Page 132 of When Ben Loved Tim

She considers the painting of me again. “Looks like he loves you back. How come this isn’t hanging up in your room with the other?”

“A painting of myself?”

“Oh. That would be weird. So how come it’s not hanging up inhisroom?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but if you ask nicely, maybe he’ll give it to you.”

Allison laughs, the happy sound welcome after seeing her in so much pain. “I’m not sure I want a painting of anyone in my room, even my boyfriend. But I feel like Ronnie should have one of me.”

“You could always have Tim paint your portrait!”

I’m not sure she hears me. Allison seems distracted, which is understandable. Cracking a few jokes and letting her crash here overnight isn’t going to solve her problems. I’m only buying her time so we can figure out how to deal with everything. She sits on the makeshift bed. I join her.

“We’ll get through this,” I promise. “I’m not sure how, but we will.”

Allison nods and leans against me. “I miss her so much,” she murmurs. “Everything stopped making sense after my mom died.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, taking her hand. “I wish I could protect you.”

“It was an accident, Ben. I don’t think my dad wanted to hit me. It just sort of happened in all the commotion.”

He was on a raging bender and his daughter got caught in the crossfire. I clench my jaw and hold my tongue, knowing that my anger won’t make her feel better.

“I found Vince,” Tim says when returning. “The security guard, I mean. You’re all set.” He holds up a pair of soda cans in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. “There’s a breakroom down the hall with vending machines.” He sets the food on the table in front of us and pulls candy bars out of his pockets. “Emergency rations.”

“Thank you,” Allison says.

“It’s all good,” Tim says easily. “Anything else I can do?”

“Yeah.” Allison jerks a thumb at me. “Don’t break his heart.”

Tim nods. “I’ll try my best.”

We hang out a little longer. I promise Allison that I’ll meet her here in the morning. Tim goes over some details, like how the alarm system works. Then he walks around his studio, turning certain cavasses around and covering a work-in-progress. As if that would stop my best friend from snooping.

When we part ways, I want to tell her that everything will be okay. But I don’t, because I’m not sure it’s true. I’m worried about her. If you can’t feel safe in your own home, then something is very wrong.

“You should probably leave your car here,” I tell Tim when we’re standing outside in the parking lot. “I figure the security guard will recognize it, unlike Allison’s. I can give you a ride home in hers.”

Tim eyes his car with longing before he sighs. “Yeah, that makes sense. When will I get to see her again?”

“Allison?” I ask in confusion.

“No, my car!”

I roll my eyes. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll need your help to get inside. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “Is she going to be okay? Allison, I mean.”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure. But thank you for doing this.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tim says.

I drive him back to his house. He asks if I want to sneak inside with him. I turn him down, because I have a feeling that I’m needed at home. And sure enough, the second I walk in the front door, my mother comes to meet me.

“Honey?” she says, sounding concerned. “Where were you? Out with Allison?”

“With Tim,” I reply. “How come?”