The Left and the Lucky

Russell is eight years old: small, stubborn, resourceful, and a flirt with waitresses five times his age. He's also so terrified of his cruel older brother that he wanders the aisles of Fred Meyer at night rather than go home. That's where he encounters his neighbor, Eddie, a hard-working painter with an old dog, a regretful secret, and a talent for wearily shepherding his crew of misfits and screw-ups—whose dialogue is a match for the best of Elmore Leonard—to which he adds his young friend. Vlautin's stories don't always have happy endings—Don't Skip Out on Me is one of the saddest books I've ever read—but I don't think it's giving too much away to say that the ways Eddie and Russell learn to lean on each other are moving, hard-earned, and believably hopeful.