He found Zoli that evening behind the rec center, sitting on the hood of a dead Pontiac that had been parked in the weeds there since before either of them was born. Zoli was throwing pebbles at a Stroh's can on a fence post. He was missing it every time, which was not like him.
"You weren't there," Ossie said.
"I had stuff."
Ossie climbed up on the hood beside him. The metal was still warm from the day. Zoli threw another pebble and missed.
"We're moving," he said. "Houston. My dad got the pipeline job. He starts the first of October. Me and my mom and the girls go after, when he finds a place. Maybe November. Maybe Christmas." He threw another pebble. It hit the post and bounced off into the weeds. "He told us at supper. My mom cried. Ilonka cried 'cause my mom cried. Rózsi cried 'cause everybody was crying. Kati asked if they have snow in Texas."
"Do they?"
"No." Zoli laughed, a short ugly laugh. "No, they don't."
Ossie didn't know what to say. He sat there with his hands under his legs on the warm hood.
"It's a good job," Zoli said. "That's the thing. That's what kills me. It's real money. He's been sitting around here two years doing tow truck and gutters and getting looked at by guys at the club like he's done. And now somebody wants him. I should be happy for him. I am happy for him." He threw the last pebble and it missed by a yard. "And I told him I'm not going."
Ossie turned and looked at him.