Dan grins, silently encouraging her to snack on whatever candy she wants here. He presses down on the top of his peanut butter cup tower until it's all smushed together enough to be one unit, then pops it in his mouth, figuring Saturday's not someone who'll care if he's talking through chocolate.

"Nothing's too personal." Plenty of things are too personal, but when things get personal, Dan just lies. He doesn't owe Saturday, or anyone else in the universe, the truth about anything. "My family didn't pay no taxes on the land, so one day the government came with guns to politely escort us off the only home I ever did know. I ain't settled down anywhere since then."

The months on the Rig is the longest he's ever been in one place throughout his adult life.