-old who can't handle a real conversation. If Sean has something to say, he should just say it. Not do whatever the fuck that was by Arcadia Bay.

As they drive through roads surrounded by pine trees stretching towards the sky, Daniel rubs his eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have blown up like that. He didn't get much sleep last night. Like, he's on a road trip to meet his grandparents and his mom—his mom who abandoned him with a million questions. It's hard to drift off when your brain keeps punching your heart with this idea that Karen Reynolds didn't want to leave her family as much as she wanted to leave him specifically.

He wipes his eyes, discretely enough that his brother doesn't notice, and their car slows down as they enter the city limits of Beaver Creek.

Daniel takes his ear bud out of his ear. "So this is where our grandparents live?"

"Oh, did you finally decide to join this trip?" Sean mutters.

"Dude, why are you pissed at me?"

"I'm not pissed at you."

"You sound pissed at me."

"Okay, I'm pissed at you!" Sean says. "We've been on the road for hours, and you've barely said anything to me except to cuss me out back at Arcadia Bay. What the hell, man?"

"You were being a dick," Daniel says, crossing his arms.

"How was I being a dick?" Sean sighs.

"How were you not?"

"Dammit, you know what, dude?" Sean says. "We're about to meet our grandparents for the first time in years. Can we just . . . drop whatever this is between us? Let's just say we were both tired and cranky and pretend we are good brothers for Claire and Stephen. Can we do that please?"

"Sure. Whatever," Daniel says, picking at his fingers and feeling like he's already fucked up this trip. Like he fucks up everything.

The town they drive through is small and lonely. There are, at most, two stoplights and zero fast-food restaurants. They pass some kind of game store and a coffee shop, but that is it. Daniel has no idea how anyone could stand to live here. It's like the only things to do are to drink, reflect on your lost dreams, and wait patiently for death.

They pass through the entire town in just a couple of blocks, and Sean drives down a mess of dirt and gravel pretending to be a road before he parks the car in front of a small, brick house. Wooden cutouts of a bunny and a cross are set up for Easter in the front yard.

"So, this is Claire and Stephen's house," Sean says. "You actually have met them before, but you were a baby. Your head was still soft, and I don't think you could see colors yet. It was, uh, before Mom left."

"You never told me how you found her," Daniel says as they get out of the car.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't slept and pouted the whole way down I—" Sean sighs. "I'm sorry. We're dropping it. Look, I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I'm sorry I did it. I really was not trying to make you feel bad."

"It's whatever." Daniel shoves his hands into his pockets and stares down at his sneakers. One of his laces is fraying at the end, messy like everything else in his life. "Hey, man, I'm sorry I fell asleep on the way down. I know that's not cool, but I was real tired and—oof!" He runs head-first into his brother's back. The top of his skull catches one of the knobby parts of Sean's spine. Why couldn't his brother have done one of those sports where you get muscles instead of running, which just makes you boney? Daniel rubs his head, wondering why Sean has come to a dead-ass stop in the middle of the driveway.

But Sean is just standing there, staring at the neighbor's house, like he's seeing some kind of ghost.

In the other yard, there is a man dumping a box of beer cans, which rattle into a trashcan. The man looks rough. Like, homeless rough, even though he clearly has a home. His scraggily beard is somehow patchy even though it has grown almost to his chest. His legs are unsteady like they are made from over-cooked spaghetti. Daniel can almost smell the booze on him from here, even though it's only 2:00 in the afternoon. The man isn't wearing a shirt, and a sagging beer gut hangs over the waistband of his gray, stained sweatpants. There's a giant tattoo on his upper arm that spreads onto his back and chest.

It's an angel cradling a cross.

It looks like there might be two names beneath it.

Sean keeps staring. It's the kind of intense, focused look he gets when he's trying to draw something. When he is trying to "understand" a scene.

"Do you know that man?" Daniel asks.

"No," Sean says, shaking his head. "He just . . . reminds me of someone I used to know."

When they reach the front steps of the house, Daniel feels Sean's hand gently nudging him. "Even though you're kind of gangly, you're still the cuter Diaz brother, dude. You should knock."

Daniel rolls his eyes and raps his knuckles on the wood. No one answers, so Daniel knocks again. This time, a curtain at the window rustles, but still no one comes to the door. "Maybe Grandma is scared of a couple of Mexicans on her doorstep," Daniel says.

"No way, that's not—" But Sean stops midsentence. "Actually, yeah, that's probably it." He pounds on the door and shouts, "Hey, Claire, we aren't the cartel or MS-13! We're Karen's kids! It's Sean and Daniel! Diaz!"

Finally, the door swings open, and there stands an old woman in a violet sweater and glasses. She covers her mouth. "Sean? Daniel? Is that really you?"

"Hey," Sean says with a small laugh.

Daniel isn't sure what to say, so he just waves.

She tells them to come inside, rambles about how big they both are. Stammers a lot, which makes sense. Daniel would have no idea what to say if the roles were reversed and Claire just showed up on his front step. There's an awkward moment as they stand in the foyer of her house where Daniel can tell she wants to hug them but isn't sure if she can. Then Sean makes the first move, wrapping his arms around her. So that means Daniel has to let her hug him too, and she has that old-people bandaid smell.

Claire says that her husband Stephen went to town, but he'll be back soon and he'll be so excited to see them. They should sit down at the kitchen table, and do they want anything to drink? She has juice, milk, and maybe some pop, but Daniel and his brother just ask for water. She hits them with the questions about school, and she is really impressed with Sean being an artist.

"And what about you, Daniel? What do you have going on in your life?"

"Nothing," he says and shrugs, hoping she'll take it as him being a teenager and not wanting to talk about things. But he really doesn't have anything going on. He's not like Sean, the amazing artist. Sean, the former track star. Sean who always got on honor roll without trying. Daniel can't draw. He doesn't play sports. He is barely passing his math class.

He doesn't even have friends anymore.

There is absolutely nothing special about him.

"You had a birthday yesterday, right?" Claire asks.

"Uh, yeah. I turned sixteen," he says. "How did you know that?"

"I keep track," she says. "Happy belated birthday."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry I missed it." Her hands are sitting on the table, and one of her thumbs traces the other. "I'm sorry I missed all of them."

"It's whatever," Daniel says, rubbing his arm.

Sean picks up the conversation with Claire so easily that it sure doesn't sound like it's been fifteen years since the two of them spoke. They must have gotten along pretty well for Sean to be so connected with her. Daniel looks around the dining room, at the old cabinets filled with old people stuff. There's a couple of paintings, one of which looks like Beaver Creek.

His mom grew up here. Maybe she sat at this very table when she was his age. Maybe she sat here when Sean was a baby.

It's weird, Daniel thinks, that their family didn't fall apart until after he was born.

It's bubbling up again. That voice telling him that little Daniel is what finally pushed Karen away. That he's the reason his dad and his brother got so hurt.

Daniel is brought back from his thoughts by the creak of the front door opening, and a man's voice says, "Claire, do we have company?"

"Oh, Stephen! You will never guess who is here!" She has this real excited look on her face as she turns to watch her husband come in.

An old man, bald, and wearing a flannel shirt stops in the entryway. He looks so confused about why these two young men are talking to his wife. But, slowly, recognition dawns behind his glasses. "Is this . . . Sean? And Daniel? Claire, are these our grandsons?"

Then there is more laughter. And more hugging. And more old people smell.

And then they repeat the exact same conversations they've just had for Stephen.

Daniel knows he should be excited to be meeting his grandparents—Claire remembering his birthday was nice, surprisingly nice—but the tediousness of it, the way the conversation moves like a snail crawling through tar, and everyone talks so loud because old people can't hear—it makes his head hurt. He reaches into his pocket for the Tylenol he carries, pops two into his mouth, and swallows them with some water.

He realizes everyone is staring at him, including Sean. "It's Tylenol," he says, holding up the bottle. Then Claire hammers him with dozens of questions. Is he sick? Can she get him anything? What's wrong? Is it the flu? Did you see the news said the avian flu is being brought in from China? Daniel has to force himself to be polite so he doesn't tell her that she's actually making his headache worse.

"So as good as it is to see you, can I ask what made you decide to show up now?" Stephen says. "I mean, it's been so long."

"Well, I can't speak for Daniel, but I've kind of realized that time is pretty valuable," Sean says. "And we wanted to spend some of that time with you."

Claire smiles and clasps her hands over her chest. Daniel almost rolls his eyes. It's so corny, and he still isn't convinced that Sean's sudden transformation into "the-best-son-who-calls-every-day" isn't some kind of con.

"And, I guess I should be honest," Sean continues. "We have sort of a big favor to ask you."

"Which is what exactly?" Stephen asks.

"We are . . . kind of on a road trip to find our mom. And we wondered if you knew anything about where she is."

It's like the room suddenly drops twenty degrees. Claire noticeably shivers, and Stephen, he just gets real quiet. Daniel sits up, wondering what soap opera his brother has brought him to. Daniel hadn't thought about it much, but he always assumed Mom only left them—Sean, Dad, and Daniel. Did she leave her parents too?

"I know it's probably difficult to talk about," Sean says, "but if you've heard from her or—"

"We don't keep in touch," Claire says. "That door closed a long time ago, and I just want to keep it shut. I'm sorry, Sean, but I don't think I can help you. And I'll be honest, I don't think you should seek her out."

"It's okay," Sean says—and he is cool about it. Like, weirdly cool about it. Not argumentative. Or disappointed. Just . . . chill. "If it's a sore subject, we don't have to talk about her right now. Hey, do you have any embarrassing pictures of me as a kid we can show Daniel?"

Claire smiles and says of course she does, but Daniel can't believe how quickly Sean dropped the Mom thing. Like, that's a big reason they're here, right? The reason for the road trip?

As Claire goes upstairs to find the photos, Stephen tries to fill the air with the gossip he picked up in town. There's some guy who had to be escorted out of one of the local bars. And some lady's dog ran amok in the hardware store. And those hippies are still jumping on and off the trains because they never learn.

Sean seems to hang on every word, but it's kind of hard for Daniel to concentrate. The Tylenol doesn't seem to be helping. In fact, his headache feels like it's getting worse.