[Jake knew he was taller, some. Not tall, not real tall. He'd grown and he'd hoped but he didn't stand taller than five foot eleven and that lost inch to six foot was a hardship. But taller than the last time and his hair had grown real long since he'd stopped bothering cutting it football-short for school and no grandma around to sit him down in the kitchen and cut it clipped at the neck. Graham, he looked mostly the same. Little older, maybe, but the same and he pressed the corner of his tongue into the bite mark in his cheek until it stung, to keep his eyes from burning. He looked exactly the same, and he didn't know whether to be madder than hell or relieved.
The car he was driving was nothing more than a tin can half-peeled open with a snack inside, but he didn't need to tell Graham that. He pointed to the very back of the truck, nudged up against the carefully-wrapped bundles, to a gas can.]
Got some there. [And out, out sounded real good to him. Out sounded fine. Jake looked hopeful: it made his face change all at once.] Back home?