Eliot, huh?” she says. The thin fabric of her long T-shirt brushes my arm. “Is everyone in your family named for a famous symbolist poet?”No, I’m named for someone who was supposed to be in...

Cal?” I sit back and feel myself blushing, feel it from the tips of my toes all the way to the heat at the backs of my ears.

She looked like she believed in something, or wanted to, and I hoped to hell it wasn’t God, not in the way The Dad believes, because all that does is make him forced and desperate....