AbouttheBook

‘You shouldn’t trust anybodycompletely,’Jensays.

‘Whynot?’

‘They’re still just people.Theycanstillletyoudown.’

Since their mother’s suddendeath, Carly has been in

chargeofher little sister Jen.She is terrified that the twowillbeseparated.

Carlywantsthemtofindtheirway back to the last personshe trusted– their stepfather.But Jen holds a secret abouthim which could put thembothatevenmorerisk.

And so begins a journeyneither girl could have

anticipated. It isn’t an easyone, and is often dangerous.But they are also confrontedwiththeexpectedkindnessofstrangers. And some newrelationships that hold thepotential to changeeverything...

Contents

CoverAbouttheBookTitlePage

PartOne:RightNowNewMexico,1MayNewMexico,9MayArizona,10May

Arizona,12MayArizona,13May

Part Two: Seems So LongAgoTulare,17DecemberTulare,18DecemberCradle Lake, the High

Sierras,19DecemberCradle Lake, the High

Sierras,20December

Tulare,21December

PartThree:NowAgainWakapi Land, Friday 13

MayWakapiLand,14MayWakapiLand,15MayWakapiLand,16MayWakapiLand,17May

Part Four: Seems So LongAgoNew Mexico, Christmas

DayNewMexico,28FebruaryNewMexico,30April

PartFive:NowAgainArizona,18MayCalifornia,19MayCalifornia,20May

Trinidad,CA,21MayCalifornia,22MayWakapiLand,23MayWakapiLand,25May

Author’sNoteAbouttheAuthorAlsobyCatherineRyanHydeCopyright

WALKMEHOME

CatherineRyanHyde

PartOneRightNow

NewMexico,1May

They creep along, walkingtheirbikespast thebighouseinthepitchdark.Therearenolights on inside. But Carlycan’thelp thinking therewillbe. Suddenly. If they’re notquietenough.

Toomuchdependson thismoment.Everything.Carlyhears theclickingof

the spokes of Jen’s bicyclewheels.ShereachesoverandslapsherhanddownonJen’shandlebars to stop thebike–andhersister–intheirtracks.‘Wehavetocarrythebikes

tillwegetpastthehouse,’shehissesinJen’sear.‘Easyforyoutosay.Yours

islight.’

Carly sighs, and tradesbikeswithJen.Jen’sbikeisaheavyoldbeachcruiser.Andit has no headlight. SoCarlyduct-taped a flashlight to thehandlebars.Thedrivewayisuphill,and

Carly struggles for breath asshe trots for the freedom oftheroad.It’salongdriveway,andher chest is beginning toache.Shefeelsshecan’tkeep

going. But she does anyway.Becauseshehasto.Any minute now, a light

might come on in the house.And Wade’s brother mightappearinthewindow.Thenitwillallbeover.But it doesn’t. No light

comeson.Suddenly they’re on the

road,andfree.Carly trades bikes again

withhersister.

As they straddle thebikes,prepared to launch down thehill into the night, Jenswitchesontheflashlight.Carly reaches over and

slapsherhandoverthelight.‘Turnitoff!’‘ButIthought—’‘Not till we’re farther

away. Not till we can’t beseenfromthehouse.’‘Carly…’‘What?’

‘I have to tell yousomething.’‘Oh, my God, Jen. Not

now.’‘Hastobenow.’‘Jen. Listen.’ Carly grabs

Jen’s bike and shakes once,hard. To stop all foolishnessonce and for all. ‘Listen tome. We have to get out ofhere.Now.And you have tostop acting like we have allkinds of options. We have

Teddy. He’s the only optionwe’vegot.NowIhatetopullrank,but I’molder.And I’min charge of the family now.What’s left of it. And we’regoing.Nowcomeon.’

They’re making incredibletime. And they don’t evenhavetopedal.They coast down the

mountain, a few scatteredlights in the valley below.

Thethinbeamsoflightrevealtheroadinfrontoftheirbiketires.Carlycanfaintlyseetheheadlights of cars on a two-lane highway below.Headedwest. Well, headed bothways.Butshefocuseson thetraffic headed west. Thedirection of Teddy, andhome.The only challenge of the

downhill run is applying thebrakes just right, and just

frequently enough, to keepthe bikes from speeding outofcontrol.Nocarhascomedownthe

road for ages. So they ridesidebysideinthetrafficlane.The edge of the road is tooscary. Just a drop-off. Notenoughlighttoseewherethatwould take you. But Carlycan pretty much figure itwouldn’t take you anyplacegood.

‘What’s that noise?’ Carlyasks.‘Isthatyourbrakes?’‘Yeah.I thinkthepadsare

low.’‘Well, stay off them as

muchasyoucan.’‘I’lltry.’Jen begins to pick up

speed. Carly eases off thebrakes to catch up with her,but it scares her to go thatfast. Too many curves. Too

little shoulder. Not muchmarginforerror.‘Maybe you need to slow

down,’shecallstoJen.Carly hears a ghastly

metal-on-metalnoise.‘Oh, shit!’ Jen shouts as

she flies over the handlebarsand disappears into thedarkness off the side of theroad.Carlysteersherbiketothe

spot where Jen disappeared

and jumps off, dropping thebikeonthenarrowshoulder.‘Jen!YouOK?’‘Ithinkso.’‘KeeptalkingsoIcanfind

you.’‘I’m right here,’ she says,

tugging at Carly’s jeans.‘Where’smybike?’‘Weshouldbeableseethe

lightfromtheflashlight.’‘Itmust’vebroken.’

‘I’llgetmybikeandwe’llshinealightdownthere.’Carly carefully walks her

bike a few steps down thehill. In the thin beam of theheadlight, theyseeJen’sbikecrashedupagainstthesideofasquat,gnarledtree.Jen scrambles down the

hilltoretrieveit.‘Oh,thisismessedup,’she

calls back up to Carly. ‘I

thinktheframeisbent.Yeah.Ican’tevenrollit.’‘Well…justleaveit,then.

Justsitonmyhandlebarsandwe’ll keep going. We can’taffordtoslowdown.’Jen climbs back up to the

road. ‘Hmm,’ she says,lookingdownthegrade.‘CanIsitontheseat instead?Andyoupedalstandingup?’‘Sure, whatever. Let’s just

go.’

‘Beforewegocanwesayalittle prayer that your brakesdon’tgiveout?’‘I don’t pray,’ Carly says.

‘Butyoucanifyouwant.’

Theywalkthebikethroughasmall town shortly beforesunrise. Carly doesn’t knowwhattownitis.‘WeneedanInternetcafé,’

Carlysays.‘Oralibrary.’

‘Library wouldn’t be openthis early.Why do you needthat?’‘To get Teddy’s new

address. He promised he’demailittome.’Jenneveranswers.‘Never mind. We’ll just

keep going. By the time weget to the next town,something will be open. Thefarther away we get, thebetteroffwe’llbe.’

She wants to think of thisplace they lived with Wadeand her mom as a horribledream. But it still feelsvividlyreal.Theymountthebikeagain

andpedalalongthemaindragto the highway. And runsmack into a highway signthat says: NO BICYCLES. NOMOTOR-DRIVEN CYCLES. NO

PEDESTRIANS.‘Nowwhat?’Jenasks.

‘Oh, shit, Jen. I have noidea.Let’sjuststayhereuntilwefiguresomethingout.’Collapse seems appealing.

It speaks to her, promisingrelief. Carly regrets havingalready ruled it out as anoption.

They sit on the library steps.Waiting. Watching the townwakeup.Peoplebustleby inboth directions. On foot, in

cars. Pedaling in the bikelane.Carly’s bike leans up

against the brick of thebuilding a few feet away.Unlocked. They didn’t bringabikelock.Jen has a little scrape on

hercheek.Andhereyeslookfaraway.Likethere’snoJenat home inside. Like she’slocked up and left thepremises of herself. Carly

wondersifshelooksthesameway. Then she decides itdoesn’treallymatter.A boy a little older than

Jenridesbyonanancientanddilapidated old bicycle. Onthe sidewalk. Looking theirway. A fewminutes later herides by again, going theotherway.Stillstaring.‘He keeps looking at my

bike.’Carlysays.

‘You think he’s going totrytostealit?’‘I wouldn’t care if he did.

It’snouse tousnow.I thinkwe’regoingtohavetoditchitandhitchhike.’Ontheboy’sthirdrideby,

Carlycallsouttohim.‘Youlikethatbike?’He skids to a stop, his

unlaced sneakers braced onthepavement.

‘It’s a nice bike. Is ityours?’‘Yeah.Andit’sforsale.’‘Icouldn’taffordit.’‘I’dletitgocheap.’‘Howmuch?’‘Howmuch’veyougot?’He carefully empties his

jeanspockets.Separatesoutafew non-cash items. Carlycan’t quite see what they allare, but one looks like a redrockandanotherlikeaguitar

pick. He counts a few bills,thendigsbackintohispocketforahandfulofchange.Addsit up, pointing to each coin,hislipsmoving.‘Ionlyhavetwelvedollars

andthirty-fivecents.’‘Sold,’Carlysays.

Carly’sthefirsttositdownat one of two librarycomputers. She pulls up heremailon theweb.Shehasn’t

checked it for ages. Elevenpieces of spam mail. OneemailfromherfriendMarissainTulare.Itsays,‘Carly,whydidn’t you tell me you weremoving?Where did you go?Writeback,OK?’NothingfromTeddyatall.

Theygettheirfirstridewithasweet middle-aged woman.Plump, with thin, grayingbrownhair.

‘Where are you girlsgoing?’ she asks when theypileintothebackseat.‘West,’Carlysays.‘Well, I know that. But

where?’‘Um.Home.’‘But where’s home? You

girls seem awfully young tobe out hitchhiking byyourselves. I usually neverpickuphitchhikers,butIwas

worried about you. How fardoyouhavetogo?’Carly kicks herself for not

anticipating this problem inadvance.‘It’s just down this road

about twenty miles,’ Carlysays.‘Does your mother know

you’reoutherealone?’In her peripheral vision,

Carly sees Jen begin to cryquietly.

You’re in charge now,Carly tells herself. There’snobody else. If a problemcomes up, there’s no one torun to. You have to solve ityourself. So, go ahead. Savetheday.She glances at the

odometer. Memorizes thenumberplustwentymiles.‘It’s like this,’ Carly says.

‘Wewent out last nightwithsomefriends.Andtheydrove

uswayupintothemountains.We didn’t know we’d begoing so far. And we didn’twant to go back with them,becausethey’dbeendrinking.Ourmomwouldkillusifsheknew. So we’re hitchhikinghome–Iknow.Iknowit’sabad idea.We’re never goingtodo it again. It’s scary.Butif you’ll let us off twentymilesup…’

Thewomansighs.‘I’mjustglad it was me who pickedyouup.’‘Yeah. Me, too. Thanks.

Weappreciateit.’Then the potential flaw in

Carly’splansinksin.Whatiftwenty miles goes by andthey’re exactly in themiddleofnowhere?Nohousesasfarastheeyecansee?Shesitson theedgeof the

backseat,peeringthroughthe

windshield. Trying to benervous without lookingnervous. They passintersection after intersectionoflong,pavedroadscrossingthe highway. A scattering ofranch homes in eachdirection. If that changes,Carlywillneedtopretendshewas wrong about the twentymiles.Herluckholds.

Whentheodometerhitsthemagic number, Carly says,‘Next intersection. If you’lljust let us off right up there…’‘Icandriveyoualltheway

home.’‘No.Please.That’lljustget

usintrouble.’Another big sigh from the

front seat. The driver pullsoverandletsthemout.‘Yougirlstakecare,now.’

‘Wewill.Thankyou.’They stand at the side of

the little highway and watchherdriveoff.Jenwaves.‘Shit,’ Carly says. ‘That

wasclose.’‘Close to what? She was

nice.’‘Toonice.’‘Howcanyoubetoonice?’‘Shewantedtohelpus.’‘Weneedhelp,Carly.’

‘You know what shewould’vedone.Don’tyou?Ifshe’d known we don’t haveanybody? She’d have calledchild protective services. Idon’t want to get put in afoster home, Jen. We don’teven know if they’d keep ustogether.’‘So what do we do, then?

Dowestillhitchhike?’‘Yeah. I think so. I think

wehaveto.Butthistimelet’s

haveourstoryready.’

Themanwho picks them upnext doesn’t seem interestedin their story. He doesn’texpressanyconcern for theirwell-being.He’smaybeforty.Thin and pale, like his skinhas never seen the sun. Hewears heavy black-framedglasses. He won’t stoplooking at them in therearviewmirror.

Theydriveforwelloveranhour without any questions.He doesn’t even ask wherethey’regoing.Then, when he finally

speaks,allhesaysis,‘You’remaking me feel awfullylonesome. Up here all bymyself.’Carly doesn’t answer.

Neither does Jen. But JenshootsCarly a look.A silentquestion. Are we in trouble?

Carly doesn’t know. But itdoesn’t feelgood.There’san‘ick factor’ in the car. ThatwassomethingTeddyusedtosay. This ick factor hashovered throughout the ride,Carlyrealizes.Shejusthadn’tlookeditintheeye.Untilthemanspoke.She reaches into her

backpackandfeelsaroundforher hairbrush, a round brushwith a narrow round metal

handle. The handle has aplastic cap on the end, butCarly pries it off with herthumb.They’re coming through a

town.ThankGod.‘Let us off right up here,’

Carlysays.‘Please.’Shecanseeanintersection.

Andastoplight.Butthelightturns green and the driverspeedsthroughit.

Carly looks over at Jen,who’s gone stone-like again.Carly worries her sister’sbones might melt, the waytheydidlastnight.Theycan’tafford that kind of collapsenow.‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I

wantedtomakethatlight.’‘Well,youmadeit.Sopull

over.Please.’‘Next light. You can walk

back.’

Carly squeezes her eyesshut and prays for the nextlight to turn red. It does, andthe driver has to stop. Onlythen does Carly rememberhowshe told Jen shedoesn’tpray.Jen’s on the passenger’s

side.Thesafesidetogetout.She tries to open the backdoor. ‘It’s locked.’ She triesto pull up the lock button. Itwon’tpull.

IckManiswatchingintherearview mirror. ‘The child-safetylockison,’hesays.‘Then take it off!’ Carly

shouts. Just at the edge ofpanic.‘Andletusout!’No answer. Nothing

moves. Carly watches theblooddrainoutofJen’sface,leaving her skin white like aporcelaindoll.‘Open this door or I’m

gettingthegun,’Carlysays.

Thelightturnsgreen.Carly pulls the hairbrush

out of her pack, careful tokeep it behind his head,where he can’t see it in themirror.Shepressestheroundmetaloftheendofthehandletothebackofhishead.‘Do not step on the gas,’

shesays.Theback-door locksclicks

up. A beautiful sound. Jenswings the door wide and

they bolt out of the car. Themandrivesawaywithhisreardoorstillopen.‘Oh, my God,’ Jen says.

‘Oh, my God, oh, my God,oh,myGod.’‘Relax, Jen. Calm down.

We’reOK.’‘I can’t do this,Carly.We

can’tkeepdoingthis.’‘OK. We won’t, then. No

morehitchhiking.Ipromise.’

‘So what are we going todo,then?’‘We’llwalk.’‘ToCalifornia?’‘Not to California. Of

course not. Just from onephoneboothtothenext.Andwhen Teddy picks up thephone,he’lldriveoutandgetus.Orhe’llwireusmoneyforabusticketorsomething.Butthemorewewalk, the closerwe’ll be to home, and the

faster he can get us there.Andwewon’tbeinoneplacelong enough for anybody todecide they want to help usby putting us in foster care.We’lljustwalkalonglikeweknow exactly what we’redoing. And if anybody asks,we’ll just say we’re walkinghome.That’strue.Right?’‘We’rewalkinghome,’Jen

says. As if the story needsrehearsal.

‘Right. We’re walkinghome.’

They walk until dark. Abouttenhours.Carly calls Teddy four

times that first day. Teddydoesn’tpickup.

NewMexico,9May

Carly is keeping a close eyeon Jen.Maybe evenmore sothan usual. She’s watchingJen walk on the shoulder ofthis skinny, raggedy littleblacktop road, kicking at the

scrubby grass and gravel attheedgeoftheirpath.For a time, Carly doesn’t

knowwhyshe’skeepingsuchan eagle eye on Jen thismorning.Inmostways,it’samorning like any of the lastnine. It’s just their newnormal.She looks up ahead to see

theblack roaddipdown intoavalley.Andinthisvalleyis…nothing.Justmorescrubby

weeds. A line of lowmountains at its far end,mountains they will have towalkacrossintime.Inthefardistance,afewrockspires indifferent shapes and sizes,like the classic desertformations she’s seen in oldcowboyfilms.Andthecloudsare edging the sky in greatpuffs,denseatthemountains,more sparse above theirheads, white on top and

copper at their bottoms,unable tocrowdtogetherandcoverthesteelybluesky.Too bad, Carly thinks.

Because they’re fresh out ofsunscreenasofyesterday.The clouds move on the

stiffbreeze.Theyscud,Carlythinks.She’snotcertainwhy– or from where – sheremembersthatoddword,butshe’s quite sure the cloudsscud.

Jen does anotherexaggerated kick step, andCarlyputsherfingeronwhatshe’s been noticing.Where’sall Jen’s energy comingfrom? They’re bothexhausted.Sure,they’veonlybeenwalkingforlessthananhour so far today. But whenyouput in themiles theydo,day after day after day, youwake up tired. There’s no

such thing as rested. There’snosuchanimalasfresh.Jen stops, and looks all

around them, 360 degrees.She’s been doing that allmorning. Thoughtfully.As iftherewassomethingoutheretosee.‘Prettyhere,’Jensays.‘What’s pretty about it?’

Carly asks, clear in her tonethatthekidistalkingcrazy.

‘Well,’ Jen says, lookingallaroundagain.Breathingina piece of that sky. ‘There’sthat.’She points at the wind-

whittled formations just infront of the mountainoushorizon.‘You’re nuts,’ Carly says.

‘It’srocks.’‘Prettyrocks.’‘Nosuchthing.’

They walk a few stepsmore,Jenkickingafewmoretimes. The crunch of theirfootsteps and the click ofkicked gravel is the onlysound. That and the wind inCarly’sears.‘Thesky,’Jensays.‘We have clouds at home,

youknow.’‘Nottheclouds.Thesky.’Carly stops. Jen walks a

couple more steps, then

notices,andalsostops.‘You’re being stupid,’

Carlysays.‘It’sthesameskyeverywhere.’‘No, it isn’t. Inever sawa

skylikethisone.’‘Don’t they teach you

anything in school? The skyisthesky.Eachplacedoesn’thaveitsownsky.’‘Iknowthat.Butthisskyis

bigger.’

‘You’rejustseeingmoreofit.Youjustcan’tseesomanymiles of skywherewe comefrom.’‘Right,’ Jen says. ‘That’s

what I mean. That’s what’sdifferent. That’s what’sbetter.’Carly sighs and walks

again,andJenjoinsher.Abitmoresubdued.And,thoughitignites a pang of guilt in herguttoadmitit,Carlyismore

comfortable with Jen thatway. That’s what’s beeneating her about Jen allmorning. How could she act… almost … happy? At atimelikethis?

Out of nowhere, startlingCarly,Jensquealsandbreaksinto a run, her backpackbouncingwildly.Carly looksuptoseewhatJenhasseen.Horses.

Three horses graze in afield, behind a fence almostlaughable in its construction.It’s made with branches forposts. Some straight, somecurved, some forked.Branchesstandingstraightupoutoftheground,atintervals,strung with three strands ofwire in-between. Not barbedwire. Just wire. And it goesonforever.Twoofthehorsesarewhite,butnotasprettyas

thatmakesthemsound.Dirtywhite, with long yellowishtails and ribs showing just abit.But the third one is a

beauty. A brown and whitepaint,withabrowntailandathick white mane so long ittrailsdownbelowthebottomof his neck. Carly neverthoughtmuchaboutcallingapinto horse a paint, but sheseesnowwhythatdescription

fits. It’s as though someonetook brown paint to a whitehorseinbig,broadsplotches,then got bored and stoppedhalfwaythrough.The paint looks younger.

Andheactsyounger.As Jen gets closer to his

fence, he’s infected with herenergy.Herunsthefencelinetoward her, then turns andruns away, bucking as iftryingtoshakeoffsomething

invisible, kicking out hisheels.Jensquealslaughter.Carly stops and watches,

tryingnottosortoutthepartsofherthatbothdoanddonotlikewhatshe’sseeing.ThenJenbreaksstrideand

hops on one foot, four hops,yelling, ‘Ow, ow, ow, ow,’one‘ow’foreachhop.Shehopsoverandstandsat

thefence,holdingonebranch

post,and looksat thebottomof her filthy white sneaker.The horse has stoppedrunningaswell,andseemstobe trying to decide whetherhe dares approach her. Jendropsherfootandleansovertheridiculousfence,tryingtoenticethepainttocomecloseandbepatted.Carlybreaksintoatrot.‘Don’t,’ she says. ‘Maybe

hebites.’

‘He won’t bite me,’ Jencallsback.‘Andyouknowthishow?’‘Hewon’t.’Bythetimeshecatchesup

tothematthefence,thehorseis rooting around in Jen’spalms with his muzzle,twistinghis lipsandshowingyellow teeth. Carly standsclose enough to smell him.That deep, musty, not-at-all-unpleasanthorsesmell.

‘You want some food,don’t you?’ Jen says to him,thewayyou’dtalktoyourpetdog.‘ButifIhadsomefood,let me tell you, I’d eat itmyself. You can eat grass.You’relucky.Wishwecouldeatgrass.Andsleep standingupinafieldallnightandnotmind.’Carlysitsgingerlyonabig

tire that’s half-buried in thedirt against the fence. Extra

big,likeatractortire.Shehasto use her hands to easeherselfdown.‘Wehavefood,’shesays.Jen comes and sits with

her.‘Whatdowehave?’‘TwomoreSnickersbars.’‘Breakfast!Score!’Carly takes off her own

backpackandrootsaroundinthere until she finds the two

candybarsatthebottom.Shehandsonetohersister.‘Makeitlast,’shesays.‘I’dratherhaveitallnow.’‘But then you’ll be sorry

later.’‘Butmaybewe’llgetmore

foodlater.’‘Butmaybenot.’‘I’lltakemychances.’‘Look. I’m the grown-up

now.AndIsayjusteathalf.’

Jen rolls her eyes, but shebreaks the candy bar in half,folds the wrapper over thehalf she’s been told to save,and slides it into her shirtpocket.‘You’re as bad as Mom,’

Jensays.Carlycanfeelthedarkness

in the air between them, thesense that Jen would snatchthewordsback inside ifonlyshecould.

‘I can’t believe you justsaidthat,Jen.’‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean

—’‘But you didn’tmean it in

agoodway,right?WhenyousayI’masbadasMom,that’snot a compliment to Mom.You’re saying Mom wasbad.’‘Hey! You’re the one that

—’

‘That’s called speaking illof the dead, Jen. And it’s athing nobody is eversupposed to do, ever. Andyou’re the superstitious one,so I’m really surprised youwouldspeakillofthedead.’Jenlooksupandaround,as

though trying to identify aparticularareaofsky.‘Sorry,’shewhispers.Thenshetakesabiteofher

breakfast.

The paint horse leans overthewire,snufflinghismuzzlein the direction of the food.His lips make a poppingsound that causes Jen to turnaround, and she laughs outloudtoseehimthere.‘Horses don’t eat Snickers

bars,’shesays.Butaminutelaterastrong

breeze upends the long, darkstrands of Jen’s curly hair,andbothofJen’shandsflyup

to her head to brush it backinto place. And the horse,seizing an opportunity, leansfarther over the fence andnicks the candy with histeeth.Jenscreamslaughteragain,

and holds the treasure closeagainstherchest.‘Ick,’ Carly says. ‘Now

you have to throw away theparthetouched.’

‘No way. I’m not wastingit.’‘You’ll get a disease or

something.’‘People don’t get diseases

fromhorses.’‘Howdoyouknow?’Jen raises the candy bar

andchompsoffhalfofwhat’sleftinonebigbite.‘If my neck starts getting

longer,’ she says, her mouthfull, ‘and my feet get hard,

youcanthrowasaddleonmeand ride me all the way toCalifornia.’‘We’renotwalkingallthat

way.Teddy’llcomegetus.’Jendoesn’tanswer.Remembering something,

Carly grabs one of Jen’sankles and pulls her leg outandup,untilshecanexaminethe bottom of Jen’s sneaker.Even though she can’trememberwhichfootitwas.

‘Ow,’Jensays.‘What?’OnthebottomofJen’ssole

is a hole about the size of aquarter, worn clear through.Carly can see the dusty darkgreen of Jen’s sock. Shedropsthatankleandgrabstheother.Thebottomofthatsolehasaholethesizeofadime.CarlygivesJenherfeetback.‘Why didn’t you tell me

youhadholesinyourshoes?’

‘It’s not like you couldhavedoneanything.’‘We could put cardboard

insideorsomething.’‘Oh.Yeah.Iguess.’AminutelaterCarlystands

up, using her hands forsupport, and tugs on Jen’ssleeve.‘Moremiles,’shesays.‘Right,’ Jen says. ‘I know.

Moremiles.HowdidIguess?

Because it’s always moremiles.’Jen leans over and kisses

the horse on his nose beforetheywalkon.Thepaintamblesthefence

line with them, loose-kneedand confident, until he runsoutofpasture.Jenwavessadlytohim.‘Bye,pretty.’‘He’snotyourboyfriend.’‘Saysyou.’

Jengazesoverhershoulderat him three more timesbefore the road dips,obscuring their view. Thenshelooksonemoretime,asifithelpsherremember.

Half amile later they pass aranch house with a gardenhose coiled on the side. Nocars.Nogaragetohideacar.Nooneseemstobehome.

Theydrinktheirfillbeforemoving on. It’s the first daythey’ve been without a gas-station bathroom for morethan half a day. It scaresCarly to be so far from asourceofwater.Andaphone.

They make it over the lowmountains that same day.They crest the top and lookdown into the next valley.Carly expects to seemore of

the scant food, water andsheltersourcesthathavelinedtheirpathatintervalssofar.What they see is more

nothing.

They stand on a sidewalktogether, Carly marveling athow long it’s been sincethey’ve had a sidewalk tostand on. Carly appraiseswhat thin opportunities thisplacehastooffer.Gasstation

with tiny convenience store.Thrift shop. Ice-cream stand.Hardware store. NativeAmericanblankets,Hopi andNavajo,both.‘What town is this?’ Jen

asks.‘Idon’tknow.Ineversaw

asign,didyou?’‘Idon’tthinkso.ButIwas

busy looking at those rocks.They’repretty.’

Beyond this stretch ofhighway imitatingcivilization, the landscape ismade up of tumbled rocks,big and small, some formingtumbled rock mountains,others going it alone.All thesame shade of ordinary rockbrown.‘What’s with you and

rocksallofasudden?’‘Idunno.’

‘Maybe it’s too small atown to even have a name,’Carlysays.‘Alltownshavenames.’‘How would you know?

You’retwelve.’Jensaysnothing,andCarly

knows she’s crossed a line.And then she knows she’sbeencrossinga linewith Jenfor days, being meaner thansituations require. But she’snotsureshehastheenergyto

fixitjustyet.Orevenknowshow.There’saroughbenchona

dirt lot near the sidewalk,madewithaplankontwocuttree stumps. They hobbleover to it, and slide off theirpacks. Carly eases herselfdown and unties her shoes,pullingoneoff.Jenflopsonherbackinthe

dirt and puts her feet up onthebench.

‘You’reluckyyou’renotaredhead,’ Carly tells hersister.‘Don’ttakeyourshoesoff.

Whyisthatlucky?’‘I have to take them off.

Myfeetareallswollen.’‘You’ll never get them

backon.’‘I can’t help it. They’re

killingme.’‘Why is it unlucky tobea

redhead?’

‘Because they burn soeasy.Theyhavethatfairskin.Can’ttakeanysunatall.Likemy friend Marissa. Youdidn’t know her. She wasfrommyhighschool.’‘Which one? NewMexico

orCalifornia?’‘California. We can buy

moresunscreen.’‘Withwhat?’‘I’ll get somebody to give

ussomemoney.Ialwaysdo.’

Jen has the back of onehand thrownacross her eyes.Probablytoshieldthemfromthesun,butitmakesherlookdramatic. Like one of thoseold-time movie actressesdepictingangst.ThoughangstwasneverJen’sstyle.‘Carly,’ she says. ‘I’m

hungry. Idon’tcare if Iburnto a crisp. I don’t care if Iburn till I blister. Do notwaste… like… fourdollars

onsunscreen.Youknowhowmuch foodwe could buy forfourdollars?Youwantmoremiles,Ineedmorefood.’The holey soles of Jen’s

sneakerskeepcallingCarly’seyesback.She squeezes her eyes

closed, and when she opensthem, there’s the thrift store.Right in front of her. Likeshe’s been trying to conjure

something, and now it’sarrived,justasordered.She pushes her feet back

intotheshoes,buttheybarelysqueeze in. It hurts. Itwouldbe easy to cry out, but shedoesn’t.Shecan’tevenbringherselftolacethemupagain.She’ll just have tobe carefulnottotrip.‘Comeon.Walkwithme.’‘We’reresting!’Jenhowls.

‘No, I don’t mean that. Imean we’re going in thatthriftstore.’‘Forwhat?We don’t have

anymoney.’‘Justshutupandwalkwith

me.’‘Yougo.I’mtired.’‘No. You have to come,

too.’Jen sighs deeply and rolls

over, pulling to her feet. Acouple in their twentiesstroll

by. Each has an ice-creamcone.Twoscoopsapiece.Thewoman smiles at them. Jenstares at the ice cream untilit’stoofarawaytoogle.They cross the street

together to the thrift store.Thewindow is hand-painted,and says all proceeds go tobenefitStIgnatiusHospital.A bell jingles when Carly

opensthedoor.

‘How’re you girls doingtoday?’thewomanasks.She’smaybeforty,reading

a paperback book. She looksIndian. Native. NativeAmerican, Carly should startsaying. Indian might offendsomebody. They’re gettingclose to Navajo country, thebig reservation, but Carlydoesn’t think they’re quitethereyet.Butat least they’re

finally over the border intoArizona.Carlyneveranswers.‘Anything special in

mind?’Carly sees a bird cage

hanging near the woman’shead,withtwoblueandgreenparakeets. They make achirping racket, almost likesinging.‘Shoes,’ Carly says. ‘We

were looking for some shoes

formysister.’‘Go all thewaydown that

aisleandthenleft.They’reonthe floor in the corner backthere. All two dollars unlessthey got a tag says they’remore.’‘Thanks.Want us to leave

ourbackpackshere?’People don’t like for kids

or teens to come in theirstores with backpacks.They’velearnedthatforsure.

‘It’sfine.I’lltrustyou.Letmeknowifyouneedhelp.’Then Carly feels bad. The

lady’s trust makes her feelextrabad.Jen tugs at her sleeve as

theywalkdowntheaisle,butCarly knocks her hand awayagain. She shoots Jen awarning look. The shop issmall. The woman won’t beabletoseethemoncethey’re

back in the corner with theshoes.Butshemighthear.Jen runs straight to a pair

of cross-training shoes inabout her size. She has herhand on them before Carlyeven sees them. They’rescuffed up pretty good. Butwhen Jen picks them up andturnsthemover,thesolesarenice. Not worn much at all.She turns themback upright,andtheybothlookatthetops

ofthem.Theyhaveatagthatsays they’re five dollars, notjusttwo.Carly takes a quick look

over her shoulder, then pullsoffthetag,breakingitsstring.Jen sucks her breath in, andCarly shoots Jen anotherwarningwithhereyes.‘Try them on,’ she

whispers.There’s no place to sit, so

Jensitsonthefloorandpulls

off her holey old sneakers.MeanwhileCarlyspotsapairof lace-up boots. She picksthem up, considering. Sheturnsher footoverandholdsthem sole to sole with theshoes she has. They lookabout right. A little big,maybe. But that would giveherfeetroomtoswell.Sheputsthemonandlaces

them snug to make up fortheirbigness,thenlooksupto

see Jen sitting up straight onthe floor, the new shoes on.Her eyes seem extra wide.Carly catches Jen’s eye andJennods.Thosearetheones,allright.Carly picks up her old

shoes, and Jen’s old shoes,andarranges themin the lineon the floor with all theothers.Theydon’tlookmuchworse than some of them, at

least, if you don’t turn Jen’sover.‘OK, well, we looked,

anyway. You happy now?’Carly asks in a normalvolume,andtoocheerful.‘I guess,’ Jen says,

soundingnervous.Carlyreachesahanddown

to Jen and pulls her to herfeet.Shelooksdownatthenew

boots.They’resturdy.That’ll

help. But they’re a risk,because they’remoreone-of-a-kind than Jen’s trainers.The lady might spot themwalking out the door. Shelooks back at her old shoes,and almost decides to takethemback.Buther feet haveswollen even more by now.She probably wouldn’t getthembackon.‘Don’t look at her,’ she

whispers in Jen’s ear. ‘Don’t

talk toher.Letmedoall thetalking.’Jen isa terrible liar. Jen is

so honest she busts herselfeverytime.Carlytugsthesleeveofher

sister’s shirt and they walk.God knows if there’s onethingtheyknowhowtodobynow,it’swalk.‘Thanks anyway, ma’am,’

she calls, prepared to keepwalking right by the counter.

Then she realizes that’s notthe best thing to do. Sheshouldstopandtalk.Becausethat’s just what a personwho’s stealing somethingwouldneverdo.‘Yougirlshaveyourselves

agoodday.’Carly stops, close to the

counter, where the womancan’tseetheirfeetanyway.‘What’s the name of this

littletown?’sheasks.

‘Not reallya townexactly.Just part of McKinleyCounty. The mailing addressis technically Gallup, thoughthat’saprettylongwaysouthofhere.’Carly looks to Jen, happy

to have been proven right.But Jen is staringup into thebird cage, oblivious. Eitherhypnotized by the birds, orparalyzedbyfear.Orboth.

‘But that’s a differentstate,’Carlysays.‘Notsurewhatyoumean,’

the woman says, soundingpatient.‘Gallup is inNewMexico,

andthisisArizona.’‘No.ThisisNewMexico.’Carly feels Jen’s reaction,

at her left side,without evenlooking. She’s beenpromisingJenthey’vealready

crossed over the line intoArizonaatlonglast.‘Really?’ As though it

could still turn out not to betrue.‘Yougirlslost?’AndthenCarlyrealizesher

mistake. She’s raised a redflag, just what she’s beenteachingherselfnottodo.‘No, ma’am. Not at all.

We’reonaroadtripwithourdad.He’s out gassing up the

car.He tolduswewereoverthelineintoArizona.WaittillI go tell him how wrong hewas.Howfarfromheretothestateline?Youknow.JustsoIcantellhim.’‘Twenty miles or so.

Maybealittlemore.’Carlyiscarefulnottolook

atJen,knowinghowhardthatnews must be settling in.More than a day’s walking.

Just to get to where theythoughttheyalreadywere.‘OK.Thanks,ma’am,’ she

says.‘You girls have a good

day.’Then the woman puts her

nose back down into herpaperback book. She doesn’tlookatCarlyor Jen’s feetastheywalkoutthedoor.

CarlywatchesJenwalkdowntheshoulderof the roadwithherbackpackbalancedonherhead to keep the sun out ofher face. There’s more of aspringinhersister’sstep.‘We didn’t end up getting

to rest much,’ Jen says.‘Thesearereallybouncy.’She bounces more

stridently, to emphasize thepoint,butcarefully,soasnottodropthebackpack.

‘Ijustwantedtogetalittlefartherawayfromtherefirst,’Carlysays.Whichisphrasingitmildly.Theyranscared,butatafastwalk.She’s using the jacket-

held-over-her-head method.Herbackpackisheavier.‘Did you get their

address?’Jenasks.‘Yeah, I’m holding the

number inmyhead till I canwriteitdown.’

‘These sure are a wholebunch better. Can we restnow?’But there isn’t much of a

place to stop. Nothing likethat nice bench they’d hadbefore.‘There’sarock,’Jensays.Theywalktoit,andsit.The sun is off at a slant

already, and Jen’s still doingthat thing she’s been doing,looking around like there’s

something worth seeing outhere.Carly slips off her

backpack and digs around init until she finds the littleblank book, its pen stillclipped on. She flips to thefirstblankpageandwrites:

Weowe$7.00totheStIgnatiusThriftStoreat3397Route264,McKinleyCounty,sortofnearGallup,NewMexico.Lookupzipcode.

She sees Jen peeking overhershoulder.‘Howmuchdoweoweby

now?’Jenasks.‘Over thirty dollars. But

it’sOK.Teddy’ll giveus themoney.’‘You act like he has

money. He doesn’t havemoney.’‘Well. Some. Not much.

Butthatdoesn’tmatter.He’llgiveuswhathehas.Teddy’s

like that. He’ll know howimportant this is to us, andhe’llfindaway.’‘You act like he never did

athingwronginhislife.’‘Hedidn’t.ItwasMom—’She tries to stop herself.

But the word ‘Mom’ slipsthroughthegate.Jen’smouthformsasmall,

tight‘O’.‘Now who’s speaking bad

atthedead?’

‘Sorry.’Oh, shit, Carly thinks.We

shouldhavecalledhimagaininthatlasttown.And that’smore than true.

Theyshould’vedonea lotofthingsinthatlasttown.Theyshould’ve gotten someone togive them a little money, inthat special way Carly’slearned how to do withoutraisingbigflags.Andboughtfood. And bought sunscreen.

And rested. And, yes, calledTeddy again. Because Teddywillbuythematicket toridea bus or a train. Or maybehe’ll drop what he’s doingand drive out to get them.Theyonlyhave towalkuntilTeddy answers the phone. Itwas never supposed to takeninedays.‘We’llcallhimagain.Next

phone,’shesays.‘Wehaveto

walk if we’re gonna getsomeplacebysundown.’Jendoesn’tevencomplain.

Just unfolds her skinny legs,and brushes off the back ofherjeans.They start off down the

roadagain.

They hear the first enginethey’veheardinawhile.Carly looks over her

shoulder to see an oldmotor

home lumbering up the hill.Herheart fallswhen it slowsand then stops in the roadalongside them. A middle-aged woman leans out thewindow. Carly can feel airconditioning pouring out ofthe rig. It feels weirdlycomforting, something sheforgotexisted.They’ve been lucky with

the weather. Warm but nothot by day and cold but not

freezing at night. But it’sgettingwarmernow.‘YougirlsOKouthereall

byyourself?Needaride?’Just for a minute Carly

considers that it might besafe, just this one time, tobreak their no-ride policy.This woman can’t bedangerous. But Carly can’tgetagoodenoughlookatthedriver.

Thenithitsher,thelunacyof what she’s considering.Shemust be more tired thanshe realizes. Even if they’retrustworthy and nice, they’daskquestions.They’dwanttoknow where the girls wereheaded. Carly couldn’t justsay, ‘Take us up the road asfar as you’re going and thenwe’llwalksomemore.’No, they’d get involved.

They’d want to help. All

grown-upswanttohelp.Thistripwouldbesomuch

easier without all thesegrown-upswantingtohelp.‘No, ma’am, but thanks.

Weliverightaroundhere.’‘Around here? Really?

Thought therewasn’tanotherthing clear to Arrow Rock.Nothingmuchouthere.’‘Well, it looks that way,’

Carly says, pasting on asmile.‘Butourhouseisdown

adirtroadjustaquartermileup.’‘Wantalift?’‘Thanks just the same,

ma’am, but you wouldn’toffer if you’d seen our dirtroad.You’dnevergetdownitin this big thing. Need four-wheeldrive.It’sfine,though.Really.Wewalk out here allthetime.’Carly can hear the tapping

of the driver’s fingers on the

steering wheel. Good, shethinks.Hewantstogo.‘Long as you’re OK,’ the

ladysays.Then she rolls up her

window and themotor hometakes off uphill with itsenginegroaning.Thegirlswalkon.‘You’re getting to be a

goodliar,’Jensays.‘Thanks.’

‘I didn’t mean it like acompliment.’

The woman turns out to beright. There isn’t anotherthing clear to Arrow Rock.Notevenanoldhousewithahose coiled on its side. Noteven a tree with wormycrabapples.‘We could sleep standing

upinafield,’Jensays.‘Likeahorse.’

‘They probably havecoyotesandstuffouthere.’‘Oh.’They stop and put their

spare shirts on right over theones they’re wearing, andtheir jackets. Now Carly’spackislighter,andshewearsit like a hat, the way Jenalways does. To keep thesettingsunoutofhereyes.Halfamiledown,Jenruns

off the road a few yards to

pick up a walking stick. Shedoesn’tsayithasanythingtodowith coyotes. Then again,shedoesn’tneedto.It’s getting dark fast, and

cold,sotheywalkoff-roadtoarockhill,andfindaspacetotuckin.Thatwaythere’sonlyone side of them vulnerabletocoyotes.Andtheycanholdsome of their heat in thatsmallspace.That’swheretheysleep.

Well, Jen sleeps. Carlystays awake most of thenight, teeth chattering, stickattheready.But,sofarasshecan tell, there’s nothingawake out here in all thisnothing.Exceptforher.Shewondersifit’spossible

to freeze to death out here.Probably not, but she can’thelp worrying. This is thefirstnighttheyhaven’tfoundsomekindofshelter,ifonlya

dumpster. She wraps herselfoverJen,justincase.Jen cries in her sleep

through most of the night.Carlymakesuphermindthatshe will never mention this.Like it never happened.Likeshe never saw. Because shewould be humiliated ifsomeonewitnessedhercryinginhersleep.AndshewantstospareJenthehumiliation.

Then it hits her that itmightalreadyhavehappened.Andshewouldneverknow.

Arizona,10May

‘Bus station!’ Jen shouts.‘Score!’It’s after seven in the

evening,andthesunisallbutdown. A bus station is thebest thing that could havehappened to them. In fact, abus station’s the best thingthat’s happened to them in a

long time. Though neitherhave said so out loud, thatonenightout in thecoldwassomethingtheydon’twanttotryagain.Not that they can take a

bus.UntilTeddyanswers thephone, there’s no money forany option but the onethey’ve been using.Sometimes Carly wonders ifwalking is really the onlyway, or if it’s just the only

waythatdoesn’tscarehertoomuch,makeher think they’llbecaughtandhandedovertochild services. But she feelslikeshecan’trelyonanynewthinking, so they’ve justkeptwalking. It’s worked so far.NextcalltoTeddywillbetheone.Thiswillbeoversoon.They step up on to the

wooden porch and read thesign on the door to seewhen’s closing time. Nine

o’clock. That’s good. Earlierthansome.‘Wait here,’ Carly says,

knowingafewstepssavedattheendofthedaywouldhaveto feel good to Jen. ‘I’ll goinside and see what time abuscomesin.’‘Maybe last bus already

did.’‘Thenthey’dcloseearlier.’She swings the wooden

door open, and the arrivals

and departures board is rightthere. She doesn’t even havetogoinsidetoreadit.‘Eight thirty,’ she says.

‘Lastbusisateightthirty.’Which still leaves a lot of

logistics and problems. Ifthere’sacrowdateightthirty,evenasmallone,theycangetlostinit.Ifnot,thismightormight not work. Likeeverything else in life lately,

it’s hard to know until theytry.

Atalittleaftereight,theygoinsideandwaitbythegate,asif expecting someone. Thentheygetabreak,andtheonlyguywho seems toworkheregoes intoaback room.Carlyrunstothedoorandpushesitopen, letting it swing shutagain with a bang. As ifthey’vegoneoutside.

They slip into the tiny,two-stallladies’room,andsiton the toilets, one in eachstall. With their feet pulledup.Foralongtime.They can hear the bus

comeroaringin,but,asfarasthey can hear, nobody getsoff and comes through thestation. All they hear is theman who works here punchthe ladies’ room door open.Carly’s blood freezes,

thinking maybe he comes inandcleansinhereafterhours.But his footsteps retreat, andthedoorswingsclosedagain.Thentheyhearhimlockup

forthenight.Probablyalittleearly.It fills Carly with an

exaggerated elation. As ifthey’ve just been locked intoa five-star hotel. With roomservice. Something at thebackofherbrainregistersthe

sadness of this. But if shefocused on that, she’d losethismoment.Soshepretendsshedoesn’tknowit’sthere.

The first thing Carly does isunlace the new boots, andever so carefully ease themoff. She has blisters on herheels.Badones. She can seethat the heels of her blacksocksaresoakedthrough,butshe doesn’t know if it’s

blood,orclearfluidfromthebrokenblisters,orboth.They’re good boots, as far

as that goes. They give herfeet a lot more support.Overall, her feet feel betterthan usual.But the boots aretoo big, so her heels don’tlockdown right.They liftupand sink down with everystep, rubbingagainst the stiffleather. Maybe they’ll breakin. Maybe she’ll get

protective calluses. Maybetomorrow’s miles will be anightmare, and she won’t beable to hide the pain anymore. Lots of things couldhappenfromhere.She peels off her thin

socks.A big, ugly flap of skin

drapesoffoneheel.She washes the worst foot

first in one of the ancientpedestal sinks, yelping out

loud when the liquid handsoaptouchesherheel.Jensticksherheadthrough

the door. She’s been out inthe main waiting room,kicking, and trying to bumpand jiggle, the vendingmachine.‘You say something,

Carly?’‘Nope,’Carlysays.Shewashesherotherheel,

thenwrapsboth feet in toilet

paper and slides her cleanpairofsocksoverthat.Thenshegoeshunting.

‘Look what I found,’ Carlysays, holding the wire coathangerbehindherback.Shewalks to where Jen is

sitting cross-legged on thefloor, staring longingly intotheonlyfood-relatedvendingmachine.There’s also a sodamachine, but Carly has no

magic keys for that, and noideas. Both machines havebeen centered over a spotwhere the linoleum flooringismissing.‘Money? You found

money?’‘Nextbestthing.’She shows Jen the wire

hanger. It seems to take aminute to compute in Jen’shead.Carlythinksshecanseeraw data rattling around in

there, waiting to fit. But Jengetsthereeventually.‘Get thosecornchips,’she

says.‘I doubt it. They’re on the

toprow.Ithinkwehavetogowithbottomrowstuff.’‘OK, let’s see. Trail mix.

Peanuts. Licorice. Potatochips.Peanut-butter crackers.Whichoneshouldweget?’‘Which one? Are you

kidding me? We’re getting

everythingwe can knock outofthere.’In fact, Carly’s thinking

maybe she can get multiplepackages of each thing. Butwhen she bends the hangerproperly and pokes thepeanuts down into the tray,she realizes that the packetbehindwill notmechanicallypush forward where she cangettoit.

Still,fiveitems.Thatprettymuch makes this Thanks-giving.She looks up through the

high, dirty window. Thestation has outside lights onall four sides, making a niceglow for them to see by,while at the same timemaking it darker inside thanout.Sotheycanmovearoundunobserved. Not that

anything or anyone seems tobemovingoutonthestreet.She briefly wonders what

dayoftheweekitis.Ahuge tanmoth beats his

wings against the windowfromtheinside.Shecanhearhim. Tapping on the glass.Sheknowsinherheadit’sthelight he’s after, but she can’timagine wanting to getoutsidewhenyoucouldsleep

here. Even if she were amoth.‘Where’d you find a

hanger?’ Jen asks, startlingher.The peanut-butter crackers

finallyfall,andJendivesherhand into the tray to grabthem.‘In the office back there.

There’s this pole where theycan hangup their coats.Andtherewasonewoodenhanger

and two wire ones. Themoney’s all locked up, Iguess.’Jen eats peanuts in silence

for a minute, then dives ahand into the tray when thetrailmixdrops.Thenshesays,‘Hey.Carly.

Justthisonce,canwe…youknow … just eat everythingwe’ve got? All at the sametime?’

‘Sure,’ Carly says. ‘Justthisonce.’Truth is, Carly needs this

moment, too. Even sixteen-year-old grown-upssometimesneedacelebration.Especially when times havebeenhard.She takes out her little

book and stands, examiningthemachineuntil she finds ashinysilver label.Itsaysthismachine is serviced by

Harmony Vending, 21900NavajoBoulevard,Holbrook,AZ86025.She copies down the

address.‘Areallfiveofthosethings

seventy-fivecents?’‘Yup,’Jensays.She pauses. Doesn’t write

anythingforaminute.‘Threedollarsandseventy-

fivecents,’Jensays.‘Iknewthat,’Carlysays.

It’s half-true. She wouldhave known that. Given alittlemoretime.‘I also found one other

thing,’Carlysays.‘Therewasafirst-aidkitbackthere.AndI opened it up and took outtwo big adhesive bandages.You know. In case I getblistersfromthesenewboots.Just in case. My heels arefeelingalittlerubbed.’‘OK,’Jensays.

‘AreyourfeetOK?’‘The best. These cross-

trainersarethebomb.’‘Good.So…’‘So…what?’‘So,shouldIputthatinthe

book?’‘Hmm,’ Jen says. Her

mouth is full of blacklicorice. ‘We don’t knowwhattheywouldcost.’‘Iwas just thinking, if the

guywerehereandIsaidIhad

blisters, he’d probably givethem to me. I mean, I thinkthey’re to hand out. Not tosell.’‘Iguess.’‘Soyouthinkit’sOK?’‘Probably.Yeah.’‘Youdon’tthinkitssortof

… breaking a promise toourselves? Like our honestysystem is breaking downsome?’

Jen chews in silence for amoment,hereyesclosed.Then she says, ‘Maybe a

littlebit.ButIdon’tthinkit’saverybigdeal.’Carly nods a few times.

Then she looks down at thewire hanger, and carefullybends it back into wire-hanger shape. It looksa littleworse for wear. But shehangs it back up on the polein the back office. It’ll still

holdcoats,whichisthemainthing. And then only theadhesivebandagesarealittleovertheline.

Carly calls Teddy’s cell-phone number from thepayphone while Jen washesupintheladies’room,anoddbathing system with papertowels, liquid hand soap andwater. Jen always seems to

find a way to be gonewhileCarlycalls.She braces herself for the

recorded announcement ofhow much is left on theprepaid calling card shebought herself on thatmiserable Christmas in NewMexico with her mom andWade. She doesn’t reallywant to know. She knows itcan’tbemuch.Sheshouldn’tbe leaving messages every

time. She’s been running itdowntoofast.It’s just around two

minutes.It’srunningout.It rings. And rings. And

rings. The way it used towhen Teddy was out ofminutes on his cell phone.ThenCarlyhearsaclick,likeTeddypickingupthephone.‘Teddy? Teddy, is that

you?’Silence.

‘Teddy?’It’s a recordedmessage.A

woman with a robotic,irritating voice. She says,‘I’m sorry. The cellularnumber you have reached isnotinserviceatthistime,andthereisnonewnumber.’Carlyhangsupfast.Incase

the woman was planning onsayingmore.

Jenisalldressedagaininherclean shirt when Carly getsback into the ladies’ room.She’s washing out her socksand underwear in one sink.She looks up, apparentlystartled by what she sees inCarly’sface.‘What’s the matter?’ Jen

asks.‘Nothing. He just wasn’t

there.’

Carly leans over the othersink and drinks her fill ofcoldwater.‘Youlooklikesomething’s

wrong.’‘No,everything’sfine,’she

says, then dries her face onhersleeve.‘We’lljusttryhimagain.Hemustbeworkingasecondjoborsomething.I’msurehe’sinhisownplacebynow.AndIjustbethehastoworkalot.’

She’shopingJenwon’taskwhyworkingtwojobswouldprevent him from answeringthecellphoneinhispocket.‘Maybe he’s out of

minutes. And can’t affordmore.’‘Yeah!Maybe.’‘Whatwouldwedothen?’‘I could call his work

tomorrow.’Until she hears herself say

it,shedoesn’trealizeit’sthat

simple. Of course. She canjust callRalph.Theguyhe’sbeenworkingfor.Askhimtoget a message to Teddy.She’s a bit shocked, in fact,thatshedidn’tthinkofituntilnow.Aweight lifts fromherfullbelly, leavingher feelinglightandclearagain.‘Do we know his work

number?’‘No, but we know it’s

Ralph Martin Construction.

Sowecangetalisting.’‘Doesn’tthatcostadollar?

Ortwo?Howmuchisleftonthephonecard?’‘I don’t know, Jen. We’ll

figure it out. Want me towashyourhair?’‘Yeah.Definitely.’She leans Jen forward into

oneofthesinksandwetsherhairthoroughlyunderthetap.This station is so old thatthere’s actually hot and cold

running water, both comingout of one tap, so you canmake it just aswarmor coolas you like. And you canleave it running. Not likethose new ones where youpress down and the waterblasts as long as it feels likeblasting, then stops on itsown.She soaps Jen’s hair with

liquidhandsoap,becauseit’salltheyhave.

As she’s rinsing it out –andit’snosmalljobtogetallthe soap out of Jen’s thick,coarse hair – she says, ‘Waittill we get home. Till we’reliving with Teddy again.We’ll get that hairconditioner that smells likemangoes.Andshowergel.’‘Ihatethatfoofystuff,’Jen

says.‘It’sforgirls.’‘You’reagirl.Stupid.’

‘I’m not a girl like youare.’‘And we’ll have clean

sheetseveryfewnights…’‘Howdoyoufigure?’‘Because I’ll wash them

myself. And we’ll put lotionalloverourselveseverynight,and we won’t have scalyelbowsandflakyshins.’‘I couldn’t care less about

elbowsandshins.Ijustdon’twant to ever walk anywhere

ever again. Ifyou saygogetthe mail at the end of thedriveway, I’ll hook up somekind of little cart to takemedown there.Like anold-ladycart. Or I’ll get one of thosebikes with the “chickenpower” motors. And we’llhavewienersandbeanseverynight for dinner, and candybars for desert. Not candybarsfordinner.’

‘You’llgetsickofwienersandbeans.’‘I could never get sick of

wienersandbeans.’‘OK. I think I got all the

soapout.Squeezeoutmostofthewater over the sink.Andthendry itwithpaper towelsas much as you can. I’mgonna wash up now. Don’tlook.’‘WhywouldIlook?’

‘I don’t know. Just don’t.And don’t leave your socksand underwear hanging onthestalldoorslikethat.’‘Whynot?’‘Becausewemightneedto

scram out of here fast in themorning.’‘Oh.Right.’Carly strips out of

everythingbuthersocks,thenlooks up to the milky glasswindowintothealley.Ithasa

holeabouttwicethesizeofabaseball broken out of it. Inthe outside light, she can seealightmistofrainfalling.‘It’sraining,’shesays.‘You’re kidding.’ Jen’s

combing her wet hair, andcan’t seem to immediatelybreakawayfromthat to lookforherself.‘Justalittlebitofrain.’‘Thoughtitneverrainedin

thedesert,’Jensays,popping

up.‘Sure it does. Just not as

much.’They stand side by side a

moment,staring.Then Jen says what Carly

hasn’tquitegatheredtogetheryet.‘Damn. The one time we

can’tstandoutinit.’They stare a while longer,

then Jen makes herselfcomfortable – at least, as

comfortableasonecangetona tile floor, curled in a fetalposition, using her pack as apillow.Carly jumps up, bracing

her hands on thewindowsill,andreachesherfaceuptothehole in the window, stillnaked,amistof lightrainonhersunburnedface.

She wakes knowing shedreamed about Teddy in the

night. But, try as she might,shecan’t rememberwhat shedreamed about him. Shescrambles for it likesomething precious pouringdownadrain.Butit’salreadygone.

Arizona,12May

‘Hey, a gas station,’ Carlysays.‘Withalittlefoodstore.Finally. Finally we can getsomethingtoeat.’‘Butthere’snobodygetting

gasthere,’Jensays.Carly’s special system

relies on people. Peoplewhocan be talked out of a little

money. The trick is to beclear that their parents areonly slightly lost or brieflydelayed.That theycan rejointheir parents right here, rightat this station, if they simplystay put. All they need is alittle something to eat whilethey’rewaiting.‘Somebodywillcome.’Jen looks around

nervously. Surprisingly few

people have passed them allmorning.‘Whatiftheydon’t?’‘Well. There’s somebody

working in the store. That’sasgoodasanything.’But when they get there,

there’snobodyworkinginthestore. Just a hand-letteredsign on the locked door.CLOSED THURS 12 MAYOWING TO FAMILYEMERGENCY.

They sit downon the curbbythedoor.‘May twelfth,’ Jen says.

Likeit’sathingthatcouldn’tpossiblybetrue.But Carly knew that

already. She’s been countingdays.‘The payphone is outside,’

Carly says. ‘I’ll call Teddy’swork.’But she knows she

probably can’t. Not with the

timeshehasleftonthecard.She marches over to the

phone, dials in the numbersfor her calling card by heart.Andfindsoutthecardislessthanaminutefromspent.Notenough to call directoryassistance.ShewalksbacktowhereJenissitting,carefultofeelaslittleaspossible.‘What happened?’ Jen

asks.

Carlysitsdownbesideher.‘Card’susedup.’‘Oh.’They sit a while longer.

The sun is almost directlyoverhead.It’swarmforMay.Nothing like summer desertheat. Just warm. Maybeeighty. But when you’rewalking in the sunallday, itaddsup.Carlylooksupintothesun,

squinting and watching light

radiate out from that yellowbeast. Somewhere insideherself she knows it’s desertstraight through Arizona andhalfway into California. Andthat it will be summer soonenough.Except Teddy’ll come and

get them. Teddy will savethem.Theywon’tbewalkingbythen.‘Know what really burns

my butt?’ she asks Jen. ‘If

Wade hadn’t had to ordersteakandeggs,I’dbemakingthat call right now. Takes aspecial kind of a son of abitch to ruin your life evenafter he’s dead.’ She squintsupatthesunagain.‘Thinkhediditonpurpose?’It’s that thing nobody’s

said.Sofar.CarlywondersifJenwill think shemeans thesteakandeggs,andthewayitrobbed her of phone-card

money. But no. Of coursenot.Jenwon’t think that. Jenwill know exactly what shemeans.‘I’ve been trying not to

thinkaboutit.’‘Oh.Sorry.’‘I don’t know, Carly. I

don’t know what to thinkaboutthat.’‘Never mind. We’ll just

worry about what’s right infrontofus.’

Carlyleverstoherfeetandwalks over to the water andair island, the place wherepeople fill their radiatorsandtires.Tocheckandsee if thewater hose is running. It is.SoshewavesforJentocome.Maybe it’s not the kind of

water you’re supposed todrink, she thinks. But shetries it, and it tastes normal.Shegulpsitdownforagood

minute, gorging herself, thenhandsittohersister.‘I’m going to dial the

operator and tell her it’s anemergency.ThatI’maminor,andI’mstranded,andIdon’thave anymoney, and I havetomakeacallandgethelp.’In other words, exactly

what she’s so carefullyhiddenfromeveryonebutJensincethisjourneybegan.

She doesn’t wait for ananswer. Just marches to thephone and follows theinstructions for dialing theoperator.‘Hello?’ she says.

‘Operator? I have to find anumber,andIhavetomakeacall,andIcan’tpayforit.I’monlysixteen,andI’moutherewith my twelve-year-oldsisterandourmother isdeadand I have to call my…’ a

quick flinch, as she remindsherself to lie, ‘… father andhe’llcomepickusup.Idon’thave any money to put intothe phone, but it’s anemergency, OK? We’re introuble.’Humiliatingly, in the

middle of the last sentence,she starts to cry. Becauseshe’s not lying. It hits her asshehearsthewordscomeoutof her mouth. Teddy is not

their father. But everythingelseistrue.‘I need to call Ralph

Martin Construction inTulare,California.’The operator doesn’t even

connect her with directoryassistance. Just gets hold ofthe number somehow. Evendials it for her. And it mustnotbecollect,either,becauseCarlydoesn’thavetogivehername.

Next thing she knows,she’s talking to Ralph. Justlike that. It makes her stopcrying. She feels thoroughlyrescued.‘Ralph. It’s me, Carly. Is

Teddythere?’Alongsilence.Toolong.‘Jocelyn’skid?’‘Yeah,Ralph, it’sme.Can

I talk to Teddy? It’s reallyimportant.’

‘Honey, Teddy doesn’tworkherenow.’‘Wheredoeshework?’‘Idon’t rightlyknow,hon.

He just up and left. Couplemonths after your mommoved you guys to NewMexico.Saidhecouldn’tstayinthistownanotherminute.’‘Did he saywhere he was

going? Think hard, Ralph.Please.Really,please.Thisisreally,reallyimportant.’

Ralphdoesn’tthinkhard.‘Nottome.Hedidn’tsaya

thing to me. But let me askJud. Teddy was pretty goodfriends with Jud. Can youholdaminute?’‘I think so. I’m on a

payphone.’‘I’llbeasfastasIcan.’Carly chews on her thumb

while she’s waiting. Not herthumbnail, but the wholethumb. She watches Jen,

who’sstaringinfascinationatsomething in the window ofthe gas station conveniencestore. Like she’s readingsomethingwrittenthere.Ralph’s voice makes her

jump.‘Youthere,Carly?’‘Yeah,Ralph.I’mhere.’‘JudsaysTeddywentupto

Trinidad. But that’s all heknows.’

‘Trinidad?Thatsoundslikeanother country orsomething.’‘Naw, it’s up in Northern

California. On the coast.Little town up in theredwoods. Up by Eureka.Nice up there. You couldprobably track him down,’cause I’m thinking therecan’t be more than a dozencontractorsupinthatneckof

the woods. But Jud doesn’tknowwherehesettled.’‘Oh,’Carlysays.‘Yougoodnow?’She begins to cry again.

No. She’s not good. Butthere’snopoint tellingRalphthat, because Ralph hasalready given all the help itwaseverhistogive.‘Yeah, thanks,’ she says,

trying to keep the crying outofhervoice.

Then she hangs up fast,becausesheknowsshefailed.She walks back to Jen,

who’s still staring at thewindow. Jen’s looking at amap. There’s a map ofNortheasternArizonatapedtotheinsideofthewindow.‘Smart, huh?’ Jen says. ‘I

betthiswaytheydon’twasteso much time givingdirections.Operatorwouldn’tputyouthrough,wouldshe?’

Jen doesn’t look awayfromthemapandseeCarly’stears, somaybeCarly has anextraminute to wrestle thembackin.‘No,’ she says,wiping her

eyesroughlyonhersleeve.She’ll tell Jen. She will.

Butrightnowshehasnoideahow.Sheneedstimetothink.‘S’what I thought. I

could’ve told you. Moneymakes the world go round.’

She looks over at Carly.Takes in her condition.‘Don’t get all bent about it.It’s no big deal. We’ll getsomemoneysoon.’‘Yeah.’‘Now look at this. This’ll

killyou.Thishighway’sbeengoing partly north. West,yeah.But also north.And, ifanything,weneedtogowestand south. We’ve alreadygone probably ten or twenty

miles out of our way. Andnow look. This’s where weare.’ Jen points to a roughlydrawn red arrow that markstheir location. ‘And in just acouple miles, it turns andgoes even farther north.Andthenitloopsaroundandgoessouth again. I don’t want togo all that way out of ourway. I think we need to cutthrough.Youknow.Ontheselittle roads. We need to get

off this highway and go thiswayagain.’The payphone rings. They

both turn and look at it. Butneither girl moves. It’sunsettling toCarly.As if thephone knows she’s here.Butshe forces her attention backtothemap.‘Butthoseroads…they’re

so…’They’re small and

confusing. They’re such fine

lines on the map. They’reprobably just little residentialdirt roads.Reservation roads.For locals. And not a onegoes straight through. Orevenstraight.It’samaze.‘So…what?’‘Ifeellikewe’llgetlost.’The phone is still ringing.

It’s on what may be itstwelfthring.ButCarlyhasn’tbeencounting.

‘We’ll just keep goingwest,’Jensays.‘We’llwatchthesun.’‘Why is that phone

ringing?’‘Idunno.Answerit.’‘Comeon.Let’sjustgo.’Butas they’rewalkingout

of the gas-station lot, it hitsher thatmaybe Ralph or Judis calling her back. Maybethey know more after all.Maybe they found out, right

after she called, thatsomebodyelseknewmore.‘I’m gonna get that,’ she

says.Shegrabsitup,butdoesn’t

sayhello.Itfeels toovolatiletosayhello.‘Areyouthere?’shehears.

‘Issomebodythere?’It’s not Ralph. It’s the

operator. Her belly ices overwithpanic.‘Yeah…’

‘Did you get the help youneeded, honey, or should Icallsomebodyforyou?’‘No!’ she shouts.Way too

loud and defensive. Badlyplayed.She justgaveawayalot.‘No,we’refinenow.He’sgonnacomepickusup.’But, just as she says it, it

hits her that maybe theoperatorstayedonthelinethewholetimeshewastalkingtoRalph.

‘Honey, do you and yoursisterhave someplace safe togorightnow?’Carly slams the phone

down.‘Come on,’ she tells Jen.

‘We’regoing.Fast.’‘Why?What?’‘The operator’s going to

call somebody to come helpus. We’re going to do justwhatyousaid.Firstroadgoesoff to the left, we’ll take it.

Get as far away from thehighwayaswecan.’‘Maybe—’Jenbegins.Carlydoesn’tletherfinish.

She can’t afford to. She canfeelwherethisisheaded.Shegrabs Jen by the sleeve andthey set off down the roaddouble-time.‘We didn’t come all this

waytogetpickedupbychildservices,’ Carly says as theynearly jog. ‘If we’re gonna

get put in different fosterhomes or something, wecould’ve just sat where wewere and waited for them tocome and get us. Wewouldn’t have had to gothroughallthis.Wedidn’tgothroughallthisfornothing.’Jenneveranswers.Aroadappearstotheirleft.

Theyhaveno ideawhat roaditisorwhereitgoes.Theytakeit.

By sundown they could beanywhere.They’reheadedforthe setting sun, but then theroad keeps curving. Theycould be going around in acircleforalltheyknow.They’re in a different sort

of neighborhood now.Reservation residential. Afence made of old discardedtires.Squatstonehouseswiththree or four pickup trucksout front, stone mesas

towering behind. Tiny woodor stone shacks with oldmotor homes or trailersparked nearby, often morethan one, like inexpensivehousing compounds. Andthough they don’t see a soulclose-up–justplumesofdirtrising from tires on the nextroad over, or people sittingoutsidetoofarawayforCarlytoconfirmher theoryintheireyes – she’s nursing the

distinct impression that theydon’t belong here. They areoutsiders in this place. Shecanfeelit.‘Maybe just cut straight

through,’Jensays.They try that. But it’s

brushy. Hard going. AndCarly keeps getting a badfeeling they’re on privateproperty.‘Maybe we could sleep

there,’Jensays,pointing.

There’s an old yellowschool bus, sitting mostlydown in a gulley. No tires.Nowindshield.Nogrill.It’s cold. And they want

someplace sheltered to sleep.They haven’t said so outloud.Theyhaven’tneededto.It’sjustathingthat’sthere.‘Maybe,’Carlysays.Because it’s cold, but also

because it’s more importantthan ever that they sleep

somewhere. Because theyhaven’teateninovertwenty-four hours. And Carly isrunning out of steam. Thewalkingishardwithnoroad.And she’s upset all the waythroughherinsides,andthat’ssapped what little strengthshe had to begin with. Butsomething bothers her aboutthe school bus. It has towelsor sheets or something overthebackwindows.

‘I think maybe somebodylivesthere.’‘Howcouldsomebodylive

there?’‘Samereasonwe’rewilling

tosleepthere,Iguess.’‘Let’satleastgosee.’‘Butifthere’ssomebodyin

there…’‘Let’s just go a little

closer.’Carly tries toanglearound

towardthefrontofthebus,so

they can look through themissing windshield. But it’shard to see.Especially in thedusky light. They creep alittlecloser.‘There’s a sheet across it

on the inside, too.Somebodymustbeinthere.’‘I’mjustgoingtoask.’‘Don’t,Jen.’But Jen cups her hands

around her mouth and callsout,‘Anybodythere?’

A dog bursts out ofnowhere and charges, teethbared,barkingandsnarlingatthe same time. Filthy whitewithbrownpatchesandabibstained rusty red. Not hugebutbigenough.Carlycanseehis teeth flash in the fadinglight.She turns and tries to run,

but immediately catches herfoot and falls flat, scrapingher palms and face on the

gravelly dirt. She covers herheadwithherarmsandwaitsto be savaged, praying Jengotaway.But,thoughshecanstill hear the dog’s fury, it’snotgettinganycloser.In time she sits up, and

sees that Jen is standing herground,holdingonehandoutin a stop sign for the dog.Talkingtoit.‘I’mgoing,’shesays.‘You

don’tmove.’Shetakesastep

backwards, never breakingeye contact. The dog movesin a step, snarling andbarking.‘Ho!’Jenshoutsandholdsthehandoutagain.Thedog stops moving, but doesnot stop howling with rageandflashingitsteeth.Go help her, Carly thinks,

butshe’sfrozen.Shejustsitsthereinthedirt,watchingJenhold the dog at bay as sheslowly backs away. To her

humiliation, she thinks,Who’sthegrown-upnow?A big male voice breaks

thedusk.‘Chua!Shutupandgetinhere!’Silence.The dog shrinks, turns,

slinksbacktowardtheschoolbus.They run all thewayback

tothedirtroad.Bythetimetheymanageto

get there, it’s nearly full-on

dark, and Carly can’t stopcrying.Literallycan’tstop.‘It’s OK,’ Jen says. ‘It’s

fine. I’m OK. We’re bothfine.’But these tearsarecoming

out. There is no reasoningwith these tears. There is nologic to which they’llrespond.

Nearly an hour aftersundown, picking their way

alonginthedark,theypassaproperty they can tell isdeserted.Becauseitwouldbephysically impossible to livethere.Thehouse is inpieces,its own roof having caved inon itandbrought itdown. Inthe overgrown yard is aturquoise Pontiac from theforties or fifties. A big oldboat with flat tires and onecrackedwindow.

‘We could sleep in there,’Jensays.‘Carly,youcanstopcrying now. Are you evergoingtostopcrying?’‘Wecouldlook.’But those are just words.

She can’t bring herself to goanycloser.Jenmarchesoverandpeers

inside,thenmotionsforCarlytocome.‘It’s perfect,’ Jen says.

‘Great big bench seats front

andback.’Jen opens the back door,

andthemetalofthebodyanddoorgrindtogether,thensnapfree with a report like agunshot.Carly jumps theproverbial

mile. But then she steadiesherself and approaches thecar.Jenisalreadybeddeddown

on the back seat, the doorwideopenforCarly.

She tries to open the frontdoorbutit’slocked,orrustedshut, so she climbs over Jeninto the front andcurls inonherself, shivering, and lettinggo. Crying as if the cryingshe’sbeendoingupuntilnowwasnothing.Amildintro.‘I’m worried about you,’

Jensays.‘Ijustneedsomesleep.’But she thinks she won’t

get much. She’s cold, she’s

too upset, and she has aspringpokingintoherside.She’swrong.Shesleeps.

Arizona,13May

Sun pours through the dustywindshieldontoCarly’sface.Adoorhasopenedonthecar,wakingher.Itmust be late.The sun is

nearly overhead. Still herteethchatter.Shooting pangs of

emptiness radiate from her

stomach.Hermouthiscottondry.Shewincesassheopenshereyes.Onthepassenger-sidefloor

of the old Pontiac, on asurprisingly well-preservedrubber mat protecting thefaded carpet, is a coiledrattlesnake, apparently fastasleep.Carly pulls back in slow

motion and eases over theseat and into the back,

expectingtolandonJen.Butthe back seat is empty, thebackdoorwideopen.Shecanfeel thecoolairof thedesertmorning.Itfeelscolderinsidethecarthanout.She bolts out of the car,

vaguelyawareoftheclangingof bells. Tinny bells. Sheslamsthedoorfast.Shelooksbackthroughthe

window at the rattlesnake. Ithasn’tstirred.

‘Hey, Carly!’ she hears.‘Comeandlookatthis.’Jen is standing in the dirt

road, completely surroundedby sheep. White sheep withbigwooly bodies and skinnylegs and elongated, droopyears.Well over a hundred ofthem,moving along the roadlike a sheep river, parting toflow around Jen Island.About every fifth sheep is

wearing a bell around itsneck.Now and then part of the

procession leaps or bolts orturns suddenly, and thenCarly sees they’re beingherdedfrombehindbyadog.A yellow dog with bizarreyellow eyes. She looksaround for the person whogoes with the sheep, butthere’s no person. Only thedog.

When the dog pulls levelwiththem,hestopscold,putshis head down, and barks atthem.Butnotasviciouslyasthe last dog. More bittercomplaint and less flat-outassault.‘Why are Navajo dogs so

mean?’sheasksJen.‘They’re not. They’re just

doingtheirjob.’Thedoglookstohissheep

and sees they’re too far

ahead. He abandons hiscomplaint with the girls andrunstocatchup.‘You’re not gonna believe

this,’ Jen says. ‘There weremice in that back seat withme.Threeofthem.Eitherthator I saw the same mousethreetimes.’‘Ibelieveit.’‘Bet you didn’t have a

mouseupfrontwithyou.’

‘That’strue,’Carlysays.‘Ididn’thaveamouse.’Theysetoffwalkingdown

the road together. Carly’sheels hurt, and she feels likeshe might be about to blackout. But she doesn’t say so.Shedoesn’tevenlimp.Jensays,‘Rememberwhen

we were at that gas stationyesterday?’Carly feels a lurching in

her stomach, like something

tryingtocomeup.Asiftherewere something in there tolose.‘Yeah…’‘Remember that sign on

thedoor?’Carly has no idea where

thisisgoing.Thesheeparestillclanking

along in front of them downthe road, and now and thenthe yellow dog stops, turns,

and shoots them adisapprovinglook.‘Whataboutit?’‘ItsaiditwasMaytwelfth.

Butdidn’titalsosayadayoftheweek?’Carly suspects she knows

where this is headed now.And she doesn’t want to gothere. More precisely, shedoesn’twantJentogothere.‘I don’t remember,’ she

says,whichisalie.

‘WasitThursday?’‘Idon’tremember.’‘Because if it was

Thursday the twelfth, thenthisis—’‘Right. I know. Friday the

thirteenth.ButIdon’tthinkitsaidThursday.Andevenifitdid, there’s nothing we candoaboutitanyway.’‘Maybeweshouldgoback

tothatcar.’

‘No!’ Carly shouts, tooharshly, remembering thesnake.‘We’dbesaferthere.’‘Jen. It’s just a dumb

superstition.’‘But it can’t hurt to be

safe.’‘Can’t hurt? To spend the

whole day without food orwater?’‘Oh,’Jensays.‘Right.’

Carly notices Jen chewingonherlowerlip.

About half a mile later, Jensays, ‘Where’rewe supposedto get food and water outhere,anyway?’‘Goodquestion.’‘Isn’t itweird that I didn’t

thinkof thatday-of-the-weekthing the minute I read thesign?’‘Notreally,’Carlysays.

But it is. It’s very weird.ForJen.‘Normally I’d be all over

that,rightaway.’‘This is not normally,

though,’Carlysays.

Carly’sarmshurtsobadtheyfeel like theymightbe aboutto drop off at the shoulders.And maybe that would bebetter.Maybethatwouldhurtless.

They’re walking into thelow afternoon sun, holdingtheir spare shirts over theirheads – holding them out infront,likethevisorofahat–tokeepthesunofftheirfaces.Jen has a line of dried

blisters across her foreheadand over the bridge of hernose, cheekbone tocheekbone. Carly can onlyimagine what her own facemust look like. Her lips are

agonizingly chapped andsplit, and licking them onlymakesitworse.Lasttimesheopened her mouth to talk itmadethembleed.Butacoupleofgoodthings

can be said about this walk,down this road, on thisafternoon. The road isstraight. And it points west.Rightintotheslantingsun.Ontheirleftisarockface,

but it doesn’t provide any

shade, because it’s on thesouth side.On their right aresome homesteads, maybefouror five to amile.Off inthe distance behind that is along mesa, the facing sidehorizontally striped andwhittled into what looks likewavy,unevencolumns.Thickonthebottomandtaperingastheygoup.Jen stumbles. Catches

herself.

‘I can’t go much farther,’shesays.Carlycan’t,either.But she says, ‘Just a little,

then.’Justuntiltheycomeacross

some kind of option, thoughCarly can’t imagine whatoptionthatmightbe.‘Oh,shit,’Jensays.‘What?’‘Look.’

‘What?’Butshethinksshesees.‘Thisroadjustends.’‘No,itdoesn’t.’‘Yes,itdoes.Look.Itends

rightupthere.’‘I don’t think so,’ Carly

says.ButshealreadyknowsJen

isright.Shejustdoesn’twanther to be. Shewants to fightthe truthfulness of thatobservation. Fight it so

vigilantly that itwill give upandstopbeingthetruth.They reach the end of the

road.It’sstilltrue.Theystandinthewidedirt

turn-around, and look west.Goingcross-countrylooksallbut impossible. It’s toobrushy, and full of longgashes where the earth hascracked open into deepgullieswithsheersides.Onagood day it might be only

barelynavigable.Intheshapethey’rein,itmightaswellbeafifty-footbrickwall.Jen sways wildly, and

Carly catches her before shefallsrightoverontoherfaceinthedirt.‘Whoa,’ Jen says. ‘Got a

littledizzythere.’Carly walks them both

over to the rock face andclears away pebbleswith herboot, making them a spot to

sitdown.ShehelpsJendown.They sit with their backs upagainststone.They’re still in the sun.

There’s noway to get out ofthesun.Theydrapethespareshirts

over the left sides of theirheads.Acrosstheroadfromthem

is a tiny,modest brick housewith a few dilapidatedoutbuildings, anda tallmetal

wind turbine spinningsqueakily in the light breeze.And a pink trailer. An old,bubble-shaped trailer inbright hot pink, with ahorizontal white stripe. Itseems to have no tires orsuspension. The body of itsits right on the dirt. Thebrightness of the pink looksabsurdagainsttheearthtonesand man-made drabness allaroundit.

There’sanoldtruckparkedunder an open corrugatedcarport. Somebody must behome. Too bad. OtherwiseCarly’dlookforahose.Eventakeachanceonadogatthispoint.Neither girl speaks for a

long time. Maybe half anhour. Maybe only two orthreeminutes.Carly watches chickens

scratcharoundintheyard.A

few dozen of them. Andthere’s a skinny baby goattormenting a tabby cat.Bouncing around as if tryingtoenticethecattoplay.Allitgets him is one of those bigHalloween-cat hisses, withthe fully arched back andraisedhackles.‘Youseethat?’shesaysto

Jen.‘Yeah,’Jensaysflatly.

ItrattlesCarly,deeply,thatreply. Because it means Jensees, but doesn’t care.Doesn’t find it delightful.Orfunny.And that’s a very badsign.Theydon’ttalkforawhile

longer.Then Jen speaks, startling

Carly.‘Incasewedon’tgetoutof

here,there’ssomethingIneedtotellyou.’

‘Stop,’Carlysays,pressinga hand gently over Jen’smouth. ‘We’re getting out ofhere.We’re not going to diehere.’Thenshewishesshehadn’t

usedtheworddie.Shetakesherhandback.‘Your lip is bleeding,’ Jen

says. ‘People die when theydon’teatordrink.’‘Butwewon’t.’‘Howdoyoufigure?’

‘If we thought we weregonnadie,we’djustknockonthe door of that little houseand throw ourselves at thepeople’s mercy, and they’dcall the cops to come get usand we’d get locked up intothe child protective system.Butwewouldn’tdie.’Longsilence.Then Jen says, ‘I think

maybeit’stime.’‘No.’

‘What,then?’‘I’ll think of something,’

Carlysays.It’s meant to end the

conversation.Itdoesn’t.‘Maybewecouldknockon

the door and tell the peoplethe truth and say we’redesperateandweneedaglassofwater and some food, andmaybewecan trust themnottoturnusin.’

‘I don’t trust anybody,’Carly says. ‘Except Teddy. ItrustTeddycompletely.’A silence that feels

different from all the othersilences.‘You shouldn’t trust

anybody completely,’ Jensays.‘Whynot?’‘They’re still just people.

Theycanstillletyoudown.’

‘Teddy never let medown.’‘Ican’twalkanymore.’‘I know. We’ll just sleep

righthere.’‘No. I mean I can’t walk

anymore.’Carly pulls in a few deep

breaths and lets them outagain. Carefully. Care is soimportantnow.‘You’ll feel better when

we’vehadsomethingtoeat.I

knowyoufeel thatwaynow.Butwe’re just hungry.We’llgetasecondwind.’But, oddly, Carly doesn’t

feelhungryanymore.Empty.Shaky.Scrapedout.Lessthanreal.Butit’salmostasthoughshe’smovedbeyondhunger.‘And where are we

supposed togetsomething toeat?’‘Rightthere,’Carlysays.

She doesn’t know it untiltheexactmomentshesaysit.Shepointsacrosstheroad.‘What?Thechickens?’‘Yeah.Thechickens.’‘I’d rather die than kill a

chickenandeatitraw.’‘Thatwasn’twhatImeant.

Chickenslayeggs,right?’‘Can’targuewiththat.’‘So when it gets dark, I’ll

go over and get some of theeggs.’

‘Get?Youmeansteal?’‘Weneedthem.’‘There’snoaddress,Carly.

This road doesn’t have aname. The house doesn’thave a number. And youdon’t know what the eggscost.Soit’soverourline.It’snothonest.’‘It’slifeordeath.’‘How would we cook

them?’

‘We couldn’t. We’d havetoeatthemraw.’‘Imightvomit.’‘You could just swallow

themwhole,reallyfast.’‘Maybe.But—’‘Jen,eggsonlycostaround

three dollars a dozen. That’sonly…like…’‘Twenty-five cents each,’

Jensays.‘So if we have two each,

that’sonlyadollar.’

‘Maybe a dollar is a lot tothosepeople.’‘But chickens probably

don’tlaythesamenumberofeggs every day anyway.Maybe some days they layless.Sofoureggs…it’s justlikeadaywhentheylaidless.It’s a good plan, Jen. It’llwork.When it’sdark, I’ll gooverthere.’‘I’mgoingwithyou.’‘Youdon’thaveto.’

‘Yes, I do have to. Theremight be a dog. You’re nogoodwithdogs.’‘OK.Fine.Comewithme.

We’llget twoeggseach,andswallowthem,andtheninthemorning we’ll walk straightthrough west and find thehighway again. I think it’sclose. We’ll find a way towalk around those cracks.Somehow. Or jump overthem.And thenmaybewhen

we get to the highway andknow where we are again,maybewecanfindaplacetohole up for a few days. Youknow.Reallyrestup.Andusethe phone more. It’s a goodplan.It’llwork.’‘Not if it’s Friday the

thirteenth,itwon’t.’‘It’s not Friday the

thirteenth. I think that signsaid Tuesday. Tuesday thetwelfth.’

Theyfallsilentagain.Carly watches the young

goat pick his way back to adozen adult goats grazing onscrubbygrass in a corral.Hesqueezes between the railsandfindshismother.Hebuttsunderneath her belly like hewants to nurse. It makesCarly wonder if she couldfigureouthowtomilkagoat.If it’s even safe to approachone.

She lifts the shirt off herfaceandlookswest,tryingtojudge how long before thesun goes down. Looks likeanother two hours of lightbakingatleast.She leans back again,

closinghereyes.‘Jen,’ she says.Quietly. ‘I

have to tell you something. Ihave to tell you I’m reallysorryI’vebeenextragrumpy

with you lately. It’s just thatI’vebeensoscared.’She waits for a time. In

case Jen wants to answer.Apparentlynot.‘And I have to tell you

something else, too. Ishould’ve told you thisbefore, and I’m sorry. Teddydoesn’t live in Tulare anymore. He’s up in theredwoods in NorthernCalifornia.We’regonnahave

to find a way to call everyconstruction companyanywherenearthislittletowncalledTrinity.Butwe’ll findhim.Wewill.’Shewaits.Noreply.She lifts the shirtoff Jen’s

facetoseethatherlittlesisterhas already fallen asleep.Sittingup.Headbackagainsttherocks.Drymouthopen,asifhoping.

Just before sundown, an oldNative American womanwandersoutofthetinyhouse.She’s tiny, too. Short andround. She waddles slowlyaround the yard with abucket, strewing somethingfor the chickens. Some kindoffeed.Carly knows the woman

will spot them sitting acrossthe road. But there’s nothing

shecanthinktodoaboutthat.Soshejustholdsstill.There’sapatterntotheold

woman’s strewing, sherealizes. She’s leading thechickens along. Dropping afew bits of something good,waitingfor themtocomegetit,thendroppingmorefurtheron. Moving toward anoutbuilding.Ahenhouse,sherealizes.

Withasinkinginherbelly,Carly gets the picture. Thechickens are being put awayfor the night. But maybethat’s better, she thinks.Because where will she findtheireggsoutsideinthedark?No, this isOK.This isgood.They’ll be on their nests allnight, with the eggsunderneaththem.Thiswillbeeasy.

Come nightfall, she’llsimply break into thehenhouse.Thewoman turnsherhead

in all directions beforelocking up the hens. Carlygoes cold, waiting for thewoman’s eyes to stop onthem.Waiting to be spotted.Itneverhappens.Thewomanlooks right past them. As ifthey’re not here. Whichseemsodd.

Then she waddles backintothehouse.Just for a moment, Carly

plays with the idea thatmaybethey’renothere.

Anearlyfullmoonrises,justone angled edge off round,yellow and breathtakinglyhuge at the top of the mesa.Carly can’t decide if all thatmoonlight will be a goodthing or not.Makes it easier

to see. But also makes iteasiertobeseen.Butitseemsshe’sinvisiblenow.Anyway.So maybe it doesn’t evenmatter.

She’s halfway across thewoman’s yard whensomething grabs at her shirt.She jumps, and lets out anear-silent scream. A merepuff of air when all is saidanddone.

She whirls around to seeJenatherheels.‘I told you I’m coming

withyou,’Jenwhispers.‘Why did you even wake

up?’‘’Cause youweren’t there.

You’realways there.Even inmysleepIknewyouweren’tthere.’Carly puts a finger to her

lips.

They creep around to thehenhouse door, but it’s pad-locked.‘Shit,’Jenhisses.‘We’llfindaway.’Bent over and scuffling,

theymovearoundthesideofthe building. Carly examinesthe windows to see if theycanbeopened.Buttheydon’teven appear to be built thatway.

‘Look at this,’ Jenwhispers.She motions Carly to a

cornerofthehenhousewherethe wood has rotted awaynear the dirt line, leaving aspace maybe two feet highanda footandahalfwideatthebottom.A triangleof rot.The gap has been patchedwithchickenwire.Carly crouches down and

examines the wire patch

closely. It’s attached withthose big staples you shootfrom a staple gun. She grabsone edge and pulls hard.Three or four staples popfree, and the wire breaks atthosethatholdfirm.Shepullsagain, and then the wire isattachedatonesideonly.Shecanpeelitbacklikeadoor.‘Can you fit through

there?’shewhisperstoJen.

‘Sure. Easy.You can, too.There’slotsofroom.’Jen sinks to her belly and

shimmies through, leavingher backpack outside in thedirt.ThenshereachesahandouttoCarly.Carly strips off her pack

and falls to her belly,shivering at the thought ofsnakes. She inches throughthespace,but,halfwayin,herjeansgethunguponthewire.

She has to shift into reverseand move completely outagain, then bend the wiremuchfartherback,outofherway.Herhipsjustbarelymakeit

through the rot triangle. Jenhastograbholdofherhandsand pull while she turnsmostlysideways.Now they’re both inside,

but Carly doesn’t like the

feeling one bit, becausethere’snofastescape.Shelooksaround.The hens are dozing in

strawnests in two layers, thelower layer on the hard-packed dirt floor, the secondonashelfatwaistlevel.Theireyes are closed, headsdrooped downward. Theyeither don’t know they’rebeing invaded or they don’tcare.

The big yellow moonshines strong through thewindows,bathingtheroominlight. Nearly as strong asdaylight, but seemingly inblack and white, like thenegativeof anoldphoto.Allthis light’s not good, shethinks.Shemotions toJen togetdown,wheretheycan’tbeseenthroughthewindows.She crawls on her hands

andkneestothefirstnestand

reaches under the bird’swarm,featherybelly.Thehensquawksasharpcomplaint.‘Shhhh,’Carlysays.There’snoegg.She crawls to four more

nests.Thehensonlyscold inquiet clucks. Then she findsone. An egg! She wraps herhand around it and pulls itfree. Looks at it in themoonlight. It’s brown, andmedium size. It’s the most

beautiful thing she canremember seeing. It lookslikesalvation.‘I got one,’ she hisses to

Jen.‘I got one, too,’ Jen

whispersback.‘Butit’sreallylittle.’ Jen examines the littleegg in her palm. ‘It’s sort oflight green. Is that normal?Ordoesthatmeanit’sbad?’‘JustthecoloroftheshellI

think. Hurry up. Two more

andthenlet’sgetoutofhere.’She wonders briefly how

they’ll shimmy through therotten triangle withoutbreaking the eggs. Maybethey should eat them beforetheygo.A loud, metallic click

nearlystopsherheart.The henhouse door swings

open with a spooky creak.Carly jumps up and spinsaroundandthenshe’sstaring

down the muzzle of ashotgun.Ontheothersideofthe weapon is the old nativewoman.The old woman’s spotted

brown hand is so clear in abeam of moonlight, strongandunbentasshechambersaround with a grave, deadly‘shuck-shuck’ sound. Itsounds like death. Like thelast sound you hear beforedying.

Jen lets out a sound,halfway between sucking inherbreathandscreaming,andthe woman spins and turnsthe gun on Jen. As if shehadn’t known Jen was thereuntilJengasped.‘Who goes there?’ she

asks. Her voice is accented.Strong for awoman her age.‘Nameyourself!Standclosertogether!’

Jen runs to Carly so fastthatsheslamsintoher,nearlyknockingherdown.‘That Fred Na’akabayo’s

boys?’Carly’s heart is pounding

so hard she thinks it mightkillher.Literally.Maybeit’lljust break, and stop. Sheopens her mouth, but she’stooscared to speak.The firstsound just cracks, andcomes

out a cross between a littlesqueakandnothingatall.‘Speak up for yourself!’

theoldwomanbarks.She looks like one of her

eggs, thebrownone.Both inshape and color. Her skin istheexactsamecolorofbrownas the egg in Carly’strembling hand. Her fluffywhite hair is pulled straightback.Her cheeks are fat anddrooping, deep diagonal

caverns on either side of hermouthcastingshadowsinthemoonlight. Her eye-lidsdroopdownontheoutside,sofar theymustmakeithardtosee.‘No,ma’am.We’re…just

… two girls. Just passingthrough.’‘Shouldofknown,’theold

woman says. ‘Even Fred’srotten boys ain’t rottenenough for this. They got

morerespect than tocome inmyhenhouseatnight.You’reAnglo, ain’t you? SoundAnglo.’‘Anglo?’‘White.’‘Yes, ma’am. We’re

white.’‘Well, don’t that just

figure. Got some neighborsthinkthereain’tnosuchthingas a good Anglo, and here Ialwaysargue for judgin’ ’em

one Anglo at a time. That’swhat I get for bein’ such alib’ral thinker. One thing Ican say for every Anglo Iever met – they got norespect. Don’t respect theirworld. Don’t respect eachother. And they sure as helldon’trespectnoWakapi.’Carly breathes, disjointed,

yetsurenowthatsheandJenare not about to die. Sheknows it’s bad. But not how

bad. But she knows it’s notdeath. Meanwhile shewonders why she had to tellthe woman, in all thismoonlight, that they arewhite.Andnotboys.‘Wakapi,’ Carly says. ‘I

thought this was Navajoreservation.’‘It was, but now it ain’t.

Navajo Nation goes allaroundHopiandWakapilikea donut, but with two donut

holes. So whatever directionyou come from, you was onNavajo land. But now youain’t. Now you’re on myland. Now you’re in theprivate henhouse of DeloresWatakobie,whereyougotnoearthly right to be. I don’ttake no truck with Anglos,butIdon’tneed’em,neither.I sure’s hell don’t need notrouble from ’em. I don’tcome toyourhouse and take

what’s yours. I never donenothin’toyouoryourpeople.And this’s how you pay mebackforthatrespect.’‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ Carly

says. And she means itsincerely.But Delores Watakobie

huffs. ‘That ain’t hard, to besorry. That don’t amount tomuch.’‘We’re starving. Literally.

Starving. We’ve been

walkingfifteenmilesormorea day. Sometimes twenty.Andwegotlostouthere,andwe didn’t have anything toeat or drink, and we didn’twanttodie.’Delores Watakobie does

not lower the shotgun. Shecontinues to sight down thebarrelofitasshespeaks.Carly can hear Jen quietly

cryingbesideher.

‘Hadnochoice.Thatwhatyou’resaying?’‘Yes, ma’am. That’s what

we’resaying.’‘We? I only hear one of

youopenyourmouthsofar.’‘That’swhatwe’re saying,

ma’am,’ Jen squeaks, sobsevidentinhervoice.‘You didn’t have a choice

toknockonmydoorandsayyou was hungry and thirstyandnearabouttodie?’

Carly doesn’t answer.There’s too much to explainintheanswer.‘’Cause if you had, here’s

what I’d of said. I’d of said,“You girls want twoscrambled eggs each withyour fry bread? Or can youhandle three?” But that ain’tthesituationwegotourselvesin now, is it? That choice iswateroverthedamnow,ain’tit?’

‘We’ll just gonow,’Carlysays,backingonestepaway.‘Noyouwill not,’Delores

Watakobie says, raising themuzzleof theshotgunalittlehigher.Now Carly starts to cry,

too.Delores says, ‘You could

dome a favor and try not toact like it’s so damn mean,me havin’ a problem withthis.’

‘We didn’t take anything,’Carlysays,half-sobbing.‘Weeachhaveanegginourhandbutwe’llputthemback.’‘Yes,youwill.’Both girls set their egg

carefullyonthestraw.‘So there’snoharmdone,’

Carlysays.‘Right?’‘Let’s do us some

supposin’. Shall we?Supposin’ I aim this hereshotgun at a place right

between your eyes andsqueeze off a shot. Andsupposin’Iain’tsogoodwiththis gun, except I am anddon’tyoudoubt it, butwe’rejust supposin’. And I let thekick raise the shot and allthem pieces of buckshot sailclean over your head. Noharm done, right? You callthe police, but I say I didn’tdo a thing wrong. Causethere’snoharmdone.Right?’

Carly only swallows hard.Doesn’tspeak.‘Answer!’Deloresbarks.Jensobsharder.‘No, ma’am. It’d still be

attemptedmurder.But tryingto steal eggs isn’t as bad astryingtomurder.’‘Never said it was. But it

ain’t as good as respect andhonestbehavior,neither.Andnothin’toyourcreditthatyoudidn’tget cleanaway.That’s

mygoodearsalone.Noneofyourowndoin’.’Jen pipes up for the first

time, at least voluntarily.‘Carly is real honest,’ shesays. ‘Shekeepsabookwithanything we took in it andhow much it costs and theaddress tosend themoney toassoonaswecan.’‘Thatafact?’Deloressays.

‘And where was you gonna

sendmyeggmoney?What’smyaddress?’Bythetimetheoldwoman

finishes these questions, Jenhasdeflatedintoasquat.Butthe old woman keepsspeaking to a spot above herhead. She never lowers hergazetowhereJenishoveringnow.Something breaks through

inCarly’smind.Thingsmakesense now. Delores

Watakobiecan’tsee.Orcan’tseemuch.Carly raises her arms,

slowly, silently, and wavesthemaround inbig sweepingarcsaboveherhead.‘Uh huh,’ Delores says.

‘That’s what I thought. Plus,bet you ruined my chickenwire patch. Didn’t you? Betyoubentitortoreitofftogetthrough, cause there ain’t noother place to get through.

Andnowthecoyotes’llcome’ngetmyhens, at least till Ican get Alvin or Virginia tocomepatchitupforme,andIcould lose half my hensbefore the sunrise. Andanother thing, little missy. Imay not see so good, but Ican see good enough to seeyouwavin’yourarmsaroundlikeadangfool.’Carly sinks to the hard-

packed dirt floor. Thinking,

It’s over. She doesn’t knowexactly what ‘It’s over’ willlooklikeinthiscase.Butsheknowsit’strue.‘What’re you gonna do

with us?’ she asks the oldwoman.‘What do you think I

shoulddowithyou?’‘Letusgo?’‘Notonthelist.’‘What’sonthelist?’

‘Keep you here tillmorning and then turn youover to the tribal police, orkeepyouhereafewdaysandmakeyouworkitoff.’‘We’ll work!’ Jen shouts.

Hopefully.‘Makethataweek.’‘A week!’ Carly says

bitterly.‘That’stoolong.Wedidn’t do enough harm to behereworkingforaweek!’

‘Take it or leave it,’DeloresWatakobiesays.

PartTwoSeemsSoLong

Ago

Tulare,17December

Jen walked into Carly’sbedroom with a history text-book,pushedapileofCarly’sclothes off the corner chairand on to the rug, andplunkedherself down. Itwas

athingoutofplace,andthensome.Carly glared for a time,

thinking that would beenough. But Jen neverbotheredtolookup.Carly cleared her throat

withexaggeratedvolume.Nothing.‘Excuseme…’Jen looked up, but not all

the way. Not enough toactually break eye contact

withthetextofherbookandtransfer thatcontact toCarly.‘Yeah?’‘Whatareyoudoing?’‘Reading.’‘Whyinmyroom?’‘Teddy’s putting up the

Christmaslights.’‘And that’s supposed to

explainithow?’‘Rightoutsidemybedroom

window.’‘So?’

‘So … it’s very …distracting.’‘Don’tlook.’‘Hekeepstalkingtome.’‘Poorbaby.’‘He’s trying to tell me all

those same corny jokesagain.’‘Ilikehisjokes.’‘Nobody likes his jokes.

Besides, I’m trying to studyformyhistorytest.’‘It’sChristmasvacation.’

‘Not forever, it isn’t.Andnot everybody putseverything off to the lastminute.Likeyoudo,Carly.’‘Why not study

downstairs?’‘Thiswascloser.’‘Right. It’s also mine.

That’s why we call it myroom.’‘Whydoeshehave toput,

like, ninety per cent of the

decorations right outside mybedroomwindow?’‘Um.Maybe because your

window faces the street?Where people will actuallysee them? And my roomfaces a vacant lot? Wherenobodywillseethem?’‘You want me to go

downstairs?Fine.I’llgo.’ButJendidn’tmove.‘No,nevermind.It’sOK.I

want to go talk to Teddy

anyway.’

Teddy was on a ladder justoutside the window. Hedidn’t see Carly come in,because he was lookingdown, his head lowered,untanglingastringofcoloredlights.ItseemedtoCarlythatthe untangling would bebetterdoneonthegrassatthebottomoftheladder.ButthatwasTeddy.Hedidthingsthe

most direct way. Not alwaystheeasiestorsafest.A half-drunk brown bottle

of beer rested on the sill ofJen’sopenwindow.Carly walked closer,

noticing the beginnings of asmallroundbaldspotneartheback of the top of Teddy’sscalp.Hishairwasalwayssoshaggyandlongthatthespothad never been noticeablebefore. Besides, he was tall.

How was Carly supposed toseethetopofhishead?‘You need a haircut,’ she

said.Teddy jumped a mile and

grabbed the ladderwith bothhands, dropping the tangledmassoflights.‘Geez Louise, kiddo! You

tryingtokillme?’‘Sorry.Didn’tknowyou’d

besojumpy.’

‘I thought there wasnobody in there. Where’sJen? She was here a minuteago.’‘Shebailed.She’sstudying

her history in my room. Shesays you were distractingher.’‘I was telling her some

jokes.’‘Jenhatesjokes.’‘Itwasmybestmaterial.’

‘That explains why sheleft,allright.’Teddylookedrightintoher

face.Carlyexaminedthelittlecrinkly laugh lines at thecorners of his eyes.Thewaythey deepened when he wasamused.‘You’regettingtobemore

like your mother every day.And I don’t mean that in agoodway. Talk about a chipofftheoldblock…’

‘And I’m telling her youcalledheranoldblock.’‘Only if you want to see

mespeed-packmybags.’And, on that line, nothing

was funny any more. Acouple of months ago, itmight have been funny. Butsince Carly’s mom had beenworkinglongerhours,stayingout late, acting like she hadbetterthingstodothanTeddy

…hangingoutwith thatguy…‘I don’t want you to go,

Teddy,’ Carly said, shiftingthe whole energy of theconversation.‘I was kidding. It was a

joke.’ Again with the broadsmile,thelaughlines.‘Right.Iknewthat.’‘I’m going down for my

lights.’

Carly walked to thewindow and watched himclimb down. Watched thewaythesmilefadedfromhisfacetheminutehethoughtnoonewaswatching.Shewaited, expecting him

to untangle the lights beforeclimbingtheladderagain.Hedidn’t. He just threw themover his shoulder andmarchedbackup.

‘You didn’t forget aboutmydrivinglesson.Right?’‘Driving lesson. No. Did

notforget.WhydoyouthinkI’malreadydrinkingsoearlyin the afternoon? Gettingready for your drivinglesson.’‘So…today?’Before he could even

answer, Jen shouted in fromtheotherroom.FromCarly’sroom.

‘Nottoday!’‘Why not?’ Carly shouted

back.‘BecauseIhavethatsoccer

game.’‘Oh,’ Teddy said. ‘That’s

true.IhavetotakeJentohersoccergame.’‘Why is her soccer game

more important than mydrivinglesson?’‘Because soccer games

have dates and times. Soccer

playershavetoshowupwhenall the other soccer playersshowup.Driving lessons areanytime.’‘True,’ Carly said, more

than a little resentfulnessbleeding through in her tone.True, but it didn’t kill thefeeling that Jen was alwaysthepriorityinthishouse.‘Butyou shouldn’t drive her.Because you already starteddrinking.’

‘Onebeer.’‘Three.’There had been two more

empty bottles down on thekitchen table. Carly hadrecycledthemforhim.‘Ibowtothebeercounter,’

Teddy said, with a sweepinggestureofonearm.Christmaslights swung from his hand.Clattered against the sidingonthehouse.

‘Let me drive us to thesoccergame.’‘It’ll be dark. You can’t

driveafterdarkonalearner’spermit.’‘Not on the way there, it

won’t.Letmedrivethere.’‘If your mom says it’s

OK.’‘She won’t be home from

work yet. She won’t evenknow.’

Teddy frowned. Pinchedhislipsinaweirdway.Thenhe threw her one end of thestring of lights. Tossed themright through the openwindow.‘Here, help me untangle

this.OK, fine, you can drivethere. But if she finds out,you have to tell her you toldmeyouweresureitwouldbeOK with her. And you cantaketheheatfromher.Ican’t

taketoomuchmoreheatfromher,Carly.AnymoreandI’llhave to get out of thekitchen.’That cooled the

conversation.Theyuntangledthe lights without anotherwordspoken.

‘Oh. My. God,’ Jen said,stopping in her tracks in thedriveway. ‘Tell me this isn’thappening.’

‘Sorry,’ Carly said,slipping behind the wheel ofTeddy’scar.The passenger’s-side door

was still hanging wide open,the seat tipped forward toallow Jen to climb in theback. Which Jen was stillrefusingtodo.‘Teddy…’Jenwhined.‘It’ll be fine, Jen. Just get

in.’

‘Great. I have to choosebetween missing a soccergameorendingmyownlife.’‘You’re such a drama

queen,’Carlysaid.It was different when you

were behind the wheel. Theinside of the car lookeddifferent.Thewordsyousaidto your kid sister soundeddifferent.Everythingchangedwhenyougottodrive.‘Teddy…’

‘She’s half-right, Jen.Youare a little bit of a dramaqueen.Now,areyoucoming?OrshouldCarlyandIjustgoto your soccer game andcheer for everybody else onyourteam?’‘Aren’t you the goalie?’

Carlyasked.‘Won’ttheotherteam score an awful lot ofgoals?’Jen sighed and plunked

herselfintothebackseatwith

an overblown sigh.‘Goalkeeper,’shesaid.Sheslammedtheseatback

into place much harder thannecessary.‘No destroying my car,’

Teddysaid.‘Goalkeeper,’ Carly said.

‘Right.Mypointexactly.’‘Yousaidgoalie.’‘Which is short for

goalkeeper.’

‘You don’t call themgoaliesinsoccer.’‘I’llwritethatonmyhand.

That way I can never makesuch an earth-shatteringmistakeeveragainaslongasIlive.’Carly started the engine.

And all was right with theworld.‘Put your left-hand turn

signal on,’ Teddy said. ‘And

lookinthesidemirrorbeforeyoupullawayfromthecurb.’‘Wait!’ Jen shouted. ‘I

have to put my seatbelt on.It’s all that’s standingbetweenmeanddeath.’‘I know to put on my

signal, Teddy,’Carly said. ‘Iknow to look in the mirror.You think I wasn’t payingattention on my first twolessons?’

‘Well,youobviouslydon’tneedme,’Teddysaid.‘SoI’lljust takeanap.Shutup, Jen.Don’tsaywhatyouwerejustabouttosay.Itwasajoke.’‘Hmm,’Jensaid.‘I’llhave

to remember that. “Shut up.Don’tsaywhatyouwerejustabout tosay.” I thinkI’llusethat next time you decide togo over your corny jokeroutines.’

Carlyshiftedintodriveandpulled away from the curb.Fairlysmoothly.‘Stopsignattheendofthe

block,’Teddysaid.‘Right. Because I’ve only

lived on this block for threeyears. I only walk past thatstopsigneveryday.’‘Those jokes are my best

material,’Teddysaid.

When Carly pulled into theparking lot of the middleschool,neartheathleticfield,it was almost dark. But notquite. And a couple of guysfrom her school were there.Popular guys. Dean Hannishand Jerry DeVries. Whichwas weird, because … well,this was a soccer game fortwelve-year-olds.Whywouldthey want to see it? Carlywouldn’t have been caught

deadatthemiddleschoolifit

hadn’t involved a chance todrive.Dean Hannish looked at

Carly.Lookedrightinather.Carly’s face immediatelywent hot, which probablytranslatedtobeetred.Deanwaved.Carlywavedback.ShebarelyknewDean.HepeeledawayfromJerry

and walked right in her

directionasshesettledthecarintoaparkingspace.Carly hit Teddy on the

arm, harder than she meantto.‘Howdoyourolldownthis

window?’shewhispered.Teddy said nothing at all.

But it was the look on hisface. The hint of a self-satisfied grin. He reachedoverherandpressedabutton,

and the window powereddown.‘Shutup,Teddy.’‘Ididn’tsayaword.’‘Dean,’ Carly said. Too

loud. And definitely notsmoothlyenough.‘Hey.’He was more clean-cut

than most of the guys Carlyfound herself crushing on.Hishairwas short enough toget him into the military.Blond, and barely long

enough to lie down flat.Whichwas aminus. But thepiercing light-blue eyeswereaplus.Alongwith thathuge,blockyjaw.‘Ididn’tknowyoudrove,’

Deansaid.It struckCarly for the first

time that he was impressed.By her. She casually leanedher arm on the edge of theopen window. No wordscame out of her mouth,

though.Butmaybehewouldthinkshehadn’tintendedany.‘Thisyourcar?’‘Uh …’ She might have

said yes, if the owner of thecarhadn’tbeentwofeetawayand staring at her with hislaugh lines crinkling. ‘No.It’sTeddy’scar.’It could have been worse.

She could have had to say‘my mother’s’ or ‘myfather’s’.ButTeddywas just

Teddy. She didn’t even havetosaywhohewastoher.Shecould have adult friends forall Dean knew. Besides, hermother’s car was adorkmobile.Teddy’s carwastenorfifteenyearsold,butitwasaFirebird.Firebirdswerealways cool, as best Carlycould figure. The older theygot,thecoolertheygot.Dean leaned down and

peeredacrosshertoTeddy.

‘Niceride,man.’‘Thanks.’Just then Jen kicked the

back of Teddy’s seat, hard,with the bottomof both feet,rockingthewholecar.‘Let.Me.Out.’Jensaid.‘OK, see you in there,’

Deansaid.He turned and wandered

offagain.Carly sat there, watching

himwalkaway.

Next thing she knew, Jenwas standing in front of theopen driver’s window,snapping her fingers in frontofCarly’seyesasiftoreleaseherfromatrance.‘EarthtoCarly.’Carly didn’t even tell Jen

to shut up. She was justhappy enough with themoment that she didn’t needto.

Itwasnearlyhalfwaythroughthe game, and Jen hadn’tallowedonesinglegoaltogetpasther.Now it was Jen’s fourth

andmostdramaticblock.Thekind that forcedher to throwherwholebodyupintotheairand sideways to get in frontoftheball.Butgetinfrontofitshedid.Teddy leapt to his feet,

belting out a chorus of

whoopingnoises.Jen picked herself up,

dusted off her shorts, andglanced over her shoulderuncomfortably. In Teddy’sdirection.‘What was that?’ Teddy

askedCarly,plunkinghimselfback on the bleacher seatagain.‘I think that was Jen’s

ever-so-tactfulway of sayingyou’reembarrassingher.’

‘You’d think she’dappreciate a littleenthusiasm.’‘You’dthink.’‘She’sjustsuchahellofan

athlete. I’ve never seenanythinglikeit.’‘Seriously?Youneversaw

Pelé?OrDavidBeckham?’‘Ididn’tmeanthat.Imeant

forsomeoneherage.’Then Carly felt a tiny but

verydistinctstingontheback

of her ankle. She pulled herfoot up reflexively. Rubbedthe spot. Then, not knowingwhat else to do, she put herfootbackdownagain.Not three seconds later, it

happenedagain.Thistimeonthebackoftheothercalf.She bent over at the waist

and peered under her seat,between tiers of thebleachers.DeanandJerryandsome other boy she didn’t

knowwereunderthere.Inthedim.Toward theback. In theshadows created by thebleacher seats, hiding themfrom the stadium lights.Smoking cigarettes. Deanwas winding up to throwanotherpebbleather.Atfirstshethoughthewas

being mean, and it twistedinto her stomach, the way itdid when boys teased her atschool. But then he made a

hook with his index fingerand beckoned her. He wastryingtogetherattention,sherealized.Hewastryingtogethertocomedown.‘I’llberightback,’shetold

Teddy.Teddy gave her another

one of those looks. Then hebent down to seewhatCarlyhadjustseen.Hestraightenedup and gave her the lookagain.

‘Try not to come backpregnant.’‘Haha.’‘That was not my best

material.’‘Which explains why that

onewasactuallyfunny.’Carlydidn’twaitforhimto

answer.Shejusttrotteddownthe bleacher steps, along theaisle, ducked under, andjoinedthethreeboys,nursingan unfamiliar feeling. Like

actually being part ofsomething.‘Hey,’Deansaid.The other two boys just

stared into space. Stared andotherwise pretty muchignoredher.‘Hey,’Carlysaidback.Carlysatwiththem,cross-

legged in the dirt. Theyformed a sort of raggedcircle. Carly heard a suddencheer come up from the

crowd, and wondered if Jenhadcommittedanotheractofamazingathleticism.‘Want a smoke?’ Dean

asked, extending the pack inherdirection.‘No,thanks,’Carlysaid.‘It

justgivesmeaheadache.’Then she realized how

incredibly stupid that musthave sounded. And how sheshould have just taken one.Let it burn in her hand. Or,

better yet, she should havesaidshe’djusttakeonehitofDean’s. That would havebeen … well … better. Shecouldn’tfit thewordstohowmuch better it would havebeen, andwhy. But it wouldhave been more like theyknew each other. Maybealmost more like …boyfriendandgirlfriend.Then it dawned on her. It

wasn’ttoolate.

‘I’ll take a hit of yours,though,’ she said, soundingmore confident than she felt.‘Iwon’tgetaheadachefromonehit.’Deansmiled.Itwasasmile

she felt ina lowplace inhergut.Scarybutnice.Heheldthecigaretteinher

direction. Their handstouched when she took itfromhim.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Don’ttake this thewrongway, but…whatareyoudoinghere?’‘Mydad’sthecoach.’‘Seriously? Your dad

coachesmykidsister?’‘Whichoneisyoursister?’‘Um. The one you saw in

thebackseat.’‘No, I mean what’s her

name? What position doessheplay?’‘Thegoalkeeper.Jen.’

Imagine if she’d said‘goalie’. How humiliatingwould thathavebeen?Everynowand then, thingsworkedout.‘Oh. Jen. Yeah. My dad

saysshe’shisbestplayer.’‘So … you go to all his

games?’The other two boys

snickered, and Jen didn’tknowwhy.Shetookahitoffthe cigarette. Barely inhaled,

so she wouldn’t humiliateherself by coughing thesmokeupagain.‘Naw, I almost never do,’

Dean said. ‘But we’re tryingtogetmydadtoletusgoupto the cabin. So I’m playingthemodelson.’‘Actually,’ Jerry DeVries

said, ‘we’re trying to getDean’sdadnottogo.’‘Idon’tgetit,’Carlysaid.

Another rush of crowdnoise.Clappingandcheering.Carly glanced down at thecigarette in the half-light,vaguely surprised to see itstillburninginherhand.‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Guessyou

wantthisback.’‘Naw,it’sfine,’Deansaid.

‘Keep it.’ He shook anotheroutofthepackandlititwithan expensive-looking silverlighter. ‘Usually hewon’t let

usgouptothecabinwithoutadultsupervision.We’reonacrusade to convince himwe’rematureenough.’He shifted back slightly,

which brought his face intobetter light. Into a slat ofstadium lights, filtering infrom between the tiers. Hiseyes locked on her, burningtheirwayin.Itlitupthatspotinhergutagain.Aweirdmixofexcitementandfear.

‘You should come,’ hesaid. Suddenly, andenthusiastically.As if hehadonly that moment thought ofit. But, for some unknownreason, Carly didn’t feel thatwas the case. ‘You shouldtotallycome.’‘Not sure if my mom

wouldletme.’‘Tellherthere’llbeparents

there.’‘Icouldtry.’

‘It’sgonnabegreat.Threeguys and two girls so far.See?Weneedyoutomakeitperfect.It’supintheSierras.Noteventhatfaradrive,butit’s like another world. It’sright by this little lake. Itmight even be snowing upthere.Wemightneed to takemy dad’s four-wheel drive.Everseensnowbefore?’Shehad.Butnotforalong

time. Not since her last

grandparent died. She neveransweredthequestion.‘When?’‘Dayaftertomorrow.We’ll

be back the day beforeChristmasEve.’‘IcouldaskTeddy.Maybe

he’d back me up with mymom.He’sreallycool.’‘Ask him,’ Dean said.

‘Andthencallme.I’minthebook.’

Carly sat still a momentlonger,not sure if thatmeantsheshouldgoaskTeddyrightnow.Noonesaidaword.‘OK,’ she said, pulling to

herfeet.‘I’llgoaskhim.’Itwasn’tuntilshe’dpicked

her way back out into thelight from the stadium thatCarly realized she was stillholding the cigarette high inthe crook of her first twofingers.She lookedup to see

Teddy watching her. Shedroppedthecigaretteintothedirt and ground it under herheel.She climbed back up to

where he was sitting. Thecrowd exploded intoshriekingandapplauseagain,nearly deafening her. Shecraned her neck to see whatJen,or Jen’s team,haddone.But itwas too late.The playwasover.

She plunked herself downnext to Teddy. So close thather hip accidentally bumpedupagainsthis.‘I didn’t know you

smoked,’hesaid.‘Idon’t.’He leaned in close and

sniffed her breath, but saidnothing.She opened her mouth to

ask him about the lake, thecabin,thenlosthernerve.She

would seem too anxious, itwould seem too important, ifshe asked him now. Sheshould wait until later, andbring it up almost as anafterthought. Like it was sominor, she’d let it slip hermind.Likeitwasnothing,really.

Almostnothingatall.

‘I call shotgun!’ Jen shoutedonthewaytothecar.

Anditwasalreadytoolate.Carly turned her best

pleading gaze on Teddy.‘Seriously? You’re going tomakemesitintheback?’‘Come on. You drove on

the way here. Besides. Shecalledit.’Heopenedthedriver’s-side

door and folded the seatforward. Carly climbed inwithatheatricalsigh.

‘I was good,’ Jen said,fasteningherseatbelt.‘You were amazing,’

Teddysaid.Carly only stared out the

windowas thecarpulledoutof thedirt lot.ShesawDeanonthecorner,andduckedherhead down. So he wouldn’tseehersittingintheback.‘I’m starving,’ Jen said.

‘Whattimeisit?’

Teddylookedathiswatch.He wore it on his right arm,becausehewasleft-handed.‘Littleafterseventhirty.’‘Thatexplainsit.Let’sstop

forpizza,’Jensaid.‘Nope.’‘Teddy…’‘I made my world-famous

spaghettiandmeatballs.Well.Imean… I didn’tmake thespaghetti yet.But Imade thesauce from scratch. And the

meatballs. So that’s whatwe’rehaving,’Carly’s eyes shifted away

from the dark streets andfound the back of Teddy’shead.Somethingwascomingtogetherinherbrain.‘Mom’sfavorite,’shesaid.‘Yup.’‘She’llbebummedshehas

toworklate.’‘Maybeshecangetaway.’Thenitallclicked.

‘Oh,myGod!’Carly said.‘Iknowwhatdaythisis.Thisisyouranniversary.’‘Of what?’ Jen shot back.

‘They’renotmarried.’‘Tellher,Teddy.’‘It’snothing.’‘It’s not nothing. It’s the

anniversary of when youmoved in with us. Twoyears.’‘It’snotabigdeal.’

‘It is a big deal. It’s, like,twoorthreetimeslongerthanany of those other loserslasted. And you’re the firstone who’s not a loser. It’s averybigdeal.Doessheknowyou’re making spaghetti andmeatballs? With extraParmesan?’Carly’smotherlikedlotsof

Parmesan.Firstnoanswer.Foralong

time.

ThenTeddysaid,‘Yeah.’He made the word sound

short. Even more so than itnormallywould.‘We should go by the bar.

Tell her to get somebody tocoverhershift.’‘She’ll come home if she

can.’‘Weshouldgogether.’‘Look. Carly. With my

backgivingmetroubleagain,andall theworkI’vemissed,

she’s doing everybody afavor picking up extra shifts.Weneedthemoney.’‘But—’‘Dropit,Carly.’Itmade something burn in

Carly’s stomach, and behindhereyes.Teddyalmostneversnappedather.Shedecidedtotalkoverit.‘YouthinkMomwouldlet

megouptoacabinonalake,up in the Sierras, with some

friends fromschool?There’llbeparentsthere.’‘Boy-typefriends?’‘Both. Besides, what

difference does it make?There’llbeparentsthere.’‘Andwhat difference does

itmake if I think shewill ornot?Howdoesmyopiniononthematterhelpyouwithher?’‘You could put in a good

wordforme.’

He glanced halfway overhisshoulderather,thenbackattheroad.‘Carly … you’re a smart

girl.Youcan’tpossiblythinkI can make your mom doanything she doesn’twant todo.IfIcould,wewouldn’tbeeatingspaghettiandmeatballswithouthertonight.’And that shut down the

conversation. And it stayedshut.Allthewayhome.

Carly sat in front of asteaming plate of spaghettiand meatballs. There wereflowers on the table, clustersof little miniature pink rosesand a spray of fuchsia, bothfrom their front yard. Andtwo long white candles intheir late grandmother’santique silver candleholders.It struck Carly as almostunbearablysad.

Jen plunked down hardintoherchairandgrabbedupher fork. Without evenwaiting for Teddy, who wasserving up his own dinner atthestove.‘Iamsostarved,’Jensaid.Thenshestuffedhermouth

with the equivalent of aboutthreebites’worth.‘Well, don’t wait for me,’

Teddysaid.‘Justdigrightin.’

The sarcasm sailed wellover Jen’s head. She justnodded,hermouthtoofulltoanswer.When she’d managed to

swallow, Jen said, ‘This isbetter thanpizza,Teddy. I’msorry I gave you a hard timeaboutpizza.’Carly watched Teddy’s

reaction,thelookonhisface,nursing an unpleasant anduncomfortable feeling that

shehadnevermadeTeddyashappyasJenjusthad.She wound spaghetti

around her fork and took abite.‘You’re a good cook,

Teddy,’ she said, her mouthstillfull.Teddy smiled as he sat

down. But it still couldn’tholdacandletowhatJenhadsaid.NothingCarlysaideverdid.

Carlyopenedhermouthtosay, ‘I can’t believe Momdidn’t come home for this.’Sheactuallyalmostsaid that.Butshestoppedherselfjustintime. The last thing shewantedwasforTeddytosnapatheragain.They ate in silence for

whatseemedlikealongtime.Then Teddy said, ‘I’d be

willing to tell her I met theboyandheseemslikeagood

kid.Even though it’sa slightexaggeration.’Carlylookedupathim,but

his eyes remained trained onhisplate.‘You’re the best, Teddy,’

she said. And she had nevermeantitmoresincerely.‘I’m not even in the top

fortypercent,’hesaid.They finished dinner in

silence,Carly’seyesfastenedon the flowers and the

candles. An idea formed,almostwithoutCarlyneedingtothinkitthrough.Itjustsortof bypassed her brain andcametogetheronitsown.Bythetimeshesetherfork

down, it was fully formed.Definite.Done.Therewasnogettingaroundit.‘I’m going for a walk,’

Carly said, jumping to herfeet.

BothTeddyandJenlookedup at her. A little strangely.Because Carly wasn’t the‘I’m going for a walk’ type.Shewaitedforoneofthemtoputtheirthoughtsintowords.Theyneverdid.Carly grabbed a warm

jacket on her way out thedoor.

It was fifteen blocks fromtheir house to her mom’s

work.Only trouble was, she

could walk there, but shecouldn’tgoin.Shepausedundertheneon

sign. It was supposed to sayLeopardLounge.But thebig‘L’ and the little ‘g’ wereburned out. So it read morelike‘eopardLoune’.Carlypressedherfingersto

theglassofthefrontwindow,forgetting for the moment

that her mom would yell ather for doing so. It was hermom who had to clean anystray fingerprints off theglass. In-between servingdrinks.Her mom was not serving

drinks.She was sitting at a table

with that guy. Wade, hisnamewas.Carly watched the way

they leaned in close to each

other. Not completely overt.They weren’t hugging andkissing. But there was anintensity about the exchange.Like a short, live wireconnected their eyes andfaces. Transmittingsomething impossible toignore.Desdemona, the other

cocktailwaitress,wasondutyandservingdrinks.

Desdemona looked up andwaved at Carly through thewindow. Carly quickly tookherfingertipsofftheglass.Shestuckherhands inher

pockets and waited whileDesdemona tapped hermother on the shoulder,breaking the transmissionbetween her and Wade.Carly’smom spun around tosee Carly standing at thewindow.

Shedidnotlookpleased.Carly reflexively took two

steps back as her momstormedtowardthedoor.Shelooked back in at Wade,whose face looked dark.Wadehadadarkness tohim,anedge.Likealltheguyshermom went for. Except, ofcourse, Teddy. Sweet, sweetTeddy.Carly’smomburstoutinto

thecoolvalleynight,wearing

only a strappy, low-cutsleevelesstop.‘Want to tell me what

you’redoinghere?’She was tall, which could

have been part ofwhyCarlyfound her intimidating. Butthere was more. If indeedheight factored in at all. Herhair was a different colorevery month. Right now itwas a sort of mahogany.Nothing quite like the color

of hair a woman mightactually grow on her own.Her eyelasheswere long andthick,clumpingwithmascara.She wore a lot of make-up.Toomuch,Carlythought,butsheknewbetterthantosaysooutloud.‘Thought you had towork

late,’Carlysaid.It was brave. And she

knewit.ButitwassomethingTeddy couldn’t say. Or,

anyway,didn’t feelhecould.So Carly was going to do itforhim.Carly’s mom rocked her

head back a little. A defiantgesture.Shecrossedherarmsacrossherimpressivechest.‘I’mhere,’shesaid.‘But you’re not working.

Desdemona’sworking.’‘We’rebothworking.’‘But you never both work

at the same time. Besides.

You’re not working. You’rejustsittingthere.FlirtingwiththatguyIhatesomuch.’Carly’s mom’s hand came

up, and Carly flinched andpulledback,expectingaslap.Instead,a longfingernail justpointed at her. Close to hernose.‘You’re on thin ice with

me, young lady. I’d movealongifIwereyou.’

But Carly couldn’t stop.She could use more caution,but she couldn’t leave thingswhere they were. It was toolateforthat.‘It’syouranniversary.’‘Of what? I’m not

married.’‘Itwastwoyearsagotoday

thatTeddymovedinwithus.Didyouknowthat?’‘That’s not really an

anniversary.’

‘Itistohim.Didyouknowthat?’‘I’llbehomewhenIcan.’‘He made your favorite

dinner. Spaghetti andmeatballs with extraParmesan. And he pickedflowers for the table.Andheput white candles inGrandma’s silver holders.Andthenyoucalledandsaidyouhadtowork.Andyou’renotevenworking.’

‘I’monabreak.’Ifshefeltanywherenearas

guilty asCarlymeant her to,shehiditwell.‘MaybeDesdemonawould

coverforyou.’‘Thin ice, Carly. You got

your nose where only mynose is supposed to be.Nowyou get on home. And don’tever come back here againwhenI’mworking.Notever.I don’t need a spy in the

family.Anddon’tsayawordto Ted, or you’ll haveme toanswerto.’Carlyjuststoodamoment,

feeling slightly dizzy.Probably a fear reaction,brought on by what she wasabouttodo.Shewasabouttosay something brave.Something thatmightgetherhit. Or grounded. Or someworse punishment, some

tormentshedidn’tevenknowexisted.Beforeshecould,hermom

spun on one high heel andstamped back into the club.Carly watched as she satdownwithWade.Sheseemedable to pick up right wherethey’dleftoff.Carlyhadnoideahowshe

could do that. Or why she’dwantto.

She walked home,surprised by how muchlonger each block seemednow.

When Carly let herself intothe living room, Teddy andJenweresittingonthecouchtogether, watching an oldblack andwhitemovie aboutamummy.ExceptJenwasn’twatching. She was fast

asleep, tucked under thecomfortofTeddy’sleftarm.ItmadeCarlyfeel leftout,

inadeepplaceinhergut.The feeling must have

shown on her face, becauseTeddysaid, ‘I’vegotanotheroneonthisside.’He lifted his right arm.

Carlydoveinandsatunderit,feeling him wrap her up inwarmth. She didn’t even

bother to take off her jacketfirst.‘TheMummy?’‘Hey,’ he said. ‘This is a

classic.’‘Whateveryousay.’‘Where’dyougo?’‘I just wanted to take a

walk.’‘No. Really. Where’d you

go?’‘Iwalked,Teddy.’

She’dstartedtosay,‘Ijustwalked.’Butthatwasn’ttrue.Shedidmore than just walk.But she did walk. So shestuckwiththat.‘Thishavesomethingtodo

withthatboy?’It relieved Carly to hear

himguesswrong.‘Ididn’tseehim,’shesaid.

Hoping hemight think she’dtried.‘Betterlucknexttime.’

They sat for a time.Watching the horrible film.How long a time, Carlywouldn’t have been able tosay.Couldhave been five ortenminutes, or it could havebeenhalfanhour.Then the front door

opened, and Carly’s momcame through. Somethingcameupandfilledabigholein Carly’s heart, from theinside. Maybe Carly really

had made things better.Maybe it really ispossible toadvocate for what’s right.Andgetit.The look on her mom’s

facewashardtoread.She came and stood over

them,handsonherhips.‘Don’t you three look

comfy.’‘Because we are,’ Teddy

said.‘Ihopeyou’rehungry.Imadeyourfavoritedinner.’

Carlywatched the look onher mom’s face change.Soften. And Carly didn’tthink it was about spaghettiand meatballs with extraParmesan, although thatmayhave been a contributingfactor. Carly realized thenthat her mom had beenwaiting to seewhether Carlyhadrattedherout.‘You’reasweetheart,Ted,’

shesaid.‘I’mstarved.’

‘Oh, good. I was worriedmaybeyouateatwork.’‘JustnibbledontheFrench

friesallnight.Butthatdidn’tget me much of anywhere.Carly. Wake up your sisterand you girls go upstairs tobed.Ifyou’renotsleepy,youcantuckinandread.Meandmy beau have somecelebrating to do. Three’s acrowd.’

Teddy’s arm disappeared.SodidTeddy.Carly shook Jen awake,

gently, and half-held her onher feet all the way up thestairs.Thenshesnuckbackdown

and watched from thelanding. Just for a minute.Watched through the openkitchen doorway as Teddypoured her mom a glass ofred wine. Then he

disappeared again. She heardthat deep, throaty laugh thatTeddy only used when hermomwas around. Heard hermomsay, ‘There’snomusic,youbigdope.’Aminutelaterthey waltzed past thedoorwayineachother’sarms,Teddyhummingatune.Carly withdrew up the

stairs. And slept. Well. Forthefirsttimeinalongtime.

Tulare,18December

‘Absolutely,’ Carly’s momsaid.‘Absolutelyyoucan.’It didn’t feel right. It felt

tooeasy.They were sitting at the

breakfast table. Just the twoof them. Jen had ridden her

bike to her friend Krista’shouse, and Teddy wasn’teven up yet. Carly’s momheldontohercoffeecupasifit contained some life-savingserumforexactlywhatmightbeabout tokillher.Her facelooked ragged and tiredwithoutallthatmake-up.‘Seriously? You’re really

goingtoletmego?’‘Oh, yeah. Absolutely.

Best idea I ever heard. You

just keep an eye on theweather reports and give ayellwhenhellfreezesover.’Carly absorbed the news

the way she might absorb aslap.Shestoodandmarchedout

oftheroom.Shecouldthinkofadozen

thingstosay,butshecouldn’tuntangle them, one from theother.Besides,itwouldn’tdoa damn bit of good.

Suggestingthathermomwasbeing unfairwould not bringabout fairness. And it didn’thelp to be angry. BecauseCarly’smomcouldout-angryCarly. She could out-angryanybody. She could bullyTeddy,andTeddywasabig,stronggrownman.Carly made her way

upstairs, into her room, andslammedthedoorbehindher.

She picked up the phone,then realized that the phonebook was downstairs. Ratherthan risk it, she calleddirectoryassistance.‘What city, please?’ the

operatorasked.‘Tulare.’‘Whatlisting?’‘Hannish.Withtwo“n”s.I

think. I don’t know the firstname.’

‘IhaveaDeanHannish,Sr,on West San JoaquinAvenue.’‘That’sit.Thanks.’She wrote the number on

the inside of her hand in redpen. Her heart thrummedlightly. The ink absorbinginto her hand made it feelimportant, like tattooing aguy’s name on her skin. Theredness of it made it feelforbidden. It was both of

those things, and so muchmore.Shedidn’tknowwhat,specifically, the ‘more’ was.But she was determined tofindout.Shedialedthenumber,and

Dean–herDean,notDeanSr– picked up on the secondring.‘’Bouttimeyoucalled,you

big asshat,’ he said, in thatplace where ‘Hello’ wouldnormallyhavefit.

‘Um…’‘Oh.You’renotJerry.Uh-

oh.Sorry.Sorry.Especiallyifyou’re calling for my mom.Extrasorry.’‘No,I’mcallingforyou.’‘Carly?’‘Yeah.’‘Hey.Carly.Hey.Gladyou

called. Wasn’t sure if you’dcall.’Along,awkwardsilence.

Thenhesaid,‘Youcomingtothecabintomorrow?’‘Yes,’ Carly said.

‘AbsolutelyIam.’‘Great. We’ll leave at

eleven. Give or take. We’llswing by and pick you uparoundeleven.’‘No!’ she said, far too

stridently.Nearlygivingitallaway. ‘No, that’s fine. I’llcome to your house. Youraddressisinthebook,right?’

‘You sure you don’t wanttogetpickedup?Parentslikethat.’‘Positive.’‘Slightproblem.Youcan’t

come to the house. The onlyreasonmydad’slettingusgoaloneisbecausehethinksit’sall guys.Tell youwhat.Pickyou up in the parking lotbehindthemiddleschool.’‘OK.’‘Seeyoutomorrow.’

Carly set the phone backinto its cradle. Gently. Theway she’d handle liveordnance.Itwasprettysimple,really,

in her head. One of twothings would happen. Teddywouldworkwithher,andforher, convincing her mom tochange her mind. Or Carlywould take off in themorning, leaving a note.Hermom wouldn’t find the note

until after work, when Carlywouldbelonggone.The note could say

somethinglike:

AfterIgethomeyoucanpunishmefortherestofthe history ofcivilization. But rightnow,foronceinmylife,I’m going to be the onewhogetschosen.

WhenCarlycamedownstairsaround lunchtime,Teddyhadthree friends over. His usualguy friends. Ernie and PaulandJavier.Theywereplayingpokerinthekitchen.Teddyhadbowlsoftortilla

chipsandsalsa in themiddleof the table. Amid the pokerchips. Carly stuck her headintothekitchenjustintimetowatch Paul call a raise, andtoss a blue poker chip right

intothesalsa.Itsplashed.Allfour guys made audiblenoises of disgust. Erniealmost stuck his hand in thesalsatoretrieveit,butTeddyyanked the bowl out of thewaybeforethatdisastercouldhappen.Ashewascarryingittothe

sink, he saw Carly over hisshoulder.‘Hey,you,’hesaid.

He tossed Paul a dishtowel, and Paul set aboutswipingatthestacksofpokerchips to catch the salsasplashes.Teddy took a fork out of

the drawer and fished thepoker chip out of the salsa.Rinsedbothunderthetap.‘Atnoon?’Carlyasked.‘What better time to have

chipsandsalsathanatnoon?’

‘I meant the poker. Isn’tpoker sort of like drinking?Don’t normal people do itafterfive?’Hereyessettledbacktothe

table, where she noted thateach of the fourmen had anopenbeergoing.‘When you’re

unemployed,’ Teddy said,‘everyhourofthedayisafterfive.’

All three of the guysnodded. Ernie and Javierclinked the mouths of theirbeerbottlestogetherinatoasttothesentiment.Teddy sat back down and

rearranged the table so thatthetortillachipsandsalsasatbetween Teddy and Paul.Wheretheywouldbesafer.Javier took a cigar out of

his pocket and clamped it inhisteeth.

Teddy set his cards face-downonthetable.‘I will kill you with my

bare hands,’ he said, staringdownJavier.Javier was searching his

pockets for a lighter, anddidn’t notice. Finally Pauljabbedhimintheribs.‘Oh. Who? Me?’ Javier

asked,meetingTeddy’seyes.‘You’re the one with the

cigar, so, yes. Iwill kill you

with my bare hands if youlight that thing in this house.And I won’t even have tofacelegalretribution,becausemy lovely and delicate ladyfriendwillmurdermeincoldblood the second she walksthrough the door and smellswhatyou’vedone.’Carlyleanedonthekitchen

door frame and tried not tosmile.Itwasfuntowatchthemen interacting. Especially

with her mother playing anoff-screen role as theattractive-yet-wickedwitch.‘Teddy—’Javierbegan.‘Get thee to the back

porch.’‘I don’t want to miss any

rounds.’‘Great,’ Teddy said. ‘Nice

priorities. It’s not worthmissingaroundbutit’sworthsigningmydeathwarrant.I’llbe sure to come back and

haunt you. Now put thestinkythingaway.’Javier sighed, and slid the

still-unlit cigar into his shirtpocket.‘Teddy,’ Carly said.

Suddenly. Surprising evenherself.‘Yeah,hon?’‘Ineedtotalktoyouabout

something.’‘OK, but it’ll have towait

tillafterthegame.’

‘It’simportant,though.’‘Igotrealmoneyridingon

this game, Carly. You knowhow little real money I’veactuallygot?’‘I just … Did you talk to

MomaboutDean?’‘I’msorry,hon.Lastnight

wasnottherighttime.’‘So … you’ll talk to her

today?’‘Um … Hmm … Things

werebetterwhenImadethat

offer. I’m on thin ice withyourmomrightnow.’Carly just leaned a

moment, marveling at howTeddyandhermomcouldbein trouble again so quickly.Last night they’d beensweethearts, just like the olddays. Still, Carly couldn’thelp but register that hermom’s swing back to Teddywas abrupt. Abrupt even forCarly’smom,whoonlymade

sudden turns, with no noticeor signaling. And if thenumber of towns and housesCarly had lived in over thepast sixteen years was anyindication, her mother didn’tstayinanythingverylong.‘You promised me,

Teddy,’shesaid.Quietly.Noovert emotion. But it was inthere.Hiding.‘If I’m on her bad side, it

coulddoyoumoreharmthan

good, Carly. If she’s mad atme, and I say I think youshouldgo,she’llbeahundredtimes more sure youshouldn’t.’That was true, and Carly

knew it. Then again, ‘whenhell freezes over’ times ahundredmightnotbeall thatmuchworsethantheoriginal.Like multiplying zero byanything and still gettingzero.

Carly peeled away fromthe doorway and sat on thebig overstuffed chair by thefrontwindow. Looked out atthe empty street. Every nowand then a car drove by, oneofthempumpingoutthatgut-shaking bass from its soundsystem. Teddy had set up afake snowman draped withChristmas lightson the lawn.It made her feel like a little

kidtostareatit.Tolikeit.Tobecomfortedbyit.Maybeshewasjusta little

kid. She wasn’t sure anymore.She also wasn’t sure she

wasgoing.Watching Teddy quake at

thevery ideaofhermother’swrath had shaken her.Wakenedhersenses.Wasshereally brave enough to dosomething her mother had

expressly forbidden her todo?She envisioned hermother

marching over to Dean Sr’shouse to find out where thecabinwas located.Orcallingthe police, and having themask the questions. Deanwould never speak to heragain, never forgive her.None of them would. Wordwould travel. No one shewent to school with would

ever trust her for anything.HereDeanmighthavefinallyconvinced his dad that theywerematureenoughtogoupthere alone. Carly could ruineverything.Shecouldn’tgo.Therewas

no other answer. She justcouldn’tgo.But shehad toldDean she

could.Maybe she could feign

illness.

It twisted intoherstomachsotightly,sosickeningly,thatit occurred to her that shemight not have to fake it.Making a fool of herself infront of those three popularboys might be enough tomakehersickforreal.

Teddycameinaboutanhourlater. Sat on the rug by herchair, arms wrapped around

his knees. Looked out thewindowwithher.Carly listened and realized

she couldn’t hear Teddy’sthree friends in the kitchenany more. Could they reallyhavewalkedrightthroughthelivingroomandout thefrontdoor without her noticing?And why hadn’t she noticedwhen the voices, the slap ofthe cards, the clinking of thechips stopped? She tried to

track where her head hadbeen,butcameupempty.Sheliterallydidn’tknow.‘Are the guys gone?’ she

asked, her voice sounding asthough ithadbeen instoragefordays.‘Yup.’‘Ididn’thearthemgo.’‘Theywentoutthekitchen

door.’‘Oh.How’dyoudo?’‘Bad.’

‘Howmuchdidyoulose?’‘Let’s just say …

everything I had to lose andthensome.’‘Ow.’‘I’m on thin icewith your

mom.’‘I know. You said that.

Those were her words,weren’tthey?Shesaidthattoyou, right? Pointed herfingernail at your nose and

said,“You’reonthinicewithme,Ted.”Right?’‘Prettymuch.’Then they stared out the

windowforafewmomentsinsilence.It was right there, right in

front of them, the specter ofTeddy having to move out.Butsherefusedtomakeroomforit.Sherefusedtoshiftoutofthewayandgiveitaplacetosit.

‘You like the snowman?’Teddy asked after a while,startlingherslightly.‘It’s a little on the tacky

side.’‘Thanks. Knew you’d like

it.’‘I actually sort of do,’ she

said. ‘I feel like you’re theonly one who cares aboutme.’For a long moment –

longer than she would have

liked – Carly just listened tothe sound of his breathing.Exaggerated, like a series ofsighs.Thenhesaid,‘Youhaveno

idea how much your momlovesyou.’‘You’re right. I have no

idea.’‘She’d do anything to

protect you. Why do youthink she won’t let you go?She doesn’t want anything

bad to happen to you. Herloveforyougirlsis…just…what’stheword?Fierce.’‘Yeah. Fierce. I feel the

fierce. It’s a little harder tofeelthelove.’Anotherseriesofsighs.Teddyleveredtohisfeet.‘I’m going out for a little

while. You OK here byyourself?’‘Sure.’

She was disappointed, butshedidn’tsayso.‘You going to be around

for a while? In case Jencomeshome?’‘Yeah.I’llberighthere.’She really didn’t have the

energy or the enthusiasm tobeanywhereelse.

Jen came bouncing in aboutfive.

Carly was still staring outthe window. Well, again.She’dmadeandeaten a tunafish sandwich. Gone to thebathroom. Then resumedstaring.‘Where’s Teddy?’ Jen

asked,hangingupherjacket.‘Out.’‘Where’dhego?’‘Hedidn’tsay.’‘That’s weird. He always

says where he’s going. Oh,

God,’Jenadded,peeringintothe kitchen. ‘It was pokernight? I mean, day? Theyplayedpokerinthemiddleoftheday?How’dhedo?’‘Notwell.’‘Maybe that’s why he

wouldn’t tell you where hewas going. Maybe he has togo out and borrow somemoney. Or steal it. Or dosomething horrible for

somebody. You know. Topayoffthegamblingdebt.’‘Would everybody leave

Teddyalone?’Carlyshouted.She’d set out to say it in anormally irritated tone, thenlostcontrol.‘Geez,Jen!He’sthe nicest guy Mom everbrought home. You’ve seensome of the losers she’sparaded through here. Teddyis the sweetest guy in the

world.Andeverybodydumpsonhimforit.I’msickofit!’She staredout thewindow

a few seconds more,composing herself. Then sherisked a glance at Jen. Thekidlookedalittleshaken.Carly looked back out the

windowagain.A minute later Jen

appeared behind her chair.Carly felt the hard bone of

Jen’s chin rest on the top ofherhead.‘I’m sorry, Carly. I was

reallymostlykidding.’Carlysighed.‘Iknow.I’msorryIgotso

upset. I’m just in a lousymood.’‘Whathappened?’‘Nothing. Nothing

happened. That’s just theproblem. Nothing everhappensaroundhere.’

Teddycamethroughthedooratsixwithapepperonipizza.‘Yourmom’sworking late

again,’hesaid.Carlynever thought,at the

time, to ask how he knew.Her mom would have calledthe house before tryingTeddy’s cell phone. AndCarlyhadbeensittingtenfeetaway from the phone allafternoon. If that phone had

rung, Carly would haveknownitbetterthananyone.

In deep sleep, in a deepdream,Carlywassomewherein the mountains – somemythical and unrealisticmountains – with Dean. Shecouldfeelhispresencebesideher, but the details felt fuzzyandindistinct.Then she felt his hand on

her forehead. Rubbing.

Pushing the hair aside andrubbing her warm skin inwide,smoothstrokes.She bolted awake,

suddenly knowing it was areal hand, in the real world.In her bed in the middle ofthe night. She instinctivelyslapped the hand away. Satupstraight,gasping.Itwasonlyhermom.Carly

could see her mom’s brightlipstick in the sliver of

moonlight that shone thoughthefilmybedroomcurtain.‘Sorry, honey,’ her mom

said. ‘I didn’t think thatwould startle you. I used towakeyouup like that all thetime, when you were a littlegirl. You’d wake up realgentlethatway.GuessIhaveto remember you’re not alittlegirlanymore.’Her mom’s voice was

cigarette-gravelly and deep,

even though she hadn’tsmokedforyears.Carly breathed deeply a

few times, then set her headback down on the pillow.Lookedupathermominthedim light. It seemedweird tohaveherhere.Itfeltdifferent.Her mom’s energy felt likesomething she’d either neverwitnessed or had long agoforgotten.

Carly’s mom stroked herforehead again, and Carlyclosedhereyes.‘Know where Ted was

from three o’clock today toalmostsix?’The question should have

madeCarly nervous. But thesoftness in her mom’s tonedidnotallowit.‘No.Where?’‘He was sitting at the

restaurant with me. I gave

himafreepieceofpieandhejust kept nursing the samecoffeemug, refill after refill.Probably poured him sevencups of coffee. He mightnever get to sleep tonight.Hell, he might never get tosleepagain.AndeverytimeIhad a minute in-betweenorders, he’d tell me morereasons why I should thinkabout letting you go. Likehe’d remind me how it felt

when we were sixteen. Notthatweweresixteentogether,oranythinglikethat.Butstill.He’dtellmestoriesofallthecrazy sh… stuff … he did,and then he’d ask me aboutsome of the stuff I did thatyourgrandmaandgranddad–God rest their souls – neverfound out about. I think hewas trying to remindme thatkids get into all kinds of…what’stheword?Adventures.

Halfthetimeit’sOK,andtheother half the time it’s not,but they live to tell about it,and probably that’s how welearntogrowup.’Abriefsilence.‘So…’ Carly said, barely

above a whisper, almostafraid shemight jinx it. ‘Areyoulettingmego?’‘Ted told me you need to

feellikeIloveyoumore.’

Her voice cracked just alittlebitwhenshesaidit,andit brought a lump to Carly’sthroat, and tears to the backof her eyes. The only timesher mom had ever cried, sofarasCarlyknew,waswhenthey’d buried Grandma, andthen, two months later,Granddad.Ithadtobeaprettyserious

thing if your mom was halfabouttocry.

‘Ishouldn’thavesaidthat,’Carlysaid.‘I’msorry.’‘No, it’s OK. Don’t be

sorry. It hurt, but maybe Ineeded to hear it. I work sohard, two full-time jobs tokeep food inourmouths andclothes on our backs. And IworkextrasoIcansayyestoabout ten per cent of whatyou girls want, even thoughit’s stuff people can livewithout. But it’s stuff your

friendshave,andIknowhowthat feels. And I say no tothings like the lake ’cause Iknow what can happen togirlsyourage,andIwantyousafe. And I feel like thatproves it, you know? Like,why would I do all that if Ididn’t love my girls morethan anything? But then Tedsaid something that stuckwithme. Thatmaybe there’smoreloveintrustingyourkid

tobeOKthaninkeepingherin a cage so you know for afact she will be. Guess I’mused to having little kids.Littlegirls.Justbeingaplainoldmomma bear. I’m not sogoodattheotherpartyet.Thelater part. Letting you getolder and not need me.Letting you girls go off andlookafteryourselves.’‘I’ll be really careful and

smartifyouletmego.’

‘One condition. If thingsgoawayyoudon’tlike…ifanything happens you can’thandle, call. Right away. I’llcomegetyou,orTedwill, ifI’mworking.’‘There’llbeparents there,’

Carly said, even though shewas pretty sure it wouldn’tturnouttobetrue.‘Parents can’t be

everywhere at once. Just becareful.’

Before Carly could evengather herself up to answer,her mom kissed her on theforehead and slid over to thedoor. Carly could see theshape of her, framed in thelightofthehall.Itwasagoodshape. Ask nearly any manwho’deverseenher.‘You really like this guy?’

hermomasked.‘Idon’treallyknowhimall

that well. Yet. But he wants

to know me. And that’ssomething.Right?’‘If he’s a nice guy, then

yeah.That’salot.’‘Andifhe’snot?’‘Then…I’llkillhim.’Sheslippedout,closingthe

doorbehindher.

CradleLake,theHighSierras,19

December

Just the other side of a tinytown with the memorablename of Fish Fork, Deanstopped the SUV at a littlestorealongtheforestroadup

to the cabin. It called itselfNed’s Bait & Tackle,announced with neon signsthat seemed out of keepingwith the gray-white granitemountainsandthecone-ladenfirs. Ned’s also loudlyannounced cold beer andsnacks.Carly glanced over her

shoulder at the fishing rodsloadedintheback,theirlong,springy ends sticking out the

rear window. But she didn’tlookforlong.Jerrywasinthebackseatwithtwogirlsfromherschool.Theyalllookedather as though she wantedsomethingspecialfromthem.Andasthoughthatsomethingwas an imposition, whateverit was. So she straightenedout and stared through thewindshieldagain.She was sitting in front

between Dean and that guy

she didn’t know. But she’dfigured out throughconversation that his namewas Hunter and he was asenior. Not through her ownconversation. She’d donenothingbutshutupandlistenthroughout the hour and ahalfdrive.‘Almost there,’ Dean said

toher.Itwasonlythesecondtime he had addressed herdirectly.Thefirst timebeing,

‘Hey,’whenshefirstgotinatthe middle school. ‘This’lljusttakeaminute.’Dean turned his attention

on Hunter, leaning andtalking over Carly in a waythat made her feel awkwardanduneasy.‘Two cases,’ he said.

‘Heineken.And threecartonsofthosenightcrawlers.MakeNed open the lids and reallylook at ’em. Make sure

they’re fat and peppy. He’llsellofftheoldhalf-deadonesifyou’renotpayingattention.And…wait…doyouhavesplit-shotsinkers?’‘Notmany.’Hunteralways

seemed to say as few wordsashumanlypossible.‘Getsome,then.’Hunterlethimselfoutwith

a grunt, leavingCarlywith arefreshing sense of owningenoughroomtoexistagain.

‘Hunter’s twenty-one?’CarlyaskedDean.A chorus of snickers rose

from the back seat. Carlykickedherselfhard.Whydidshe always say exactly thewrongthing?‘According to his picture

identification, yes indeed,’Deanreplied.‘Ned doesn’t look too

close,huh?’

Dean polled the back seatfor an answer. ‘What do yousay, guys? If you want twocases of beer, how manyquestionsdoesNedask?’‘Depends,’ Jerry said. ‘On

whether you have enoughmoneyfortwocasesofbeer.’

It did not turn out to be aquickstop.Apparentlynoonehad anticipated that a car –evenabigSUV–containing

six humans, the luggage ofsix humans, two tents, twocoolers of food, and enoughfishing gear for an armywould not also accommodatetwocasesofbeer.Hunterhadto borrow a length of ropefrom Ned and lash them tothe roof between the rails oftheutilityrack.When they finally got

underwayagain,Deanmadeaformalannouncement.

‘Listen up, guys.We havetwo neighbors up there closeenough to see us or hear us,depending on whether we’reinside or outside and howloudweare.Mydadmade itclear he’ll check with them.So anything that would getmeintroubleshouldbedonequietly. No beer bottles leftaround. They go back in thecasesandwe’lllosetheminadumpster on the way home.

Here’sthereportIwant:“MrHannish, your son is anabsolute angel, and hisfriends are so quiet andrespectful. Why, they giveyoung people a good name.”Andanotherthing.Ifyou’reagirl,you’renotstayingat thecabin as far as the neighborsare concerned. You’revisiting from a cabin on theother side of the lake. You

ruinthisforme,you’reonmyshitlistforever.’‘Maybe the neighbors

won’t even be there,’ Jerrysaid.‘Christmas vacation?

They’llbethere.’

‘Did I tell you we’re maybeexpecting snow tonight?’Deanasked.He’d told her. Or rather,

he’d told the group at large.

Threetimes.‘That would be kind of

cool,’Carlysaid.They’d been sitting by the

lake for over an hour. Carlyand Hunter and Dean. ButCarly and Dean sat closetogether, with Hunter a fewyards away. The boys werefishing.Butnotcatching.Everybody else was back

atthecabin.Orsomewhere.

‘They’rejustnotbitingthisafternoon,’Deansaid.He jumped to his feet, set

down the fishing pole, andbegan to take off his flannelshirt. Which struck Carly asodd. It was only maybe tendegreesabovefreezing.‘Wouldn’t it be cool ifwe

got snowed in?’Dean pulledoff his tee-shirt. ‘We’d haveto stay here for Christmas.

Till they got around toplowingthatroad.’Carly stole a glance at his

barechest,thenlookedaway.He was bulkier and moreathletically built than she’drealized. It felt exciting andintimidating,bothatthesametime.‘Mymomwouldfreak.’‘Naw,it’dbecool.I’dgrab

those snowshoes out of theshedandwalkdowntoNed’s

bait shop, and calleverybody’sparents from thepayphone. And I’d say,“We’re just fine here, butwe’re stuck until they plowthe road. Not our fault.Nothingwecandoabout theweather.”’He unzipped his jeans and

dropped them. Underneath,he was wearing what couldhave been boxer shorts, orthey could have been swim

trunks. Carly couldn’t reallydecide. His thighs werealmosthairless–eitherthatortheblondhairsbarelyshowed– and thick and solid, likescaled-down telephone poles.He levered off his shoes andsteppedoutofthejeans.Surely he didn’t intend to

go in? The water must havebeen cold enough to kill aperson.

‘What are you doing?’Carlyasked,finally.He grabbed up his fishing

poleagain.‘See that rock?’ Dean

pointed with the pole. Adomed rock formed a tinyisland about thirty yards offshore.‘That’sinmuchdeeperwater. I could probably castalmost to the middle of thelake from there. When it’s

coldlikethis,that’swherethefish’llbe.Inthedeepwater.’Dean took off, running a

fewdozencrazystepsintothelake.Whenhegotintoabouthis knees, he dove forward.Disappeared entirely. Thenhis head and shoulders cameupagain.Heletout themostblood-curdling bellow Carlycouldeverrememberhearing.Horrorfilmsincluded.‘Oh,shitthat’scold!’

Carly wondered if theneighbors could hear.Probably not. It was a prettygoodwalk from the cabin tothelake.Deankeptswimming.Carly looked over at

Hunter.‘Is that … even …’ But

then she didn’t know wheretogowiththatsentence.‘Sane?Notreally.’

‘I thinkIwasgoing tosay“safe”.’‘Nope.Notthat,either.’‘Thinkhe’llbeOK?’‘Hemightbe.Orhemight

get hit with hypothermiabeforehecanevengetout tothat rock, inwhichcasehe’llsink like a boulder anddrown.’It was more words than

Carly had ever heard Hunterstring together. And none of

themwerespokenwithmuchemotion.‘And another thing,’

Hunter said. ‘He’s got itexactlybackwards.Whenit’shot,andthelakeiswarm,thefishgointodeepwater.Whenit’s cold, they stay near theedge,whereit’swarmer.Getsmore sun toward the bottomthere,youknow?’‘But you weren’t catching

anyattheedge.’

Hunter shrugged. ‘Just’cause they’re there doesn’tmean you’ll catch ’em. Andhe knows that. No doubtaboutit.Deanisinsane.’Onthatnote,Deanpopped

up at the rock and climbedbarefoot to the top of itsdome.‘Hmm,’ Hunter said. ‘He

madeit.I’msurprised.’Carly watched Dean hold

the fishing pole between his

knees and rub his own armsbriskly. She could see himshuddering even from theshore.Then he set up to cast.

Drew thepolebackand thensnapped it forward withamazing force, trying topropel thebaitedhook to thecenterof the lake.Thewormbrokefreeandflew,landingagood twenty feet beyond the

spotwhere the bare hook hitthewater.Hunter let out a derisive

laugh. ‘Howmanybeers yougotta drink before you don’tsee that coming? And ofcourse he didn’t bring anyextrabait.Nowaytocarryit.Stupid,stupidfuck.’Dean dove into the water

andswamback.Hesteppedoutofthelake,

hisskinacrossbetweengray

and blue. He looked aroundas though disoriented. Histeeth would not stopchattering.‘Now we gotta go back,’

Hunter said. ‘Now we gottagetyouwarm.Stupidfuck.’

‘It’s only about five thirty,’one of the girls said. Carlydidn’t know either one byname, and their names had

not come up. ‘And it’s pitchdark.That’ssoweird.’‘It’s the third-shortest day

of the year,’ Dean told her.‘Solstice is day aftertomorrow.’Then everybody argued

about whether the solsticewas the twenty-first or thetwenty-second.ExceptCarly.Carlylistenedinsilence.Theyweresittingarounda

campfire, a few yards

downhill from the cabin. Itwas a spotwith a great viewof the lake, but it was pitchdark, as the girl had pointedout,andtheskywasovercast.So no stars or moon. So nolakeview.Carly was sitting with her

back leaned against Dean’schest. They were bothwrapped in thesameblanket.Itfeltgood.Thathewouldbewith her that way. Right in

frontofeverybody.Thattheywere together.And itwasnosecret.He had only recently

stoppedshivering.Bothoftheothergirlswere

roasting hot dogs on sticks,thenplacingtheminbunsandhanding them around. Noketchup, no mustard, nonothing. Just hot dogs andbuns. No drinks except beer.Carly had already had one

beer, and that felt likeenough.Jerry said, ‘Hot dogs are

OKandall,butnotwhenyouhadyourmouthsetforgrilledtrout.’‘Fine,’ Dean said, pretty

much right against Carly’sear. ‘You go catch sometrout,then.’‘Forgetit,’Jerrysaid.‘Did

I mention the hot dogs aregood?’

Dean fished a pack ofcigarettesoutofsomepocketsomewhere – Carly couldonlyfeelhimshiftingaround–andofferedonetoher.‘Nothanks,’shesaid.‘Headache.’‘Right.’‘Here,’ Hunter said, and

handed her a half-smokedjoint in the firelight. Carlyhadn’tseenitgoingaroundorsmelled it burning. ‘This

won’t give you a headache.Hell, if you got a headachenow,this’llfixit.’She accepted it from him.

Drew in a long hit of thesmoke, which was strongerandricherandmoretar-ladenthan she’d expected. She’dsmoked the stuff a coupletimes before, when she wasfourteen. Her half-friend/half-boyfriendEmiliousedtohave some. Cheap rag weed

that didn’t taste like muchand didn’t do much. Justmade her hungry for potatochipsandicecream.ShepassedittoDean,who

was lighting a cigarette forhimself, both hands outsidethe blanket now. It partlyuncovered Carly, and madeher cold. She missed thewarmthimmediately.Warmthwasalwaysahard

thing to come by. In any

form.Then he mostly wrapped

them up again, just his onehand with the cigarettepokingout.Carlywatchedthetipofthecigaretteglowinthedark. She could hear peopletalking,butthewordsrefusedto penetrate. Like she’d lostthe ability to either hear orunderstand.Alsotheabilitytotell hearing andunderstandingapart.

Then the joint came backaroundandshehititagain.A few seconds later, the

top of her head suddenlythreatened to come off. Hersenses felt heightened, somuch so that it startled her,and the physical sensationswere unbearable, and it wasalltoomuch.Shesatasstillasshecould,

focusing on making it stop.Over and over she thought,

How do you turn this off?How do you go back again?But in the under-current ofher mind, she knew youdidn’t. It had to wear off onits own. And she was stillgettinghigher.She opened her mouth to

speak, but no words cameout.She struggled out of the

blanketandmadeherway toher feet. The world did not

hold still as she did so. Thegrounddidnotstaylevel,andneitherdidshe.‘Hey, hey,’ Dean said.

‘Whereyagoing?’She heard someone distant

say, ‘Not feeling so good.Gottagoliedown.’Afewstepslateritdawned

on Carly that the someonehadbeenher.‘I’ll come with you,’ he

said.

Hecaughtupwithherandput his arm, along with theblanket, around her shoulder.Wrapped her up again andsupportedherasshewalked.Thatfeltbetter.‘YouOK?’‘Ineedtoliedown.’‘Noproblem.I’llshowyou

where we’re gonna sleep.There’sonlyonebedroom inthecabin.Guesswhogetsit?’

Theystoodbeforethethreesteps up to the cabin’s backporch. Carly looked at thesteps, vaguely unclear as tohowonesurmountedsuchanobstacle.‘Who?’sheasked.It was coming on stronger

now. And it was way toomuch.‘Whose dad owns the

cabin?’

‘Oh,’shesaid.Gratefulforariddleshecouldsolve.‘Yougetthebedroom.’‘We get it,’ he said. ‘And

everybodyelsehastofendforthemselves.’A few light, dry flakes of

snow began to swirl. Carlywatched in fascination,wonderinghowtotell if theywere real or if herimagination had createdthem.

‘Ah, cool,’ Dean said.‘Maybewe’llgetsnowedin.’He walked them up the

stairstogether.Itwaseasy.Itwent OK. Carly thought, Ihaveaboyfriendnow,tohelpme do hard things like that.Maybe now everything willbefine.He walked her into the

bedroom, where she slid outof the shared blanket and saton the edge of the bed. She

wasn’tsureforhowlong.Butwhen she turned around,Deanwasalmostentirelyoutof his clothes. He had histhumbs in the waistband ofthoseboxers–orswimtrunks–andwasabouttotakethemdown.‘Oh,’ Carly said. ‘Wait.

Whoa.Whoa.’The words sounded weird

to her. Shewondered if theysounded weird to Dean. He

came and sat on the edge ofthebedwithher.Puthisarmaroundher.Leanedhismouthclosetoherear.‘What?What’swrong?’It seemed if she willed

words, they failed. If she letthefar-awayCarlyspeak,thatworkedbetter.Soshewaited.To seewhat that otherCarlywouldsay.‘Wedon’tevenknoweach

other,’ itsaid.‘Wesaid, like,

ten sentences to each otherbeforeyouaskedmetocomeup here. And maybe anothertentoday…’She couldn’t pull all that

into a conclusion. She hopedhewould.Along,longsilence.Itfelt

like more time than shouldhaveexistedintheworld.Or,at least, more than ever hadbefore. And she was stillgettinghigher.

‘You’reright,’Deansaid.‘Iam?’‘Absolutely. You’re

absolutely right. We’re uphere for days, and I’mrushing you. Why am Irushingyou?’He took her gently by the

shouldersandliftedhertoherfeet, then pulled back thecovers and laid her back onthebed.Stillfullydressed.

‘Shouldn’t I sleep … Idon’tknow…somewhere?’‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You

shouldsleepsomewhere.Youshouldsleephere.Iwon’tdoanything. Not if you don’twant.’He got in beside her and

tucked up close behind. Stillin just those big shorts. Butthetophalfofhimwascloserthanthebottomhalf.Shefelt

himshifthisbottomhalfevenfartheraway.‘Yeah, that won’t work,’

he said. ‘That’s not a goodideaatall.’He rolled on to his back

and draped one big handcasuallyonherhip.It struck Carly that it was

probably not bedtime yet atall. But here theywere. AndDeanwas asleep – or passedout – in amatter ofminutes.

She could tell by the rhythmofhisbreathing.She lay huddled that way,

on her side and close to theedge of the bed, for most ofthe night. Wide awake. Thethin mattress made her hipache.Butshedidn’trollover.Because she didn’t feel shehadarighttodisplaceDean’shand.

Hours later, when the highhad almostworn off, leavingher feeling likeherselfagain,but more jangly andunsettled, she looked over athim in the mostly-dark. Andshe thought,This iswhat it’slike to have a boyfriend. Arealone.Notahalfone.Oh, there had been a

couple of others. But theydidn’tseemtoknowhowthis

being-a-boyfriend thing wassupposedtobedone.Deanseemedtoknow.

CradleLake,theHighSierras,20

December

Carlywoke,surprisedshehadeverbeenasleep.Sheguessedshemighthavedozedoff formaybe forty-five minutes.Dean’s hand was gone. She

rolled over, easing thepressure on her screaminghip. The mattress was aboutascomfortableassleepingontheground.Dean was not in bed with

her.‘Hey,you,’hesaid.She sat up. He was

standing in the corner.Dressing.Inthedark.‘What time’s it?’ she

asked, the grogginess of the

wordssurprisingher.‘Four.’‘Where’reyougoing?’‘Hunter and I are going

hunting. Funny, huh? Hunterthe hunter. He says it’s therolehewasborntoplay.’‘When are you coming

back?’‘When we’ve got a deer

strappedtothehood.’‘Oh,’Carlysaid.

Then, without realizing it,she must have drifted off tosleep again. Because whenshe opened her eyes, it waslight.AndDeanwasgone.

Carly stepped out into themain room of the cabin, stillblinking, and noticed twogirls sitting in the kitchenarea.Thing is, theywere notthe same two girls as lastnight,ashadbeenonthistrip

withherallalong.TheywereJanie and Heather, girls whowere in a lot of the sameclasses with her. Girls sheactuallyknewalittlebit.Butnot really in any verysuccessfulway.‘There’s coffee,’ Janie

said.Itsoundedfriendlyenough,

soCarlywalkedoverandsatatthetablewiththem.Buttheminute she did, Heather

jumped up and flouncedaway.‘Sorry,’ Janie said, when

Heatherwasoutofearshot.‘What’swrongwithher?’It was a question Carly

wouldnormallyhave thoughtbutnotasked.ButsinceJaniewas actually talking to her,she experimented withactuallytalkingback.‘She thoughtDeanwasup

here alone until we got up

hereandheardaboutyou.’‘Oh.’ Which led Carly

back to the fact that theyhadn’t been here before.‘When’dyouguysgetin?’‘Lastnight.Late.Wecame

up in Heather’s car. We gotcompletely lost. Don’t takethis the wrong way. I’m notleaving’causeyougothereoranything. But I’m gonna golook for Hunter. You knowwhereheis?’

‘OffhuntingwithDean.’‘That’s funny. Hunter is

hunting.’‘The role he was born to

play,’Carlysaid.‘Yeah, huh? That’s bad,

though. Because I’ll neverfindthem.’‘Andifyoudid,theymight

accidentallyshootyou.’‘I’ll just go down by the

lake with Heather. There’stoasterwafflesinthefreezer.’

She rose from the table.Stretched as if just nowwaking up, showing a baremidriff with a silver bellybutton ring. Then shewanderedaway.Carly ate two toaster

waffles with artificiallymaple-flavored syrup. Shedranktwocupsofcoffee.Noonecamearound.Shehadtheplace to herself, which feltlikearelief.

She staked out a spot whereshe could sit in the sun tokeepwarm, and see the lakeif she looked down, and seethe road to the cabin if shelooked up. That way shewould know when Deancameback.Trouble was, the sun

moved directly overhead,then slanted distinctly to thewest, and still Dean did notcome back. And still Carly

sat. For lack of any otherideas.It was only about an hour

before dusk when sheadmitted to herself that shehad never in her entire lifebeensothoroughlybored.

Dean and Hunter came backat early dusk. Carly watchedthem drive in. Watched theplume of dust the SUV

kicked up on the long dirtdriveway.Therewasnodeerstrapped

tothehood.Carlyfeltaclearsenseofrelief.Shegotup,brushedoffthe

seatofher jeans,andwalkedupthehill.Jerry was out in the

drivewaywhenshegotthere,raising a fuss over theircominghomeempty-handed.‘Hotdogsagain,’hesaid.

Dean held out the keys tothe SUV. ‘Go shoot a deer,Jerry.’‘DidImentionthehotdogs

weregood?’Jerryasked.Carly shifted slightly, and

themovement caughtDean’seye.‘There you are,’ he said.

‘Just who I wanted to seeafteralousyday.’HereachedintothebackoftheSUVandpulledout a stiff tanblanket.

‘You can be the only goodthingtohappenallday.Let’sgoforawalkbythelake.’

Dean held Carly’s hand onthe walk down. It felt good.Thenheletgo,andCarlyhadno idea why. And shecouldn’t bring herself to ask.A moment later she felt hishandslideintoherbackjeanspocket.She smiled to herselfandreturnedthegesture.

When they found a nicespot to stop–private, and inthe trees – Carly expectedhim to wrap them up in theblanket. The way he’d donethe night before. Instead hespreaditontheground.‘What are we doing?’

Carlyasked.‘What do you think we’re

doing?We’relyingdown.’‘Oh.OK.’

She settled herself on theblanket. Well, physicallysettled. Inside, she felt morethanalittleunsettled.Dean laydownbesideher.

But less than half a minutelater,he rolledon topofher,hisfullweightrestingonher.He didn’t even kiss her first.Hehadneverkissedher.‘Wait. Whoa,’ she said,

wondering if that had evenbeen enough volume to get

his attention. It was hard totalkwithabigguyrestingonyourchest.Carlyfelthimbackoffher

some.Sheheardthezipperofhisjeanscomedown.‘Wait!’sheyelled.Thistimeshehadherlungs

back, and the volume wasstrong. Too strong. Carlywondered if a wanderingneighbor might haveoverheard.

Dean climbed off her andsatup.Shesatupbesidehimand looked at his face in thedusky light. His eyes wereclosed-downanddark.‘What is your problem,

Carly?’Shereceiveditthewayshe

absorbed tongue-lashingsfrom hermom. Like a blow.She didn’t feel the urge tocry,becauseitfeltmorelikeaphysical wound. Like he’d

punchedher in the gut.Withaknifeinhishand.‘I thought we agreed we

didn’tevenknoweachother.’‘Thatwasyesterday,’Dean

said, not one tiny scrap offriendliness left over in hisvoice.Notone.‘Yeah. Exactly. That was

yesterday. I saidwe’d barelysaidtwentysentencestoeachother.You thought Imeant I

wanted to wait a day? Ihaven’tevenseenyoutoday.’‘Ididn’tthinkyouwereso

highmaintenance.’Carlysatandbreathedfora

minute. Thinking abouttransporting herself home insome magic way. But thenthe minute was up and shewas still at the lake withDean. And she had to saysomething. So this is whatshesaid.

‘I always figured it wouldbe…you know…more…special.’Dean looked at her as if

she’djustspokenDutch.‘You’re a virgin? You’re

trying to tell me you’re avirgin?’‘Yes and no,’ Carly said.

She’dmeant only to think it.Yes,shewasavirgin.No,shehadn’tbeentryingtotellhimso. ‘Technically.’ It really

wasn’t all that technical. Itwas really pretty clear. But‘technically’ sounded betterthan ‘completely’. ‘I’m just… not… I don’t feel ready.Youknow?I’mjustnotquiteready.’‘You’re sixteen, right?’ A

flat indictment. Judge, juryandexecutioner.‘Yeah. But … That’s not

soweird.Isit?’

Alongwait.Carlyalreadyknew she wouldn’t like theanswer.‘It’s very weird. It’s, like

… freakish.’ He levered tohis feet. ‘I can’t believe Iwastedallthistimewithyou.Shit.Nothing’s right today. Ihatethisfuckingday.’Anotherknifepunchtothe

gut.ButnowCarly’sgutwasready.Shehadshutoffallthenerve centers, and the blow

landedinafieldofnothinginthedarknessinsideher.Deanwalkedaway.‘Whereareyougoing?’It sounded so thin and

pathetic and lame that she’dgladly have pressed an off-switch on the entire universeifthatwouldhavedeletedit.He stopped. Looked down

at her over his shoulder. Inmorewaysthanone.

‘I’m gonna gomake sometime with a girl who’s notlooking for something so…special.’ He imitated hervoiceonthelastword.Thefinalinsult.OrsoCarlythought.

Halfwaybackuptothecabin,Carly passed Dean andHeather.Walkingdowntothelake.Handinhand.

Dean grabbed the blanketoffCarly’sshoulder.‘We’llbeneedingthat,’he

said.Heather flashed Carly a

smile of smug and uttervictory.Carly quickened her steps

and trotteddouble-timeup tothecabin.There she grabbed her

suitcase from the corner ofthe bedroom floor. Threw in

any of her clothes shehappenedtoseelyingaround.Latched the bag with thesleeve of a long-sleeved tee-shirtstillhangingout.She marched out the front

door of the cabin and up thedriveway, shifting the heavybagfromhandtohandasshewalkeddowntheroad.Inthedirection of somewhere thatwasn’tthelake.

Itwasalreadynearlypitchdark.

Ned’s Bait & Tackle stoodout in neon in the night, theonly man-made object for amile. There was a payphoneout front. Just like sheremembered. Just like Deansaid.Itmadeherfeelsaved.Shefollowedthedirections

on the phone to place acollect call, punching in her

homenumberbyheart.Whenarecordedvoiceaskedhertosay her name, she said, ‘It’sme,Carly,’inaslightlyshakyvoice. Then she decided shecould say shewas only cold.That maybe it had soundedlikeshewastryingnottocry,but really her teeth had justchatteredslightly.The line rang six times.

Then the answering machinepickedup.

Carlyhungupandpressedher forehead to the phone.Closedhereyes.Snowbegantoswirl.Lotsofit.Bigflakes,quite suddenly. She glancedover at her shoulder andwatched the flakes settle onherjacketintheneonglow.She scoured her pockets

forquarters,andfoundsix.Ifshehadn’tfoundany,shehadno ideawhatshewouldhavedone. Even dollars would

have been of no use. Shedialed Teddy’s cell-phonenumberbyheart.Hepickeduponthesecond

ring.She said his name, but it

was noisy wherever Teddywas. She could barely hearhim. He could barely hearher.‘It’s Carly,’ she shouted

into the phone, though heprobably still couldn’t hear

her. And she didn’t havemuch time. Not for sixquarters.‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Let me

takethisoutside.’The background noise

faded, then sharply cut off,replaced by almost completesilence.‘Teddy,it’sme.Carly.’‘Carly. Where’re you

callingfrom?’

Only then did she realizehow close she’d been tolosingit.Tofallingapart.‘I’m in trouble, Teddy. I

need to get home. Can youcomeandgetme?’In the midst of those

words, Carly couldn’t holdthetearsbackanylonger.‘Howmuch trouble?What

kind of trouble? Should I becalling911here?’

‘FirstIneedyoutocallmeback. Before we get cut off.Letme read you the numberofthepayphone.’‘Wait. Let me see if it

comes up onmy cell phone.Yeah.I’vegotit.I’llcallyourightback.’Carly set the phone gently

in its cradle, and pressed herforehead against it again.When it rang, the vibration

madeherjump.Shepickeditup.‘Now where were we?’

Teddy asked. ‘How muchtrouble? Should I be calling911?’‘No. Not that much

trouble. I just couldn’t staythere. I just walked away.And now I’m at this littleshop that’s closed, and it’ssnowing,and Ican’tgobackthere, and it’s cold, and I

have to get home somehow.Nobody answered at thehouse.Whydidn’tsomebodyanswer at the house? Whereare you? Where iseverybody?’A long silence. Then

Teddysaid,‘Whenitrains,itpours.’‘Whatdoesthatmean?’‘It means we’ve got

ourselvesasituationhere.’‘Stillnotfollowing.’

‘OK, I’ll say it clearer,then. My whole world’sfalling apart here, Carly.Yours, too, you just don’tknow it yet. Everybody’sworld is falling apart. Andhere I thought it couldn’t getanyworse.Butifyouneedtogethome,fine.OfcourseI’llcome get you. Where areyou?’‘Idon’tknow.’Anotherlongsilence.

‘You do realize thatdoesn’thelpoursituation.’‘I don’t know thenameof

this road.But I’m in frontofthis little store called Ned’sBait & Tackle. It’s near atowncalledFishFork,whichis like the tiniest town in theworld, hardly even a town,butthisissortofontheotherside of it. It only took us anhour and a half to drive upherefromTulare.’

Silence.‘Fish Fork? No. Never

mind.Thisisnotimetomakejokes. Besides, it’s too easy.Ned’s Bait & Tackle. OK,fine. I’ll look thatup. I’ll tryto get the address from alisting on the business. AndI’ve got the number of thephone booth in case I can’tfindyou.Holdtight,OK?I’llbethereasquickasIcan.’

‘Teddy? What’s going onthere?’‘Please,Carly.Onedisaster

atatime.’

When she’d let him off thephone,Carlysatdownonhersuitcase. Leaned her backagainstthebait-shopwindow.Waited.Setherinternalclocksoshe’dbepreparedtowaitalongtime.

The snow covered her inlightveilsasshesat.

Itmighthavebeenacoldtenminutes or a cold hour laterwhen Dean’s dad’s four-wheel drive SUV pulled up.Pulled off the road and intothedirtparkinglotinfrontofNed’s Bait & Tackle. Carlydidn’tfigureshecouldhandleseeinghimuntilitcameclearwhy he was here. Maybe to

apologize. Maybe to sharemore thoughts on what afreakandalosershewas.Soshe kept looking up into thefalling flakes. Itwas aworldshe could almost live in. Ifshe just never looked downagain.The engine shut off. For a

fewmoments,ithadbeentheonly sound in her world. Itfelt good to get back to allthatsnowysilence.

In the absolute still, Carlyheard the window powerdown.‘YouOK?’It was not the voice of

Dean. It was not even thevoiceofaboy.Carlylookeddown.It was Janie. Janie had

gottenthekeyssomehowanddrivenallthewayoutheretofind her. To see if she wasOK.

‘I’m fine,’ Carly said, andtippedherheadbackuptotheskyagain.‘You need a ride or

something?WantmetodriveyoubackdowntoTulare?’‘That’saniceoffer,’Carly

said. Still without lookingdown.‘ButIcalledmyfriendTeddyandhe’sonhiswayupheretogetme.’A long silence. Carly

listenedtoitwithgreatcare.

Then Janie said, ‘Youknow. I dated Dean aboutthree times.Sophomoreyear.He’satotaljerk.’Carly said nothing for a

long time. Right up until thetime she said, ‘Thanks.’Without even knowing shewas about to. ‘Why’d youeven come up to his cabin,then?’A question she probably

hadnorighttoask.Butitwas

toolate.‘BecauseHunterwashere.’‘Oh.Hunter’snicer?’‘No. Hunter’s a total jerk,

too. But he’s so hot, whocares? You sure you’re OK?Youwanttosit inthecartillyour ride gets here?Are youfreezing?’Yes and no, she thought.

She’d almost gotten used tothe cold. Accepted it asnormal. She thought of the

insideofDean’scar, the rideup. She should have known,eventhen,thatshewasnevera part of anything.Now thathadbeencold.Thiswasfine.Carly wanted nothing less

thantogobackwardintoanypart of that world. AndJanie’spitymadeheruneasy.Madeherfeellikeevenmoreofajerk.‘No,I’mgood,’Carlysaid.

‘Thanks,though.’

Flakes swirled down intoher face for a couple ofmoments more. Seconds orminutes, Carly didn’t know.She’dlosttheabilitytojudge.Swirling flakes against ablack sky gave no frame ofreference. For anything. Lifewas not demarcated in anyway.Notanymore.The engine of the SUV

firedupagain.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Janiesaid.Then she powered the

windowup,backedoutontothe snowy road, anddisappeared around a hairpincurve.Carlylookeddown,briefly,

watchinghergo.Yeah, Merry Christmas,

she thought. ‘Tis the seasonto be jolly. Oh joyous night.

Oh wondrous freakingeverything.She leaned back even

farther, so that the crown ofher head rested on the coldfront window of the baitstore.At some point, without

realizing it, she must havedriftedasleep.

AslammingcardoorbroughtCarly bolt upright. Her neck

screamed complaints whenasked to suddenly straightenout again. But she didn’tvoicethatpain.Teddy was standing right

infrontofher.Shelookedupintohisface

for what seemed like a longtime. Watched the swirlingflakes gather on his shaggyhair.Shecouldn’tseehisfacewellenoughtogaugethelookinhiseyes.

‘Nowyouknowwhyyourmomdidn’twantyou togo,’hesaid.With some effort, she

pulled stiffly to her feet andthrew her arms around him.Hesighed.Wrappedherupinwarmth. Not just physicalwarmth,either.Everykindofwarmth. Every version ofwarm that existed anywhereintheworld.

Amomentlaterheheldherat arms’ length by theshoulders.‘Question number one.

Shouldwe bemaking a stopat a police station? Or ahospital?’Carlyshookherhead.‘Nothing happened against

yourwill?’She gathered herself up to

speak.Itwasn’teasy.

‘He stopped when I toldhimhehad to stop.But thenhe just … He just … Hetotallyturnedonme.’Teddy sighed, and pulled

her close again.Carly let thetearsflow.Shecouldfeelherteethchattering, andcouldn’tfigureoutwhysheshouldbecoldernow,allwrappedupinTeddy.Maybeitwasbecauseof the truth.Letting the truthbackin.

Teddy held her at arms’lengthagain.‘Letmetellyousomething

about boys. It’s a subject Ihappen to know a thing ortwoabout.Because I used tobeone.Infact,therearethosewho’ll tell you I still am. Sotake it from a pro. Asurprisingnumberofboysareassholes. Not all. But asurprising number. Totalassholes.Well, no.Not total.

Assholes, but not completeassholes.This is thepart I’mtrying to tell you. They’reactually not trying to beassholes. They’re trying tofigure out how to be men.And, letme tell you, it’s notas easy as it looks in thedirections. And all thedifferentwaysthatmanthinggets modeled for them …well, that’s definitely nothelping. I’m not trying to let

them off the hook. I’m notsaying it’s not their fault.Exactly. Because if it’s nottheir fault then whose faultwould it be? I’m just sayingthey’re trying to figure outsomething tricky. How to bea man is a tricky thing tofigureoutonyourown.’Carly sniffled. She could

barelyseeTeddy through thesnowflakes that had gathered

on her eyelashes. Carly hadhermother’sthickeyelashes.‘How old were you when

you figured out how to be aman?’‘When I get there, I’ll be

sure to let you know. Nowcome on. I don’t have snowtires,orchains,orfour-wheeldrive. I’m in a low-clearancevehicle here. And it’s reallycomingdown.Weneedtoget

out of here while we stillcan.’

‘Idon’tlikethis,’Teddysaid.‘Idon’tlikethisonebit.’He maneuvered the car

aroundaseriesoftightturns,at about fivemiles per hour.Every now and then the reartires fish-tailed dangerouslyontheicyroad.ItmadeCarlyloseherstomach,likeasharpdroponarollercoaster.

‘Ican’treallytouchthegasorthebrake.Orittriestospinout. And it’s steep here. I’mputtingitinlow.’Teddy shifted the

automatic transmission, andCarlyheardandfelt thedeepthrumoftheengine.‘We’ll bedown soon,’ she

said.Somehow she knew, or at

least felt with all her being,thatinaminutethey’dreturn

to a reasonable altitude. Tosomething like the worldshe’d always known. Thenthisnightmarewouldbeover.Unfortunately, that remindedher there might be othernightmares.Waiting.‘WhatwasgoingonwhenI

called,Teddy?’‘Oh,God,’hesaid.Then, for an extended and

difficultmoment,shethought

hemightnotbewillingtosaymore.‘Youknow,’hesaidatlast,

‘I was about to offer to gofind this guy and beat thecrap out of him for you. Ifthat would help yoursituation. I don’tmind doingthe ninety days or whateverthelawwouldgiveme.I’dbehappy to. Except it wouldn’thelp your situation, and webothknowit.Wordwouldget

around, and then no boy inthe whole school – hell, thewhole town – would evercomenearyouagain.’‘Whyareyouchangingthe

subject?’‘I’mnot. I’m trying to tell

you, Carly. I was justthinking…youknow…thepartIjustsaid.Andthenithitmethatyoureallydon’thavea problem at all. Imean, notan ongoing one. Because

you’renevergoingtoseethatguy again. Because yourmom is home packing youguysuptogo.She’snotonlymoving to another town,she’s talking about anotherstateentirely.IthinkshesaidNewMexico.’Carly waited for some

emotional reaction fromherself, but all was still andcalm inside. Probably

because she didn’t believe awordshewashearing.‘NewMexico?’‘I think it might have

something to do with thatguy.’‘Whatguy?’‘You can drop the act,

Carly. I’ve known for a longtime.’‘Wade.’‘Yeah.Thatguy.’‘She’llchangehermind.’

‘Notthistime.’‘She always changes her

mind.’‘Not this time,Carly. This

is a whole different ball-game.’‘What happened while I

wasgone?’Thebackwheelsspunwith

an alarming whirring sound,and took on a life of theirown, drifting close to theedge of the road. And the

path of the headlightsilluminated what lay beyondthat edge. Not much. Just alongwaydown.‘Shit,’ Teddy said, and

tookhisfootoffthegas.Carly instinctively braced

her hands against thedashboard. The car stoppedsliding with maybe a foot tospare.‘I better concentrate on

whatI’mdoing,’hesaid.

They navigated the twistymountain road in silence forseveralminutes.The car didn’t slide again.

The snow was letting upsome. It was thinner hittingthewindshield,andtherewasathinnerbuild-upontheroadinfrontoftheheadlights.They were coming down

intothevalley.‘There were no parents

there,’Carlysaid.

‘Now there’s a shocker,’Teddy said calmly. ‘I can’timaginehowanyonecould’veseenthatcoming.’‘You thinkmymomknew

therewouldn’tbe?’‘I think it crossed her

mind.’Silence. Until the road

lookedfamiliaragain.‘Just one more thing I

wanted to say,’ Teddy said,startling her. ‘I think you

know better than to believeeverything you hear aboutme.Aboutanybody.Right?’Shewaitedtoseewherehe

was going with that thought.Hedidn’tsaymore.‘That’sit?’‘Yup. That’s it. Just don’t

believe everything you hear.Just promise me you won’tbelieveeverything that’s saidabout me. That’s all I’masking, Carly. Seems like a

small price to pay for theride.’

Teddy pulled up in front ofthe house and shifted intopark. He didn’t pull into thedriveway. He didn’t turn offtheengine.‘Do me a favor,’ he said.

‘Do us both a favor. Do thewhole world a favor. Jumpoutquickbeforesheseesme.And don’t tell her I brought

youhome.Tellheroneoftheguysdroveyoudown,orthateverybodycamebackearly.’Carly just stared at him.

None of this seemed willingtoclickintoplace.‘You’renotcomingin?’‘No,’Teddysaid, asmuch

an expelled breath, a ruefullaugh,asaword.‘WhenwillIseeyou?’‘Well,that’saproblem.’

‘You’re never coming inthehouseagain?’‘When your mom moves

youallout…rent’spaid tilltheendofthemonth.’‘I’m not going. I want to

staywithyou.’‘That’s not an option,

Carly. That’s never going tohappen.She’dneverallowit.Nowayinhell.Besides,Icanbarelylookaftermyselfrightnow.’

Carly felt the tears,pressing again. She pushedback.Hard.‘So I just never see you

again?’‘Whenyougetsettled,call

me on my cell and let meknow where you are. ThatwayIcanletyouknowwhenI find a place to live. Butdon’tletherfindoutwe’reintouch or there’ll be hell topay. Now hop out. Quick,

Carly. There’s going to betrouble if she looks out thatwindow.’‘It couldn’t possibly be as

badasyou’remakingitouttobe.’‘Kid,’ he said. He had

never called her kid before.‘You have no friggin’ ideahowbadit is.Goquick.Anddon’t believe everything youhear.’

Carlysteppedoutontothecurb and watched Teddy’sFirebird speed away. Part ofher thought she might neversee him again. Another partof her firmly believed thiswould all blow over bytomorrow.Lots of stuff blewoverinhermom’shouse.Badstuff.Allthetime.Thiscouldblowover,too.Whatever‘this’was.

When she got inside, Wadewasthere.Inthekitchenwithher mom. They werewrappingdishestogether.Hermomwasupona step stool,taking Grandma’s gooddishes down and wrappingthem in sheets of newspaper,then handing them down toWade, who fit them intocardboardcartons.OnlythendidCarlyrealize

how unreal this had all

seemed. Until just thismoment. And how real it allwas.Howrealithadbeenallalong.She stood in the kitchen

entryway,hershoulderleanedonthedoorframe.Theybothlookedup.‘What’s he doing here?’

Carlyasked.Wade’sstaredarkened.‘We’re leaving,’ Carly’s

momsaid.

‘Icanseethat.Butwhy?’‘I’lltellyoulater.’‘Tellmenow.’‘OK, fine,’ her mom said.

Like it was Carly she wasmad at. Like Carly hadcaused all this trouble. Likeher mom had forgotten thatCarly hadn’t been here aminute ago,wasn’t supposedtobeherenow.‘Youwanttoknow?Youwanttotalkaboutitrightnow?Fine.We’lltalk

about it right now. We’releaving because Teddy triedtorapeJen.’Carly felt her head rock

back a little. Teddy’s voiceechoed in her head. ‘Don’tbelieve everything you hearabout me.’ So all her momhadtodowastellthisviciouslieoutloud.ThenTeddywasout and Wade was in. Andnobody would think any theworse of her mom for it.

She’d be the heroine. Themomma bear. Carlywondered why she hadn’tseen something like thiscoming.‘You’re unbelievable,’

Carlysaid.‘I don’t know quite what

thatmeans coming from yourightnow,butgopack.’‘I’mnotgoing.’‘Oh, hell, yeah you are.

Nowgopackupyourstuff.’

Her mom stomped downoffthestepstoolandgrabbedupaboxofdishes.Wadehadbarely finished taping up thetop. The end of the tapehadn’tevenbeen tornoff theroll when she whisked theboxaway.Shepausedbrieflytolethimfinish, thencarriedtheboxtothegarage.Wade stared into Carly’s

eyes in a way thatmade heruneasy.Shelookedaway.

‘IfI’dtalkedtomymotherlikethat,I’dhavebeensorry.’‘Like I care,’ she said,

feelingbrave.‘If you were my kid I’d

teachyousomerespect.’‘I’mnot,though.’Carly peeled away from

the doorframe and marchedupstairs.Halfwayup,ithitherwhat

she should have said. ‘Youcan’t teach respect. The

person who wants it has toearn it.’ Those would havebeen the rightwords.But bythenitwastoolate.She marched into Jen’s

bedroom.Jenwaspackingtheclothes and shoes from herclosetintocardboardcartons.‘Don’t,’Carlysaid.‘What are you doing back

already?’‘Don’tpack.’

‘I have to pack. We’removing.’‘I’mnotmoving.’‘You have to, Carly. We

can’tmovewithoutyou.’Jen’seyeslookedtoowide.

Likeaspookedanimal.Carlytried to remember if she hadeverseenJenspookedbefore.Nothingcametomind.Carly flopped down on

Jen’sbed.

‘Can you believe this?Howmuchdoesthissuck?’‘I know,’ Jen said. She

stopped packing and sat onthe edge of the bed. NearCarly’s hip. ‘All my friendsarehere.’‘She’sunbelievable.Ican’t

believe she did this. Wade’sgoing with us, isn’t he? Shedidn’t need to do this. Sheshould have just told thetruth.Ifshewantedtobewith

Wade, she should have saidso. I’d hate her for it, ofcourse. But not like this.Nothingcould’vebeenworsethanthis.ShewantsTeddytobe thevillain,nother.Teddycouldneverbeavillain.He’stoo damn sweet. Nobody’severgoingtobelievethis,soIdon’t know why she eventried.’Jen opened her mouth to

speak.

Atthatmoment,theirmomappearedinthedoorway.‘Don’ttalk.Pack.’‘I’mnotgoing,’Carlysaid.‘Here’s how it’s going to

be, Carly. You are going.That’s a legal fact. I canenforce that. The onlyquestion is whether you’regoing with or without yourstuff. When Jen and Wadeand I get all packed up andreadytogo,whateverofyour

stuff isn’t packed stays here.You don’t own it any more.Now, is that some kind ofmotivation?’Carly sat up and looked

straight into her mother’seyes. Carly was set, plantedasfirmlyasshehadeverbeeninherlife.Butthelookinhermom’seyesmatchedall that.And raised it. Carly shouldhaveknown.Shecouldnever

out-angry her mom. Nobodycould.Themomentstretchedout.‘You’rea liar,’Carly said.

‘And I hate you for it. AndI’ll never believe anotherwordyousay.And I’llneverforgive you for this.As longasweboth live, I’llnever…ever…forgiveyou.’

Tulare,21December

It wasn’t until late thefollowing day that Carly’smother looked at her asthoughsheweresomekindofalien life form and said,‘Aren’t you supposed to stillbeatthelake?’

Carly told her they’d allcome down early so theywouldn’t get snowed in forChristmas.It was the first time she’d

spoken to her mother sincethepreviousnight.It was the last time she

spoke to her mother inmonths.In fact, for all intents and

purposes, itwas the last timeshespoketohermother.

PartThreeNowAgain

WakapiLand,Friday13May

‘Your first job …’ Deloressays, as they file out of thehenhouselikeachaingangoftwo.Carlydoesn’tevengiveher

timetofinish.

‘Now?We don’t even gettowaittillmorning?’‘Nope. You don’t. Not in

this case. You’re gonna geton over to that rock pile andhaul a bunch of them bigrocks and put ’em at thecornerofthehenhouse.Builditupthere,sonothin’cangetthrough where it’s open,thanks to you.Otherwise I’lljust have to charge youanotherweek foreveryhen I

lose. But first lemme showyouwhereyou’llbeddown.’Carly looks at Jen, who

looks back wild-eyed. Theywere ready to drop fromexhaustion before they evercrossed the road to this hell.And the adrenaline hasdrained away now, leavingCarly trembling from herbelly out. She feels like shecouldn’t lift anegg.Howaretheygoingtoliftbigrocks?

Jensighs.Carlysighsback.

The door of the hot-pinktrailer screeches whenDeloresopensit.Theybarelyhavetostepuptogetin.‘Go on in an’ get settled.

GottagogetRoscoe.’Carly’s stomach tingles in

fear.There’samanhereafterall.Shepraysthemanisevenolder than Delores, and can

barely move. She looks outthelittleroundwindowinthetrailer door, waiting to seehim.But when Delores

Watakobie reappears, there’sno man. The old woman isjust leading an ancient dogalong by the collar. He’sliver-colored andwhite,withliver spots on hiswhite legs,andabig lumpymassonhiship.

There’s no glass in thelittleslitofsidewindow.Justa screen. SoCarly canmoveover and speak to the oldwomanfromthere.‘How come your dog

didn’tbarkatus?’‘Old Roscoe’s deaf as a

post.Anddon’twejustmakeagreatpair?Ican’thardlyseeandRoscoecan’thardlyhear.Gotta put the two of ustogether to get one good

observation. Guess ourcreator figures we deserveeach other. You. The littleone. Come alongwithme tothe well out back and we’llget you girls a bucket ofwater and a couple of cups.Got to drink plenty of waterso’syoudon’tdie.’Jenslipsoutintothenight.Delores leads the old dog

to a spot by the trailer door,

where he happily sets hisrumpbackdown.She lifts one of Roscoe’s

heavy,droopyearsandshoutsstraightin,‘Watchthetrailer,Roscoe!’Roscoe curls up and goes

backtosleep.Delores Watakobie

waddles away with Jenfollowingbehind.

Carly lets Jen drink her fillfirst, even though it seems totake a year. Then she gorgesherself.Thewater is vaguelywarm and has an aftertastelike metal. But it’s still themost welcome sensation herbodycanimagine.There’s a bare mattress at

the other end that looks justbig enough forbothof them.Jen isalreadymakingherselfcomfortableonit.

‘We’ll get away,’ Carlywhispers.Nowthat they’vehadtheir

fillofwater,theyhavehalfachance to make it. Thenagain, Carly thinks, is half achance good enough? Whatabout the other fifty per centoftheirpossibilities?‘Might be nice to be

someplaceforawholeweek,’Jensays.

‘Yeah.Someplace.Butnothere.’‘But we’re here now. So

thisisasgoodasanyplace.’‘Areyoukidding?Athard

labor?’‘But maybe she’ll feed us

atleast.’‘Shhhh. I think she’s

comingback.’Carly leans over to the

window and watches the oldwomanwaddleacrossthedirt

to the trailer. She’s holdingsomething, a differentsomething in each hand, butthe moon is behind her,casting shadows, and Carlycan’t see what she has. Butshecanclearlyseethemuzzleof the shotgun angling upfrom the crook of DeloresWatakobie’srightarm.Knock,knock.‘What?’Carlysays.

‘Open up. Move it,Roscoe!’ With anaccompanying nudge of herfoot.Carlydoesasshe’stold.So

doesRoscoe.Delores hands in a woven

basketwith something insideit,but it’swrappedina linentowel and Carly can’t seewhat it is.Thenshehands ina white glass bottle. Or a

clear glass bottle withsomethingwhiteinside.‘Couldn’t see fit to cook

eggsafteryoutriedtoget’emonthehelp-yourselfplan.ButI got to thinkin’… even theworstjailerintheworldgivesbread and water. I ain’t theworst jailer in the world. SoI’m givin’ fry bread andgoat’smilk.’‘Thankyou,ma’am,’Carly

says.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Jenechoes.‘You’re welcome. Part

humane and part selfish.Gotta put somethin’ in yougirls to get some good workout.Nowhurryupandeat’nthengetonouthere.Yougotalotofworktodo.’Before she can hobble all

theway back into the house,Jen runs to the windowscreen.

‘Ma’am?’‘Yeah?’‘Youknowwhatdayofthe

weekthisis?’‘Friday, I think.’ The old

head bobs thoughtfully.‘Ninety-fivepercentsureit’saFriday.’‘I knew it,’ Jen whispers

under her breath. ‘I knew itallalong.’

Nottenminutesafterthefoodis gone, they’re out haulingrocks in the moonlight.Delores Watakobiesupervises. As does hershotgun.

About an hour after Jenbegins snoring lightly, whenshe’s pretty sure DeloresWatakobie will be asleep,Carlychecks the trailerdoor.Toseeifthey’relockedin.

The door squeaks open afew inches, then hits anobstacle. She sticks her headpartway through to see whatthe trouble is. It’s Roscoe.He’s sleeping in front of thedoor, which has hung up onhisrump.He lifts his head and

growls at her, a low,meaningful rumble in thedepthsofhisthroat.

Carly gives up. Oneverything.Thistrip.Herlife.Everything.She curls up behind Jen

andtriestogetsomesleep.

WakapiLand,14May

A knock on the trailer doorstartles Carly out of a deepsleep,andadeepdream.Butshe doesn’t know what thedreamwas. The knock sendsit flying. She finds herselfsitting straight up, looking

around, literally not knowingwheresheisorwhy.Andshecan’t seem to figure it out,either. It’s almost as thoughshe’s still sleeping, but withher eyes wide open. It’s apanickysensation.Afewsecondslateritrolls

back over her, like a wavethat had only briefly pulledaway from shore. It feelsheavyandugly,atwistinherbelly.

She looks around for Jen,butJenisgone.Another knock, startling

herjustasdeeply.She walks to the trailer

doorandopensittothatsamehorrible metallic scream.Looks into the face of herdreadedcaptor.‘What?’ Carly says,

already defensive. ‘Am I notworkinghardenough?’

She notices that DeloresWatakobiehasno shotgun inthe crook of her arm. Carlycouldjustrun.Butinthenextbreath she knows she can’t,because she doesn’t knowwhereJen is.Shecan’t leavewithoutJen.‘C’mon’n the house for

breakfast,’ the old womansays, then turns and waddlesaway.

Carly looks around forRoscoe, but he’s nowhere tobeseen.She crosses the dirt yard

and ducks into the littlehouse. It has an oddly lowdoorway. It doesn’t literallyforce her to duck her head,but it’s lower than usual, soshe does anyway. Like areflex.Jenissittingonafadedold

couchwithacolorfulblanket

thrown over it as a cover.She’sholdingawovenbasketin one hand, examining itcarefully.Withtheotherhandshe’s scratching Roscoebehindtheears.Suchadirty,smelly old dog. It makesCarly’s stomach do a quarterturn just to watch it. Ormaybe that’s not the reason.Maybe it’s the fact that Jenlooks relaxed and at home.Almost … content.

Sometimes themoments thatbring happy responses fromJen make Carly think shedoesn’tknowhersisteratall.And her sister is all she hasleft. That is, until they gethometoTeddy.Jen looks up, and Carly

seesitinhereyes.Somethinglike guilt. For being caughtliking these miserablesurroundings.

Be patient with her, Carlythinks. That was a prettyclose brush we had with …she still doesn’t want to usetheawfulD-word.Withbeingnowhere. With never beingfound. Not in time. Jen isprobably just happy to bealive, and to smell breakfastcooking.Carly sits in the kitchen –

though there’s no formaldivisionbetweenthatandthe

living room – at an oldFormica table that looks likea throwback to her mother’schildhood. Hell, hergrandmother’s,maybe.Jensitsdown,too.Without

aword.Delores sets a heavy

potteryplateinfrontofCarly,with three small fried eggsand a disc of the samebreadtheyhadlastnight.

‘Thought we didn’t rateeggs,’ Carly says. ‘Youknow. Since we tried to getthem on the help-yourselfplan.’Delores sweeps the plate

awayagain.‘Fine. Don’t have ’em,

then.YoujustmadeRoscoe’smorning.’‘Wait!’Carlyshouts.Theoldwomanstops,plate

at about her chest level.

Which isn’t veryhigh, in theworld of average-heightpeople.‘I’msorry.Ireallydowant

them.I’msorry.’The plate clatters down in

frontofheragain.‘Thank you,’ Carly says.

‘Thank you for making useggs.’Delores wrinkles her

alreadywrinkled brow. ‘You

gotalotofattitude,youknowthat?Darnshameit’sallbad.’‘My attitude’s no worse

thanyours.’Thewordscomeout before Carly can stopthem.She looks down at the

eggs, ready to watch themdisappear again. She brieflymournstheirloss.Thenshelooksbackat the

old woman’s face, just intime to see Delores toss her

head back and shake,seemingly to her bones,withaweirdlaughter.‘Now there’sa true thing,’

Delores says. ‘No arguin’withyouthere.’She fetches a second plate

of eggs andbread and sets itmore gently in front of Jen,who smiles up at the oldwoman.Asifwithsomekindofaffection.

First Carly thinks, Don’tbother kissing up. Sheprobably can’t even see wellenough to tell. Then shewonders what happenedwhile shewas sleeping.Howlong was Jen in the housewiththehorribleoldwoman?Dotheysomehowknoweachotheralready?And,ifso,canthat be anything to smileabout?

Carly waits for the oldwoman to sit down, so shecanstart.Delores only putters

around at the porcelaincounter.Afteramoment,sheturnsherhead,as if listeningforsomething.‘Well,don’tletitgetcold,’

shesays.‘Eat.’Carlygrabsupherforkand

doesasshe’stold.

The more real, morepermanent fix to thehenhouse involves firstmoving away all the rocksthey so carefully stacked lastnight.It’s still early-ishmorning,

with the sun on a long slant,but Carly can feel sweatrunning down into her collaras she works. The cores ofherarmsandlegsfeelshaky,and she can’t tell if it’s a

physical or an emotionalresponse.Delores Watakobie is

sitting in theshade,watchingthem. Or, at least, followingthemwithhereyes.Carlyhasno idea how much the oldwoman sees. She can neverbe quite sure what the oldwoman’s vision will hide,will allowCarly to get awaywith. Maybe nothing thatDelores’s unusually sharp

hearing won’t take backagain.Roscoe is sitting in the

shade, leaning on one of theold woman’s legs, pantingamicably.The more Carly moves

around the dilapidatedproperty, the more she seesit’s not as clean as it lookedfrom the road. Behind thehouse, there’s junk stored.Behind the henhouse, more

junk. Old bedsprings androlledmetalfencingmaterial.Rustedpaintcans.Behindthelittle barn, it looks likesomebody tore a vehicle ofsome sort apart with theirbarehands.ItseemswrongtoCarlyto

just throw or stack all thatstuff behind something. Likethat solves it. Out of sight,outofmind.Carlyisanything

butaneatfreak,butitargueswithhersenseoforder.Someday, she thinks, I’ll

have a sweet little piece ofproperty. But not here.Someplacethat’snothinglikehere.Someplacethat’snotsohot. And dry. And empty.Anddepressing.AndI’llkeepitnice.Notlikethis.‘What’s wrong with your

feet?’ Delores asks.Suddenly.

It startles Carly out of herthoughts. She stops, anddropsherrock,carefulnot todropitonherfoot.Jenkeepshauling.‘Who,me?OrJen?’‘You.’‘Nothing’swrongwithmy

feet. Why would you askthat?’Herblistersarekillingher.

Butshedoesn’twanttoadmitit. She feels like a wounded

deer being watched by twocoyotes. I amnot lame. I amnotlame.‘C’mereasecond,’Delores

says.Carlyinchesclosertoher.The old woman’s hand

dartsoutandgrabsherbythecalf, pulling her foot up,pulling it closer. She’ssurprisingly strong for herageandstature.Carlyalmostfalls, but catches her balance

again. She thinks the oldwoman is going to somehowlookatherfootverycloseup.The better to see it. Instead,Delores shakes the foot upanddown.Carly can feel theoversize boot slip back andforth.‘Theseboots’retoobig.’‘Iknowit.’‘Don’ttheygiveblisters?’‘Maybe.What’sittoyou?’

‘Nothin’,’ Delores says.‘Nothin’ at all. You wantblisters?Fine.Keep’em.’She drops Carly’s foot. It

hits the dirt with a whump,raising a miniature puff ofdust.‘WhatchoicedoIhave?’‘I was gonna offer to fix

’em.But you ’n that attitude…’‘How can you fix them?

They’re just too big. You

can’tmakethemsmaller.Youcan’tmakemyfeetbigger.’‘You wanna argue about

it?Oryouwannasee?’Carly looks over her

shoulder at Jen, who isclearlylistening.‘You didn’t tell me you

hadblisters,’Jensaid.‘Sure I did. Remember at

the bus station. I …’ Shestartedtosay‘took’.‘I“took”thosebandages.’Shechanges

it. ‘… got those adhesivebandages?’‘You said that was “in

case”yourheelsgotrubbed.’‘Well,theydid.’Delores Watakobie

lumberstoherfeet.It’squitetheproduction.‘C’mon’n the house,’ she

saystoCarly.‘Littleone,’shecalls to Jen. ‘Wanna take abreak?’

‘Naw,I’llkeepgoing,’Jensays.Which seems weird.

Hauling rocks if you’ve justbeen given a chance to stophauling. That’s outsideCarly’s understanding of theworld.Carly follows the old

womanintothehouse.Shesitsonthecouchwhile

Deloresrummages,mostlybyfeel, through boxes in the

closet. Most are the size ofshoeboxes.‘How did you know I had

blisters?’Atfirst,noreply.Asifshe

doesn’t rate the attention.Asif answers were somethinglike cooked eggs. SomethingCarlymightnotdeserve.The old woman grunts

deeply and straightens up,clutching a shoe box to herchest.Shecrossestheroomto

thekitchenandplowsnoisilythroughadrawer.‘Couldhearit,’shesays.Carly laughsout loud.Not

an amused laugh, but ajudgmentalone.A laugh thatdiscounts.Criticizes.‘You can’t hear blisters.

Theydon’tmakeanoise.’‘People’s steps sound one

waywhen all’swell, anotherway when there’s pain.

Person walks different inpain.Hard to explain. But I

know it when I hear it.’ ShesitsdownnexttoCarlyonthecouch. ‘Take ’em off,’ shesays.Carly unlaces her boots,

sighing slightly as she slipsoneoff.It feelsgoodtohavenothing pressing against thebloody disasters that are herheels.

Delores opens the box.Inside Carly can see small,narrow scraps of what looklike thicksheepskin.Noneofthem look wide enough tolineashoe.The old woman sets the

boxtopontherug,setsabigpairofshearsontopofit.Sheruns her hands through thescraps until she finds thebiggest,widestone.Thensheholds it to the bottom of

Carly’sbootandbeginstocutthe scrap, feeling theedgeofthe boot sole as she goesalong.Itseemslikeaprocessthat

will take a little time. Carlyhas no idea how to pass thattime.Wheretolook.Whattosay.She wants to say

somethinghalfwaynice.‘Noshotguntoday.’Sheknowsthatwasn’tit.

The old woman onlygrunts.‘How do you know we

won’tjustwalkaway?’‘Uptoyou.’That sits in the air for a

moment. Carly has no ideawhattodowithit.‘Whatdoyoumean,it’sup

to me? You’re forcing us tostayhereforaweek.’‘Nope.’

‘What do you mean,nope?’‘You don’t know what

nopemeans?’‘Thisisnotvoluntary.’Carly’sgettingheatednow.

She can feel it. Somethingabout this old woman bringsoutthefightinher.‘Honor system. You two

sayyou’reallabouthonest.Ifso, you’ll do what youpromised.Ifnot,you’llgo.’

Delores has alreadyfinished cutting onesheepskin insole. It hassomething like a longsheepskintailattheheelend.Maybe an inch wide. Carlywonderswhentheoldwomanwillcutitoff.‘Last night you were

holding us at the point of agun.’‘Last night if you’d of

taken off, you’d be dead.

Nothing clear to ArkobaVillage the way you washeaded.Andeven that’sonlyif you know how to getthere.’‘That’s bull. You don’t

even know which way wewereheaded.’‘Yeah, I do. Your sister

told me. Besides, it don’tmatter. Nothin’ in a day’swalk in any other directions,neither. If I hadn’t put some

food and drink in you, youwouldn’t’ve had a chance.Don’tlikeyourchancesnow,but that’s up to you. Pig-headed enough to chance it,youare.Yoursistergotmoresense,though.’Carly can feel her jaw

hanging open. Dropped. Shedoesn’tknowwhattocounterfirst. The part about Jenwasover the line. So she leavesthatpartalone.

‘Oh,right.Sothisisallforus. Not for you. You’re justbeing helpful. Is that whatyouwantmetobelieve?’‘Believe what you want,’

Delores says. ‘Ever’bodyalwaysdoes.’

Carly stands at the kitchensink, her left leg weirdlyangled up, watching Deloreswash one of her blisters byfeel. It makes her wince a

little.Partlyfrompain,partlyfrom a squeamishness aboutbeing touched with thosespotted,wrinkledhands.Delores is using a rough

bar of soap that doesn’texactly look like soap youbuy in a store. It stings, asting exceeding any logicalexpectation for soap in awound.Deloresisnotgentle,either. Anything but. In fact,whentheoldwomanfeelsthe

flap of skin dangling fromCarly’s heel, she pulls it off.In one quick rip, the wayyou’dtakeoffabandageyouknow is stuck to the wound.Allatonce,justtogetitoverwith.‘Ow!’Carlyshouts.Really

even a little louder thannecessary. ‘You want to askbefore you start removingpieces of me? Maybe Iwantedtokeepmyskin.’

‘Youdon’twantthat.’‘Really.Whydon’tI?’‘’Cause it’s infected. Last

thingyouwant’sforaflapofskin to seal back over aninfection.’‘Oh.Still.Canyouwarna

person?’‘Put your foot down and

gimmetheotherone.’‘Right,’ Carly says. ‘Sure.

Whateveryousay.Thanksforansweringthequestion.’

She takes her still-wet leftfootoutofthesinkandsetsiton the kitchen floor,presentingtheseconddisastertoDeloresandthesink.Delores washes by feel

again,herheadslightlytilted.Then she says, ‘I’m

thinking to take this flap o’skin, too, so you might bewantin’ to brace yourselfnow.’

Without waiting for ananswer,Delorespulls.Carlydoesnotsay‘ow’.

‘What about this thing?’Carly says, indicating thelong strip of sheepskin thatprotrudes from the top ofeachboot. ‘You’re not goingtocutthatoff?’‘Nowwhywouldyouwant

metogo’ndothat?’

‘Well. When I stick myfoot in, it’ll get all smasheddown into the boot, and I’llbewalkingaroundonthatallday.’Delores just shakes her

head.AsifCarlyhasbroughta level of silliness into thehouse that doesn’t evenwarrant the old woman’sattention. Instead she takesholdofCarly’sshouldersandplunksherontothecouch.

‘Sit,’shesays,whenCarlyisalreadydown.‘I’mnotadog.’‘Inoticed.’‘Youdon’tsaythatlikeit’s

agoodthing.’‘If youwas a dog, all you

could say to me’s, “Woof.”That’d be someimprovement.’Carly decides not to

escalatethingsanyfurther.

Delores picks up Carly’sfeet, one at a time, andslathers her heels with athick, evil-smelling,translucent ointment. Carlyexpects it to burn like hell,and she braces for that pain.Instead it’s soothing, whichleaves her speechless, andfeeling,forsomeinexplicablereason, like she might beabouttocry.

Delores tears strips off alength of clean white cottonfabric and wraps it twicearound each foot like abandage.Thenshelumberstoherfeet.‘Those socks you got are

worthnexttonothin’.’Shehobblesovertoachest

ofdrawers.Carly looks around,

wondering where the oldwomansleeps.It’sallonebig

room.Nobedinsight.Maybethecouchfoldsout.Delorescomesbackwitha

pair of thick gray socks.Weirdlythick,likebootsocksorhiking socks.Nothing likeany socks Carly’s ever wornbefore.She drops them in Carly’s

lap.Carlyjuststaresatthem,as

ifshedoesn’tknowwhattheyare or how to use them. In

fact,shesimplydoesn’tknowiftheyarealoanoragift,andif she can accept either onefromthishorribleoldwomanwithoutbeingobligedtotonedown her hatred andresentment. At least by anotchortwo.Delores says, ‘Waitin’ for

directions?’‘Why are you acting like

you like me? I know youdon’t.’

‘So … you don’t likesomebody … you see ’emsufferin’…You just let ’emsuffer?’Carly has to think about

that for aminute. If itwas astranger … Maybe. She’salways thought of otherpeople’s suffering as entirelyoutside her realm ofinfluence. Not so much likeshe’s withholding assistance.

Morelikeshe’sonadifferentplanetfromthesuffering.As if I don’t have enough

troublewithmyownlife,shethinks.WhatcouldIpossiblydo for a stranger?What do Ihave that could rescueanybody?Ican’tevenrescueJen.Orme.‘So you admit you don’t

likeme.’‘Ilikeyoursister,’Delores

replies, without missing a

beat.That just hangs in the air,

leaving Carly at a loss forwhat to say, or evenwhat tofeel. But a moment later,something breaks through.Something that hurts.Everybody likes Jen better.WhydoeseverybodylikeJenbetter? What did Carly everdo that was so wrong? Shetries so hard to makeeverythingworkoutright.Jen

just floats through theworld,through her life, and peoplesparktoher.Justlikethat.TeddylikedJenbetter.The thought slices up her

gut like a rusty can opener.She’salwaysknownthat,butnever formed it into words.Notevenintheprivacyofherownhead.‘Sister thinks like a

Wakapi,’Deloressays.‘Picksup the feel of the land. First

thingshedid thismornin’…whenshegotoutofthetrailer… hold still ’n look around.Said she was lookin’ at thewaythesunhitsthatbigmesaback behind the place, andthen she sniffed the air.Smelled the mornin’ to takethemeasureof it.Sheknowswhere she is. She’s payin’attention.’‘She thinks this is

someplace,’ Carly says, her

heart as cold and dark asfrozenmud.‘Iknowbetter.’Deloresleverstoherfeet,a

littlefasterthistime.‘Putyourbootson’ngetto

work.’She waddles out of the

house.Carly looks down at the

boots, and suddenly gets it.The sheepskin liners havebeencuttoextendallthewayup the back of her heel.

There’s even enough to foldover the top of the boot, alittletabtoholdonto,sotheystayinplaceassheslidesherfoot in.Not onlydo thenewliners make the boots fitbetter, they include a softcushion for her damagedheels.Just for a moment she

wants to follow Delores andsay something. Somehowleave the conversation on a

better note. But instead shejust sits. Their talk, thismorning, is like the sufferingof others. Well out of hersphere of influence. Life justkeeps happening to her. Ifthere was a way to make itworkoutright, to takeit inabetter direction, she wouldhaveveereddownthatroadalongtimeago.

Jen ismixingplasterofPariswith a hoe, stirring it backand forward in a low metaltrough. As if she’s mixedplastereverydayofherlife.Carly is walking back and

forth, stacking the last of therocks on the pile again.Feeling the difference in herability to walk without pain.Oh, the broken blisters stillhurt. Some. But the bootsdon’t rub against them any

more–theyfitnormallynow,plus there’s that extracushioninginback.When the rocks are all

stacked, Carly squats downnexttothetrough,lookingin.As though nothing could bemore fascinating thanwatchingplastermix.‘Howmuchdidyoutalkto

herwhileIwassleeping?’sheasksJen.

‘Alittle,’Jensays,alreadyon the defensive. She seemstoknowwhatCarlywants tohear. Apparently it doesn’tmatchwithwhat she’sgot totell.‘Whatdidyousay?’‘Idon’tknow.’‘How can you not know,

Jen?Youwerethere,weren’tyou?’‘I don’t remember. She

weaves her own baskets. I

was looking at the baskets.We were talking about howshe gets the different thingsshe needs, being so far awayfromatownandall.Nothing,really.’‘She’s already decided she

likesyou.’Jen’s face lights up.

‘Yeah?’Thenshecatchesthelook in Carly’s eyes, thedaggers Carly is quitepurposely throwing, and her

face falls again. ‘Well, that’sdumb. We don’t even knoweachother.’‘Stayawayfromher,Jen.’‘Why?’‘Because I don’t like her,

that’swhy.’‘Ilikeher.’‘I thought you didn’t even

knoweachother.’Jen’smouthmovesbriefly,

but no audible words comeout.

Then, suddenly, the oldwoman is back. She’scarrying two straw hatsacross thedustyyard.One isa cowboy hat, with a curvedbrim. The sides of the brimcurl up close, like a roper’shat.It’sbatteredandold.Andsmall. The other is floppy-brimmed, like an old lady’sgardening hat. Which isprobablyexactlywhatitis.

Deloressays,‘Howthetwoo’ you was so dumb as tocome all this way withnothing to keep the sun offyou, I’ll never fathom. Maddogs, you know? Like thatold sayin’ about mad dogs.’N Anglos. Plain commonsensetostayoutofthesun.’The sun is closer to

overhead now, and Carlyfeels as if every drop shedrank from the bucket last

night is sweating out of her.But shewants to tell the oldwoman where she can stuffher floppyoldgardeninghat.Shejustknowsthathatisforher. The ridiculous one. SheknowsJengetsthegoodone.The fact that thegoodone islikely too small for herdoesn’t make her any lessmad.She doesn’t want the hat

becausesheknowsshe’llfeel

stupid in it. But, even more,she doesn’t want the hatbecause she doesn’t want toaccept any more helpfulgesturesfromherenemy.‘Thanks,’ Jen says, and

grabs for the good hat. Thecowboyhat.Delores says, ‘That one

belongs to my great-grandson.He’stheonlyotherone I know got enough badsense to come out here with

nohat.Soitmightfityou,orit might be a little big onaccount of him bein’ a boyandall.’Jen puts the hat on, and it

drops down over herforehead, nearly obscuringher eyes. Despite thesmallness of the hat, Jen issmaller.‘OK,OK,justholdsteady,’

Delores says. ‘I’ll get you abandana to wrap your head

in.Catchyoursweatandholdthatthingupalittlemore.’‘Thanks, Delores,’ Jen

says,almostcheerfully.Delores turns toCarly,her

face darker, and holds thefloppy gardening hatwordlesslyinherdirection.Carly’s mind floods with

imagesofyesterday,theirlastday out in the sun. The waythe rays of heat seemed tobake right through her spare

shirt when she held it overherheadtocreateshade.Thewayherlipscrackedandbledwhen she spoke. The line ofdry, peeling blisters she canfeel on her forehead if sherunsherhandacrossit.Shetakesthehat.‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she

says.Delores only grunts. Then

she waddles inside to getJen’sbandana.

Carly feels like an idiot inthe hat. But that’s really nosurprise. That’s probablyexactly what the nasty oldwomanhadinmindforher.

‘Weneedtouseyourphone,’Carlysays, loudandstrident,the minute the old womancomesoutagain.‘I don’t think so,’ Delores

says.

‘Well,that’sjustnotfair.IfI could call my stepfather,he’d come get us. And he’dpayyouenoughtocoverwhatyou’re trying to work off usallweek.And thenwe couldget home. You act like youcaresomuchaboutusandall.ButIknowyoudon’t. Ifyoudid,you’dhelpusgethome.’There are other problems,

but Carly wants not to thinkabout them now. She’ll need

to call directory assistance.Maybe as many as a dozentimes.Toget thenumbersofall the contractors, all thebuilding firms in Trinity.Then she might have to callevery one. Or maybe she’llgetluckyandhititonthefirstorsecondtry.Butitcouldgetexpensive. Still, a wholeweekof hard labor has to beworth something. Somethingmorethantwoeggs.

Deloresopenshermouthtospeak,butCarlycutsheroff.‘Fine, if you’re worried

about money, we’ll workeven harder. We’ll worklonger days. We’ll work anextra day. Or my stepfather,he’ll pay you back for thecallswhenhecomesouthereto get us. If you’re worriedaboutthedamnmoney.’Delores waits a moment.

As if to assure herself that

Carlyisquitedone.Then she says, ‘I ain’t

worried about the damnmoney. I don’t never worry’boutmoney.Don’tusemuchout here anyways. Trade theeggsormilkformostofwhatIneed,andifIgotnothin’totrade I still get what I need’cause I’m an elder, and theWakapi take care of theirelders. Besides, money’s agift from the creator, like

ever’thin’ else. No pointworryin’ over what you getforfree.’‘Then we can use your

phone?’‘Sorry—’Deloressays.Carlycutsheroffagain.‘I don’t believe you!

You’rejustbeingmean!Youjust want your slave labor.Youdon’tcareaboutusatall.Ibetthisisillegal.Ioughttocallthepolice.’

But then she realizes theabsurdity of her threat.Because to call the police,she’dneedaccesstoaphone.Besides,iftheycouldaffordarun-in with the police, theywouldn’thavewoundupherein the first place. Talk aboutbeing stuck. Every road shetriestotaketofreedomloopsrightaroundinacircle.Dropsherrightbackhere.InHell.

At her left side, she canfeel Jen stiffening, feel thestress rolling off her. ButCarly can’t stop her ownagitation. She feels like atrapped animal. Panicky.Anythingtogetaway,evenifshe has to chewher own legoff.She’s halfway aware of a

cloud of dust and the soundof an engine.Apickup truckispullinguptheoldwoman’s

dirt driveway. But it can’tseem to break entirelythrough Carly’s panic andrage.Why is the world

conspiring to keep her fromgetting back to Teddy? Sucha simple request to make oflife.Delores is standing with

her hands on her hips, aposture probably designed toremind Carly that she can’t

match the old woman’s lifeexperience in the field ofindignation.‘Firstoff,’Deloressays, ‘I

toldyouoncealready.Honorsystem. Stay or go. I ain’tholdin’ no gun on you.Secondofall,you’reinluck.Wannacallthepolice?Luckyyou. You don’t need nophone for that. He’s rightthere. Just yell the name“Alvin”,nice’nloud.Wait’ll

heturnsoffhistruck,though.Give ’im half a chance tohearyou.’Carly turns her full

attention to the truck. It’sabout ten years old, well-maintained. Dark blue. Itstops in front of thehenhouse,and thedrivercutstheengine.Carlycanhearthegears of the handbrake beingset.

The man who steps out isNative American, probablyWakapi like the old woman.He’s maybe in his latetwenties. Handsome, withshiny black hair pulled backinto a neat ponytail under awide-brimmedhat.Hesmilesat Delores, and his teeth arebrilliantwhite.Carlysnatchesthesillyhat

off her head. Because nowthere’saboywatching.

He’s no cop. He’s just aman in a pickup truck.Delores must be playingsome sort of mind game onher.‘That’sacop?’Carlyasks,

sarcastic.She means to hurt the old

woman,butthen,toolate,sherealizes she’s also insultingthismanshe’snevermet.Hemight be nice. He might betheir salvation. Maybe he’ll

yell at Delores for takingindentured servants againsttheir will. Maybe he’ll takethemtoaphonetheycanuse.‘Pleasedtomeetyou,too,’

Alvin says. ‘Who’re yourfriendshere,Delores?’‘Well, the one with the

mouth calls herself Carly.ThisnicelittleoneisJen.’‘And what brings these

lovely young ladies to ourneckofthewoods?’

‘Just passin’ through,’Delores says. ‘Little MissMouth here don’t believeyou’rewiththetribalpolice.’Alvin says, to Carly,

‘What, a policeman can’teventakeadayoff?’Carly doesn’t think either

one of them is telling thetruth.He’s just some guy.Aneighbor or a friend or agrandson. Or something.They just want her to think

he’s a cop to scare her intoline.Carly says nothing.

Everyonesaysnothing.Finally the old woman

says, ‘Alvin, tell Little MissMouthy here why she can’tusemyphone.’‘Oh, that’s easy,’ Alvin

says. He looks up over theroofofthetinyhouse.Points.‘Howmanywiresyouseeupthere?’

Carly looks up. One thickwirecomesdownatananglefromonesinglepole.Itentersthe house from the back, outofCarly’slineofsight.‘Justone,’shesays.Then it hits her. Old

Delores has electricity. Butnophone.‘That’s crazy,’ Carly says.

‘What if you need to callsomeone?’

‘Like who, for example?’Deloresasks.‘Likeifyouneededhelpor

something.’Shedoesn’twanttoaddthe

partabouthowoldDeloresis.She’s not sure if it goeswithoutsayingornot.‘Alvincomesbyhereever’

mornin’.SeeifI’mOK.OrifI need anythin’. Ever’mornin’ like clockwork, on

duty ’r off. You could setyourclockbyAlvinhere.’‘Icoulddriveyougirlstoa

phoneifyouneedone,’Alvinsays.‘Orshecoulduseyourcell

phone,’Deloreschimesin.‘Well, that’s only for

official business, I’m afraid.But I could run ’em into thevillage.’Delores says, ‘Yeah,

there’s a payphone at the

gen’ralstore.’She puts the emphasis on

the word general. Not theword store. As if they sellgeneralsthere.Carly is all ready to jump

in his truck and let thisnightmare be over. Then ithits her. Payphones need tobepaid.‘Um. Thanks. Maybe

tomorrow.’

She can feel Jen trying tocatchhereye,butsherefusestolook.Alvin exchanges a few

sentences with the oldwoman, right in front ofthem,butinanativelanguageCarly can’t begin tounderstand. Then slides intohis truck and waves. Jenwaves back. Carly doesn’t.Her arm is too defeated, toocompletelyoutofhope.

Alvin starts up the truckandbacksouttotheroadinaswirlofdust.Delores waddles back

inside.‘You should have gone

withhim,’Jensays.‘Me?Whynotwe?’‘I’m OK here. But you

should’veusedthepayphone.I don’t want to walk anymore,Carly.I’mnotwalkingall the way to California.

When we’re done here, Iwantaride.Evenif…’Butthensheneverfinishes

thesentence.‘Evenifwhat,Jen?’Noanswer.It’s funny how Jen has

theseboundaries.Likehiddenwalls. You never see onecoming up. You just hit it.Andthat’sthat.It’s like there are two of

herlittlesister.Theoneshe’s

known since she was four.Andthenthisone.Thisotherperson.‘YouknowwhyIcan’tuse

thepayphone,Jen.Youknowthat,right?’‘Maybe he would’ve

loaned us the money. Youknow. If he knewhowmuchtroublewe’rein.’‘Jen.Ifheknewhowmuch

trouble we’re in, he’d callchild protective services and

get us picked up and throwninthesystem.’‘Oh,’ Jen says. ‘Right. I

didn’tthinkofthat.’‘Right. You don’t ever

think of those things. Younever think of anythingimportant. I have to think ofeverything. That’swhy it’s agood thing I’m the one incharge.’Jensighsandgoesback to

work, cutting a piece of

chicken wire to form a basefor the plaster. Just the wayDeloresshowedher.Then Jen says, ‘You think

thatAlvinguywasreally thepolice?’‘No.Didhelooklikeacop

toyou?’‘I don’t know. What’s a

coplooklike?’‘Well, they wear a

uniform.Forstarters.’

Carly can hear herselftalking to Jen like Jen is anidiot. And she doesn’t likeher own tone. But she can’tseemtobreakit.‘Hesaiditwashisdayoff.’‘They’re just trying to

scareus,Jen.’‘Iguess,’Jensays.They work on the

henhouse for at least anotherhourwithouttalking.Withoutinterruption of any kind. It’s

almost a relief. Life may bemiserable,butatleastforoneblessed moment the damnedthingholdsstill.

Thesunisoverheadwhentheoldwomancomesoutagain.‘Take a break,’ she says.

‘Get out of the midday sun.Youcandomore later.Afterlunch. After four. Too hotnow.’

Carlystraightensup.Leansonherhoe.Stretcheshersoreback. She looks around theproperty as if gatheringcomplaints. Making a list ofthingstocriticize.The junk. She feels like

making a big deal about thejunk. The rusty bed springsand paint cans, and the rollsofchain-linkfencing.Theoldcarortruckparts.

‘I don’t see how you canstand to keep all this craparound,’ she says. ‘Placelookslikeajunkyard.’It’sharsh,butitfeelsgood.

Carly wants to lash out. Shewants somebody else on theplanet to hurt even one percent as much as she hurts.EspeciallyifthatsomebodyisDelores.But the old woman only

laughs.Thatstrangelaugh.

‘Helps when you can’thardlyseeit,’shesays.‘Otherpeoplecanseeit.’‘Well,that’stheirproblem,

then.Ain’tit?Itbotheryou?’‘Yeah.Itbothersme.’It’s only half-true. Carly

doesn’t feelmuch investmentin this place. In a little oversix days they’ll be gone.SoonerifshecancallTeddy.What does she carewhat the

place looks like, as long asshecangetaway?‘That’ll be your next job,

then.Whenyougotthatpatchfixed, haul all that stuff overto my truck and load whatyou can in the bed. Youdrive?’‘Yeah,Icandrive.’‘OK.I’mcomin’withyou,

though. Don’t trust youwithmytruckallonyourown.Butthere’s a guy about three

mileswest.Buysscrapmetal,just about anythin’ you gotfor’im.Don’tpaymuch,justa fewcents a pound, I think,butyoucankeepwhateverhepays. Should be enough tomake your phone call, atleast.’She disappears back into

thehouse.Carly starts gathering up

the chain link. It’s heavierthan she realized. She looks

up to see Jen standing nearthedoortothehouse.‘Come on,’ Jen says.

‘We’reonabreak.’‘You go. The faster I get

this done, the faster we cangetoutofhere.’Jenshrugsandgoesinside.Butafter tenminutesorso

wrestlingheavyrollsofchainlink in the midday sun, thebreak starts sounding good.Besides, she doesn’t want to

leave Jen alone with the oldwoman any more. Not forlong.Notifshecanhelpit.Delores is casting some

kindofspelloverJen.Carly is already infected

withaneerieworryaboutthesituation. About that brandnew bond. She feels asthoughshe’sloanedhersistertotheoldwoman,verymuchagainst her will, and now,somehow, she can’t be

entirely sure she’ll get Jenback again at the end of theweek.Well, that’s not true. In

fact,that’sstupid.Right?But that’s still the way it

feels.

‘Hey.Jen.Youawake?’‘Shoot,’ Jen mumbles.

Barely enunciating theword.‘IguessIamnow.’

Carly’s been lying awakein the old pink trailer forhours. The longer she liesawake, the bigger her fearsandworriesgrow.Like she’sbeenfeedingthemsomekindof super-growworry food asshe tosses and frets. Andthey’reeatingitrightup.Andit’sdoingeverythingthelabelclaimed it would do, plus awholelotmore.

Sheevenworriesaboutalltheworkshehastodointhemorning.How itwill feel onno sleep. Themore she triesto will herself to sleep, themorethepressurebuilds,andcementshersleeplessness.She tried to tell herself,

before waking Jen, that shewas doing it for a betterreason than misery lovingcompany.Shehopesthatwasthetruth.

‘I’ve got to tell yousomething.’‘I hope this is not bad

news.’‘It’s … not real bad. It’s

fixable. Just sort ofinconvenient. You’ve got totrustmetofixit.’Carly waits. But Jen only

sighs.‘I tried to tell you this

before. Before we even gotcaught in the henhouse. But

then you were asleep, ormaybeyouwereevenpassedoutor something, and Iwentthroughthewholespeechandnow I don’t know if youheardawordofit.Ifanyofitsoundsfamiliar,sayso.’‘Just tell me, Carly. Just

tellmewhatitis.’The moon is more than

three-quarters round. Carlycan’t see it through the littletrailerwindow,butshesawit

less than an hour ago. Andshe can see the moonshadows cast by thehenhouse, and the spookylight the moon throwsdirectlyonthebigmesa.‘Teddy doesn’t live in

Tulareanymore.’‘That doesn’t sound

familiar,’Jensays.‘Hemovedtoa littleplace

called Trinity in NorthernCalifornia.’

‘Yougothisnumber?’‘No.ButI’llgetit.I’llfind

him.You’llsee.’A long silence falls. Jen

rubshereyes.Yawns.Thenshe says, ‘Maybewe

justforgetaboutTeddy.’She might as well have

driven an elbow into Carly’sgut, without warning orprovocation, knocking her tothe floor. That wouldn’t –

couldn’t – have been anymoreofashock.‘Whatdidyoujustsay?’‘Did you really not hear

it?’‘Jen. Teddy’s all we’ve

got. Who the hell else isgoingtotakecareofus?’‘MaybeDeloreswould.’Carlywhipsbacktherough

blanketandjumpstoherfeet,pacing barefoot on the coldlinoleum floor. She felt this

coming, saw it somehowbefore it even showed itsface, but convincedherself itwasimpossible.Thatshewasbeing paranoid and foolish.What does this say for herotherworries?Are they all apossibility?‘We’ve known her for,

like,oneday,Jen.’‘I like it here, though. I

reallylikeit.’

‘She’s not going to takecareofyou.’‘How do you know? She

likesme.’‘She’s not going to take

care ofme. She doesn’t likeme. And besides, I won’tallow it. I wouldn’t let her.And you want us to staytogether,don’tyou?’Jen sits up. ‘Sure, Carly.

Yeah.OfcourseIdo.Ididn’tmean what I said. I’m just

sleepy, OK? You just wokemeupandIdidn’tknowwhatI was saying. Come back tobed, Carly. Please. I didn’tmeanit.’Carly sits down on the

edgeofthebedandJentucksbackinagain.Finally,when she’s settled

herself a bit, Carly climbsback under the covers. Shedoesn’tgettosleepforhours.

Jen is snoring lightly in amatterofminutes.

WakapiLand,15May

DeloresWatakobiehasatimegettingintothepassengerseatof her own truck. Carly sitsbehind thewheel, bothdoorsopen, in the shade of thecarport, feeling a sense ofminorpowerforthefirsttime

in a long time. Driving doesthat for her. Shewatches theoldwomanreachup,reachingfor a handle above the doorframe.Deloresstepsupontotherunningboardofthetruckand grunts out an odd seriesof sounds as she attempts topullherselfin.Carlyisabouttojumpout.

Togoaroundandhelp.Pushor something.But she’s onlyjust barely flinched toward

doing sowhenDelores stopsherwithwords.‘Don’t you dare.’ Her

voiceiseven–doesn’triseinvolume–but thewordspacka lot of power. It’s a sternwarning.‘DayIcan’tstepupintomyowntruck’sthedayIletmycreatorputmesixfeetunder. No point hangin’around if you can’t even doforyourself.’

With one final grunt, shedropsintothepassengerseat.Carlylooksintherearview

mirror. Checks, again, thewaysheandJenhavestackedthe first load of junk in thetruckbed.‘Surewe don’t need to tie

that stuff down orsomething?’‘Can’tgothatfastonthese

roads anyways. Should be

OK. You disconnect thebatt’rycharger?’Carly says nothing for a

beatortwo.Shedoesn’tevenknow what a battery chargeris or how to spot one, not tomentionhowtodisconnectit.Delores sighs heavily.

‘You think I’m gettin’ down’n then up again, you gotanother thing comin’. Youcandothis.Getout.Openthehood. It’sunlatched.See two

wiresgoin’in.One’sclampedonthebatt’ry,oneonastrut.Take ’em off one at a time.Don’t touch ’em togetherwhatever you do. Slam thehood real good. Leave thechargerwhereitlays.’Carlyclimbsdown.Circles

around to the front of thetruck.Approachesthechargerthewayshemightapproachavenomous snake. It’s sittinginthedirt,aboutthesizeofa

car battery, or a little bigger,with a wide black moldedhandle.She opens the hood of the

old truck. The squeal of thehinges sounds just like thedoorofthepinktrailerprison.Maybe a little deeper. Morebass.Butclose.She reaches for the clamp

on the battery. Squeezes it.As she’s pulling it off, itsparks, startling her. She

drops it into the enginecompartment.‘Ain’t gonna bite you,’

Delores calls. ‘Just don’ttouch ’em to each other,whateveryoudo.’Now there’s a mixed

message if Carly ever heardone.Itwon’thurtyou.Justbecarefulnottogethurt.She takes hold of the

insulated cable and carefullypulls the clamp back up and

outagain.Sweatdropsoffherforehead, and she wondershow much is the heat, howmuch is that jumpy feeling,likeshe’sdisarmingabomb.She throws the clamp in

the dirt. Realizes the otherprobably has no charge now.Shepulls it off and throws itinto thedirt aswell,near thefirst one. As it falls, sheremembers. They mustn’ttouch.Herheartstopsbeating

forthehalf-secondittakestowatch it land. Two inchesfromdisaster.Shebreathesoutherrelief.Mentally,shekicksherself

hard.Whyareyoualwayssoafraid, Carly? Damn you.Whycan’tyoujustdothings?Why can’t you handle thesesimple little things that otherpeoplehandleallthetime?She looks across the yard

atJen,who’shappilyfeeding

thegoats.Jen could have

disconnected the batterycharger.Noproblem.Nofear.Carlyslamsthehoodhard.

Too hard, maybe. Climbsback into the truck. Looksdownatthegearshift.It’sastick.Carlydoesn’tknowhowto

driveastick.Teddy’scarwasanautomatic.Sheonlyknowshow to drive an automatic.

She can’t believe thatobservation didn’t breakthroughinherbrainuntiljustthis moment. As she wasactually ready to start it upanddrive.Themomentstretchesout.‘What?’Delorescroaks.Carlydoesn’tanswer.‘Speak up, girl. What’s it

thistime?’‘Howmuch harder is it to

drive a stick shift than an

automatic?’Silence.Delores rolls her head

back,asifattemptingtoseekheavenly guidance rightthrough the roof of the oldpickup. Then she drops herhead into both spotted handsandshakesit–andthehands–backandforththreeorfourtimes.Slowly.‘Trade places,’ she says,

droppingher handshard into

herlap.Carly’s one tiny bit of

power is lost.Figures.That’sbeenherlotforaslongasshecanremember.‘MaybeIcouldlearnit.’‘Oh,no.No,no,no.Noton

my truck, you don’t. Not onmy clutch. This clutch’slasted since 1973 ’n it needsto keep goin’ long as thetruck does. Long as I do.Won’t do to have you

strippin’mygears,nothanks.Tradeplaces.’‘Can you see well enough

todrive?’‘Nope.You’re gonna have

toseeforme.’Carly sits still a minute.

Lets that filter down. She’sbeenaskedtotakearideonadirtroadwithablindwomandriving. Sure, she wants thatphone. Badly. But she needs

tosurvivelongenoughtogetbacktoTeddy.‘That sounds …

dangerous.’‘That ’r stay home and

forgetthewholedeal.’Carly looks again at Jen.

Jen’sscratchingagoatontheforehead, between its eyes.The goat is trying to rub itshead against her. Jen doesn’tseem afraid of the horns.She’s laughing. Carly can’t

hearit,butshecanseeit.ShecanseeJen’sface,laughing.They’ll go slow. Even if

they crash, it probablywon’tbefatal.Carly sighs. Climbs down.

By the time she goes aroundthebackoftheheavilyloadedbed,Deloreshasslidintothedriverseat,andisgunningtheoldenginetolife.

‘You’re going in the ditch!’Carlyshouts.They’re not literally

driving into the ditch on theright-hand side of the rust-coloreddirtroad.Notyet.Butthey will, if Delores keepsgoing the direction she’sgoing.Delores adjusts right,

steering them even closer totheditch.‘Theotherway!’

Delores stomps the brake,sending Carly slamming intoher shoulder belt. Shebounces back again, hittingthe ripped vinyl bench seat.She can feel an exposedspringagainstherlowerback.‘Let’s get somethin’

straight,’ Delores says.‘There’s twoditches.Oneonmy right. One onmy left. IfyouyellatmeI’mgettin’too

close to one, don’t you thinkitmightbewisetospecify?’‘Sorry. You were too far

right.’‘Nowthat’salittleclearer.’‘Sorry.’Deloressitsaminute,as if

waiting for her patience tocatch up. Then she reachesout and feels aroundclose toCarly, grabs hold of Carly’sleft wrist and pulls her handovertothesteeringwheel.

‘You steer,’ she says,flatly.Anorder.‘I’llgoslow.You tell me if there’sanythingtohit’nI’llgoevenslower.’Delores downshifts from

second to first and hits thegasagain.Acceleratesall thewayuptofiveorsixmilesanhour. ItmakesCarlynervousat first, because she’s nevermanned a steering wheel

withoutsittingdirectlybehindit.Itrequiressomeadjusting.Withinaminuteortwoshe

finds it far less nerve-wracking than watching thetruck she’s riding in headstraightforaditch.Delores rides with her left

elbow out the open window,right hand in her lap. Carlyquicklylearnsnottolook.It’salarming to watch a driverwho hasn’t got the wheel.

Even if your brain knowsyou’vegotityourself.They’re about to pass two

littlehousesnow,oneoneachside of the road. First …anything…they’vecometo.‘There’s a dog up there,’

Carly says. ‘And three littlekids.’‘Iknowit.’‘Youcanseethatfar?’‘Didn’t say I could see it.

SaidIknowit.That’sHaland

Velma’s three girls. I knowhow far down the road theylive, and I know what timetheywaitfortheirdadtopick’emupontheweekends.’‘Then what do you even

needmefor?’‘Well. Ifyouseeone right

in the middle of the road,lemmeknow.’As they pull closer, Carly

sees the faces of the threelittleWakapigirls.Theylook

an even year or two apart inageandsize.They’rewaving.The littlest one is smilingwidely, showing missingfrontteeth.‘Hi, Delores,’ the oldest

girl calls, cupping her handsaround her mouth. ‘Becareful,Delores.’The old woman leans half

out the window as they rollby.

‘Don’t you worry noneabout me, Hannie,’ she saysas they pull even. The dirtywhitedogstandsupandwagsits tail. ‘Got me a borrowedpairo’eyes.’‘Who’s your friend?’ the

littleoneasks.‘Don’t matter,’ Delores

says, thenpullsherheadandtorsobackinside.They drive anotherminute

insilence.

Carly looks back at thekids and the dog, suddenlyfeelinglike,ifonlyshe’dhadadogwhowaitedforthebuswith her each morning,everything in her lifemight’ve turned out OK. Or,at the very least, better thanthis.The old woman’s last

words echo, a delayedreaction.‘Idon’tmatter?’

‘Didn’t say that. Said “it”don’tmatter.’‘How’sthatdifferent?’‘Look. How much of that

storyyouwantme to telloutthe window of some movin’truck? For that matter, howmuch of that story do I evenknow? I keep thinkin’ you’llopen up in time if I just layoffit.Beginnin’todoubtthatsystem.’

Carlyfallssilent.Shedoesnotopenup.Shealsodoesnotshakethe

feelingthatDeloressaidwhatshe really meant. Carly isnobody. Carly isn’t worthexplaining. Carly doesn’teven matter. Maybeeverybody thinks that aboutCarly. Maybe Carly is evenbeginningtoagree.

‘This should be Chester’splace right up here a piece.Youseeabluesign?’‘I see a sign,’ Carly says.

‘It’stoofarawaytoseewhatcolor.’‘Should be it round about

now.’‘There are three big dogs

runningoutintotheroad.’‘Yup.That’sChester’s.’‘Slow down!Don’t hit the

dogs!’

Thethreedogs,onebeastlyyellowmuttandtwoGermanshepherd types, are runningstraight at the grill of thepickup, barking their foolheads off. Delores isn’tslowingdown.‘Tell me when we get to

thedriveway.I’llslowdown,youturnusin.’‘You’re gonna hit the

dogs!’

‘I ain’t gonna hit no dogs.Chester’s dogs know how toduck.Iftheydidn’tthey’dbedeadalongtime.’Before she finishes the

sentence, the dogs split likewater flowing around thetruck. The two Germanshepherdsflowtothedriver’sside. The ugly yellow muttappears right under Carly’sopen window, leaping andsnapping.

Carlyrolls thewindowup,fast, her heart hammering.Why are Navajo dogs somean? They’re not, they’rejustdoingtheirjob.Itechoesback into Carly’s head, ascenefromtheirlongjourney.She hasn’t thought muchabout the walking part oftheirtrip.She’sbeentryingtothink ahead. Are theseWakapi dogs just doing theirjob? Aren’t they doing it a

little too stridently? Can’tsomebody drive by withoutgettingthistreatment?‘Slow down. Right here. I

mean,rightturn.Here.’Carly has to hand-over-

hand the wheel nearly a fullturn. Then she corrects toofast,almostrunningthemintothefencealongthedriveway.‘Tell me when to stop,’

Deloressays,headingstraightforaroughbarn.

‘Now,’Carlysays.They’re a good thirty feet

fromit.Butamarginforerrorneverhurts.An old man comes

wanderingout fromthebarn,wiping his hands on a bluerag. Not old like Delores.Medium old. Maybe in hisfifties. He has hair down tohis waist, tied back in aponytail. And a trulyenormous pot belly. It rivals

any Carly can rememberseeing. He’s wearing justjeansandawhiteundershirt.‘Well,well,well,’hesays.

‘Delores Watakobie. Youhaven’t made it out here forquitethewhile.’‘Best I don’t drive too

muchthesedays.JustbegladI made it out here this time.Borrowedapairofeyes.’The dogs are still circling

andbarkingandsnarling.

Chester comes around tothe passenger side and staresright in at Carly, whichmakes her surprisinglyuncomfortable. She smilestightly, then looks away. Hejustkeepsstaring.‘This one of your great-

granddaughters?’ he asksDelores. As if Carly can’thearorspeakforherself.Delores is easing herself

down from the driver’s seat,

seemingly right into thegaping maws of two viciouscaninekillers.Shepushesoneasidewithherknee.‘Chester, you been out in

the sun too long. That girllook to you like she got onedropofnativebloodinthere,anywhere, in any corner ofherbody?’‘Well, I don’t know,’

Chester says. ‘I guess not.Butyounevercantell.’

Carly leans over and pullsthe driver’s-side door closedbehind the old woman. Fast.Sothekillerscan’tcomerightinafterher.‘Whoisshe,then?’‘Don’t know,’ Delores

replies.‘Stillwaitin’onhertotellme.’‘Huh,’ he grunts. Like it’s

amysteryhecanlivewithoutsolving.

He begins to rummagearoundinthetruckbed.Carlycan feel the truck rock as hemoves things around backthere.‘Nothin’ worth much,’

Delores says. ‘Maybe somescrap worth meltin’. Whatyou gimme for the lot? Wedon’t wanna haul none of ithome.’‘Thisallofit?’

‘No, we got maybe twomoreloads.’‘Well. Hmm. If they’re

bothlikethisload,maybeten,twelve dollars all told. Gottaget it off here, though. Seewhatwegot.’Deloresknocksontheback

window,startlingher.‘Get on out here and help

themanunload,’shehollers.Carlyswallowshard.

‘Not with those dogs outthere. I don’t want to geteaten.’DeloresandChesterlaugh.

Ather.It’sclear,justtolistento it, that they’re having agood laugh at Carly’sexpense.Chester whistles sharply,

andthedogsfallsilent.Carlydidn’t realize how muchnoise they were reallymaking. Until it went away.

Until the world sounded sodifferentwithoutit.‘Barn!’Chesteryells.Thedogsslinkaway.Carly climbs down

carefully. She really wouldhave liked to hear a doorclose behind those dogs. Butobviously that’s more thanshe’sgoingtoget.Soshejustlooksoverhershoulderatthebarn, then jumps like she’s

been shot when Chesterclearshisthroat.Theybothgetanothergood

laughatCarly’sexpense.Carly spends a good

twenty minutes helpingunload the truck she spenttwohoursloading.For her trouble, Chester

paysherawholethreedollarsand twenty-five cents.That’sthebadnews.Thegoodnewsis, he accommodates her

requestthattheentiresumbepaidinquarters.

By the time she navigatesthembacktoDelores’shouse,Carly feels like she’s beenthrough a small war. Herthighsareshaking.Whenshestepsoutofthetruck,shehasto test them briefly to see ifthey’llhold.Jen is working on the

corral thatcontainsthegoats.

Hammering in a couple ofbroken slats that used to betiedupwithrope.‘Go on ’n load up again,’

Delores calls. ‘I think I gotone more trip in me for theday.’Shehobblesintothehouse.‘You didn’t ask if I did,’

Carly mutters under herbreath.She walks slowly and

carefully to where Jen is

hammering.Jen looks up. Stops. Says,

‘Yousurvived.’ThenJenpullsa setofear

buds out of her ears. Thewires lead into her shirtpocket.Likeshewaslisteningto music on an iPod orsomething. But Jen doesn’thaveaniPod.‘Barely.’Jen drops the hammer in

the dirt and takes off her

cowboy hat, mopping herfacewithhersleeve.Herfaceis red and wet withperspiration. The bright redbandana Delores gave her isrolled into a thick headbandand tied around her foreheadtosopupsweat,andtoformashelf to keep the hat off hereyes. The bandana’s soakedthrough.‘Pretty brave, going for a

ride with a blind woman.

Whydidn’tyoudrive?’‘It’s a stick shift.Where’d

yougetthat?’She points to the wires

leadingintoJen’spocket.Jenliftsupon them. It’san iPodallright.Anicebignewone.Overahundredgigsmaybe.‘Justabouttotellyou,’Jen

says. ‘Guess what happenedwhileyouweregone?’‘AniPodfelloutofthesky

andlandedinyourears.’

‘Close. That guy cameback.’‘Alvin?’‘Yeah. Alvin. And guess

what? He really is apoliceman. With the WakapiPolice.’Carly’s stomach and chest

ice over lightly. Just whatthey don’t need is a copcoming around everymorning, like clockwork.Askingquestions.

‘How do you know? Washeinacopcar?’‘Sortof.’‘OK, Jen.What’sasortof

copcarlooklike?’‘Well. It was a pickup.

Jacked up kind of high andall.Butnotthepickuphewasdriving the other day. Lightblue. And bigger. Higher offtheground.’‘Did it say anything about

WakapiPoliceonit?’

‘Idon’tthinkso.Butithadthat thingon top.Youknow.That bar with the lights. Forpulling people over. And hehadonauniform.’The uniform part hits

home.Makes it all feel real.So Carly heads in a newdirectionentirely.‘Ibetthere’snosuchthing

astheWakapiPolice.Infact,Ibet there’snosuch thingastheWakapi. I never heard of

atribecalledtheWakapi.Didyou?’‘Nope, I never did, and I

told Delores that, and shelaughed. She said mostpeople haven’t heard muchabout them and they like itthat way just fine. She saidthere’s more than tenthousand Navajo for everyWakapi. She said the Hopipeoplearegettingsmallerandso is their land, and they’re

still dozens of times biggerand better known. She saidtheWakapi have lots of kidsbuttheygooffandliveinthecityanddon’tcomeback.Sothere justaren’t thatmanyofthemleft.’‘Will you please stop

talking for a minute, Jen? Idon’tcareaboutanyofthat.’‘Well, you said you

thought there was no suchthing as a Wakapi. But they

must be real, because theyhaveapolicedepartmentandAlvin’s in it, and I saw hisuniformwiththepatchonit.’So there it is again. The

uniform. There’s no duckingtheuniform.‘Whatkindofuniform?’Carly is determined to

prove this cop observationfalse. But her weapons arewearingthin.

‘I don’t know.A uniform-uniform. Short-sleeved. Ithink he was wearing jeans,notuniformpants.Butitwasa uniform shirt. It had thispatch on it that saidWakapiPolice, and then this … Idon’tknow.Design.’‘Whatkindofdesign?’‘I don’t know. I don’t

know, Carly. Geez. What’swith the twenty questions? Ikept looking at it, but I

couldn’t really figure outwhat it was. It was just adesign. Some circles andsomelines,and…well,whatdifference does it make?WhatifIsaiditwasaneagle,or a horse? And then you’dsay … what? “Yeah, that’stheWakapi Police all right.”Youdon’tknow.Sowhyareyouevenasking?’Carly looks over her

shouldertoseewheretheold

woman is. She can see herthrough the window into thehouse,putteringatthekitchensink. But Delores hasphenomenalears.Tobesafe,shegrabsJen’supperarmandwalksheraround to thebackofthehenhouse.‘Ow.What?’‘Did you tell him

anything?’ she asks, with anominous shadow on the last

word. ‘Anything about oursituationatall?’‘No. He didn’t ask me

anything. The only thing heasked was whether you stillneeded to make your phonecall, and I said no, Deloreswas driving you to the junkman,andwhenyou’ddoneafew trips and had enoughmoney you’d stop at thevillage store while you wereout. So it was OK. And he

said, “Delores is driving?”andIsaid,“Yeah,butit’sOKbecause Carly’s along towatchtheroad.”Andhesaid,“It’s a good thing I didn’thear that,” so I said it again,but he just said the samething. “It’s a good thing Ididn’t hear that.” So that’swhen I knewwhathemeant.That he was pretending hedidn’thearthat.Andthenwejust talkedaboutDeloresand

what a character she is, andthenheleft.That’sall.’‘Don’t tell him anything

aboutus,Jen.’‘Whatifheasks?Whatam

Isupposedtosay?’‘Nothing. Pretend you’re

stupidorsomething.’‘Well, he already knows

I’m not stupid. But anyway,most times you’ll be herewhen he comes. How muchmoneydidyoumake?’

‘Only three twenty-five.But we got a couple moreloadswecando.IfIlivethatlong.’‘He seems nice, Carly. I

saw this iPod sitting on hisdashboard, and I said, “WishIhadoneofthosewhileIwasout here working,” and hesaid, “How long you herewith Delores?” and I said“Six more days.” And so heloaned it to me. He’s nice.

Not exactly what I listen to,kind of new-agey, but it’sOK.Yougetused to it.’Shestops.Waits.BravesalookatCarly’sface.‘He’snice.’‘He’s a cop!’ Carly barks,

way too loud. Deloresmighthave heard that from all thewayinthehouse.Shelowershervoice.‘He’sprobablygotsome kind of oath to turn usin.He’sacop.’

There.Sheadmittedit.Shedidn’twant it tobe true.Shewantedhimnottobe.Butheis.SometimesevenCarly just

has to buckle under to whatis.

Afterlunch,Carlyheadsrightback out to finish up thatsecondload.‘It’s still siesta,’ Jen says.

She’s on her back on the

couch, the cowboy hat overherface.‘Mad dogs ’n Anglos,’

Deloressaysfromthekitchenarea.‘I just want to get done.

Hey. Jen. Can I take thatiPod?’Carly wants to take the

measure of this cop. If hewere here, she’d study him.On the sly, while he wasn’tlooking. Instead she’ll hold

something that belongs tohim, and listen to what helikes to listen to. She has noidea what that will tell her.But it makes her feel likeshe’s in control. Ofsomething. Like she has aplan.

The truck’s been loaded upfor nearly an hour. Jen andDelores are still indoors onafternoonbreak.

Carlysquatsintheshadeofthe henhouse, listening tomusic and staring at the bigmesa. Watching waves ofheat rise up off the ground,turning the horizon intowaves.Like something that’sonlytrueuntilyoumoveyourhand and disperse it. Likewater when you make aripple. It bends everythingyou thought you could relyon.Nothing’swhatitseems.

Out of the corner of hereyeshecanseethethinwhitecurtain from Delores’skitchen, sucked out the openwindowand fluttering lightlyintheafternoonbreeze.The music is interesting.

Like a meditation orsomething. No words, just amelodyplayedbyinstrumentsshecan’tpicture.Something touches her

shoulder.Shegasps,andfalls

face-first toward the rockydirt, catching herself on theheels of her hands. Scrapingthemupprettygood.Picturing mean dogs or

scorpions, she flips over,backingawayasshedoes.It’s Alvin, his hand out.

Liketopolitelytapherontheshoulder. Which, she nowrealizes,hejustdid.‘Jumpy,’hesays.

‘I’m scared of snakes anddogs.’‘I’m neither snake nor

dog.’She pulls herself up into a

squat again and leans backagainst the henhouse, herheartstillhammering.Tryingtodisguiseherbreathlessness.Alvin squats in the dirt, a

respectful five or six feetaway.‘Likethatmusic?’

‘It’sOK,’Carlysays.Thennobodysaysanything

for a time. And still Carly’sheart won’t stop hammering.She wraps the ear-bud cordcarefullyaroundtheiPodandslidesitintohershirtpocket.‘Well,’ Alvin says. ‘Let’s

go.’Carly’s heart falls into her

boots.Firsthe’lltakeCarlytojail. Carly and Jen both,unless Jenmade a run for it.

Thenhe’llcalltheauthorities…‘Go where?’ she says,

mustering her best actingskills. They aren’t any toogood. She can hear thatwithherownears.‘Take that second load

overtoChester’s.’‘You?WhynotDelores?’‘Now, you look like a

smart little girl. Do I reallyhave to answer that question

for you? You got somedebatingtodowithmeonthewisdom of a driver who’snine-tenthsblind?’He’s squatting with his

arms wrapped around hisknees. His feet flat. Carlywonders how he does that.Shecouldneverputherheelsdown flat in a squat. He’swearing jeans and a short-sleeve uniform shirt. Shelooks at the embroidered

patch. It saysWakapi Policeall right.Carlycan’tdescribethedesigneither.He’swearing a shiny gold

weddingringonhislefthand.Carly wonders why shebotheredtolook.‘Do I really have to go?’

sheasks.‘Imean,youcanseetheroadwithoutme.’‘I’m just the driver. You

got to come and hagglewith

theman.It’snotmyload.It’syourload.’‘Hisdogs’lleatme.’‘Chester’s dogs wouldn’t

bitetheirownfleas.’‘Wouldn’t know that to

listentothem.’Alvin looks straight into

her face. She turns her eyesaway.‘Youputupaprettytough

front yourself, little girl. ButI’m not afraid you’re gonna

bite me. I been around longenough to know thedifferencebetweenabarkandabite.’Carly just stares at the

wavyhorizon.Ifit’snotwhatit seems, maybe the rest ofthisisn’t,either.Alvin rises to his feet. No

hands.‘C’mon,’hesays.Hekicks

thetoeofherbootlightly.‘I’mnotalittlegirl.’

‘No?Howoldareyou?’‘Eighteen.’‘Uh huh. Know how old

youlook?Fourteen.’‘I am not fourteen! No

way!I—’Itwasabouttobecomethe

word‘I’m.’Halfwaythrough,sheputsonthebrakes.‘Almost got you there.

C’mon. Got to be on dutysoon. Let’s get this thingdone.’

Slowly, gravelly, likefollowing an executioner tothe guillotine, she walksbehind him. They climb intoDelores’s fully-loaded truck.Where he can ask heranything he wants.Whatever’s on his mind.Whatevermakes him curiousabouthersituation.If there’sanotherway, she

doesn’tfinditintime.

Alvin careens down the roadatablinding twentymilesanhourorso.Acoupleofweeksago, it would have seemedslow. But when you spendenough days going places atthree miles an hour by foot,orfivebycar…Bothwindows are open to

keepthecabfromgettingtoohot.Carlyhastoholdherhairdown so it doesn’t blow into

her eyes and mouth. So itdoesn’ttangle.‘You know,’ Alvin says,

‘Delores is pretty darn proudofherelectricwires,sodon’tbemakingherfeellikethat’snot much. She’s a long wayfrom the village to haveelectric. Only had it fouryears.’‘What’d she have before

that?’ Carly asks, only half-caring.

‘Oh,webuiltherthatwindturbine long time ago. Thatwas just like uptown at thetime. She still won’t let ustake it down.Says shemightneeditifthepowerevergoesout. And it does. From timetotime.Butaphone.Wayoutwhere she is.That’saskingalot.’Carlyonlygrunts.‘You don’t seem to get

what I’m saying. I’m saying

power lines and a well is aprettygoodthing.Sheusedtojust have a cistern and thewater had to be hauled. Wegot that dug for her, onaccount of she was gettingolder.Anditmightbeniceifyou didn’t act like it wasnothing. Like the one thingshedoesn’thaveisjustpurelytoinconvenienceyou.’‘Ididn’tmeanitthatway,’

Carly said. ‘I’m sorry. I just

nevermetsomebodysostuckintheoldways.’‘Oldways?Littlegirl, you

don’t know anything aboutold ways. If Delores wastraditionalWakapishe’dhaveno power and cookeverything over a fire. She’sone of the least traditionaleldersIknow.’Carly has no idea how to

dig her way out of thesetotally foreign concepts. So

allshesaysis,‘Ididn’tmeananythingbyit. I’msorry.It’sjust thatmost people I knowhavephones.’They ride a good half the

waywithouttalking.ThenAlvin says, ‘Want to

stop by the village store onthe way back? Make thatcall?’‘IfIhaveenoughmoney.’‘Two full loads ought to

getyouaphonecall. Imean,

you’re calling California.Right?NotSriLanka.’‘Yeah, but I don’t know

howmany times I’ll have tocallinformation.’Speaking of information,

until the silence falls, Carlyhas no idea that was toomuch.‘You don’t know your

stepfather’sphonenumber?’Carly turns her face away

and looks out the window.

She just won’t answer. Shewatches the fenceposts of afield of horses go by.Flashinginrhythm.Thenithitsher.‘Howdidyouknowitwas

my stepfather? How did youknowhewasinCalifornia?’‘Justamatterofaskingthe

rightquestions.’Now that Carly thinks

about it, she told Delores itwasherstepfathersheneeded

tocall.DidshesayhewasinCalifornia?Shedoesn’t thinkshedid.MaybeJensaidmorethanshe’swillingtoadmit.Suddenly Chester’s dogs

areintheroad,barking.Alvinplowsrightthroughthem,andofcoursetheyduckaside.Hemakesa left,nota right, intoChester’sdriveway.Hecameadifferentway.He pulls within inches of

the barn and shuts off the

noisyengine.She looks over at him.

He’sstaringather.‘Level with me, kid. Just

how much trouble are youin?’‘I’m not in any trouble at

all,’ she says. Her hearthammering. Her gutclenched. ‘Not if I can findmystepfather.Hejustmovedaway after my mom took usandleft.Hejustdoesn’tknow

we’re looking for him, that’sall. If he knew, he’d be hereas fast as he could drive.Hejust doesn’t know we needhim.’‘OK,’Alvinsays.‘OK?’‘Sure. OK. I know you’re

not eighteen, but let’s figurefor now he’ll take you in.We’ll go that way. Thatdoesn’t work out, we’ll gosomeotherway.’

Before she can evenanswer, Chester comeswanderingoutfromthebarn.‘Shut up!’ Chester yells at

the dogs, who slink into thebarn without furtherinstructions.Alvin gets down from the

truck.Carlysits,frozen.‘I’ll help you unload this,’

AlvintellsChester.‘We’llget’erdonequick.’

‘That’s interesting,’Chestersays.‘Whatis?’‘You seem to know that

littleinterloper,too.’‘You mean this lovely

younglady?’‘Yeah,’ Chester says.

‘Yeah. That’s what I meant.That’stheone.’She can hear them saying

more to each other as theyoffloadmostof thecarparts,

thenthebedsprings.Butwithall the banging ofmetal, shecan’tmakeoutanythingmoreforsure.

Carlyissilentformostoftheride to the village store.There’s something buildingup in there, but shewants tokeepitin.Butthenitgetsbyher,suddenly,likeadogwhobursts out through the door

whenhecatchesaglimpseofdaylight.‘Why do I have to be an

interloper? Why can’t I justbesomeonewho’svisiting?’Alvin chews on the inside

of his cheek for a couple ofseconds, then says, ‘Well, aninterloperjustmeans—’‘I know what it means,’

she says, more harshly thanintended.‘Andhenevertalksto me. He looks at me like

I’m a desk or a lamp.Like Idon’t even see him looking.And he never talks to me.FirsttriphetalkedtoDelores.Second triphe talked toyou.He treats me like I’m noteventhere.’She doesn’t add that so

manypeopledo, she’sbegunto wonder if they all knowsomethingshedoesn’t.Alvinsighs.‘Chester’sjust

a little notional is all. Little

setinhisways.’Carly turns away. Looks

outthewindow.Thesunisona slant. She doesn’t knowhow late it is, but she hopesthere’s still time to call abusiness in California. If ananswering machine orvoicemail picks up, she’lllose the money she paid forthe call. She only has eightdollars in quarters. Thatmightnotgofar.

‘OK, I’ll level with you,’Alvin tells the back of herhead. ‘Chester’s got a littlechip on his shoulder aroundthesubjectofAnglos.’She turns to look at him.

He looks more humble thanhedidbefore.‘I’m not the subject of

Anglos. I’m a real, living,breathingexampleofone.’‘That you are. Look, I’m

not saying it’s right, but I’m

notgoingtoapologizefortheman, either. It’s alwayswrong to judge a person bythe actions of their wholepeople … but … the onesaroundherewhofeelthewaytheydo…well, they tend tohave their reasons. I’m justsaying it’s a story with twosides.’Hestepson thebrake,and

Carly looksup to seeaplainbrickboxofastorewith two

otherpickup trucksand threemotorcyclesparkedoutfront.The sign above the door –madewithaslabofwoodanda wood-burning tool – has anameCarly could never reador pronounce. But it hasseven syllables. Seven. Shecounts. The windows arecovered with a fine metalgrating. In front and to theleft of the place is an old-fashioned phone booth. The

kind you can step inside.Close the door behind you.Some of the glass is intact,some broken out. The glassthat remains is cloudy withscratches,likeitlivedthroughasandstorm.‘Berightback,’shesays.She climbs down and

walks in the direction of thephone booth. Three big mencome out of the store andswing legs over their

motorcycles. One of themsmiles at her. She smilesback,butshe’snotsureitwasmuchofasmile.She steps inside thephone

boothandclosesthedoor,butthere’s no glass in the door.Sotherewasn’tmuchpoint.She knows you need the

area code to call long-distance information,andshedoesn’tknowtheareacodeof

Trinity. She starts by dialingtheoperator.‘I need the area code for

Trinity,California,’shesays.But just at that moment,

the threemotorcycles roar tolife. The operator sayssomething,butshecan’thearit.‘Can you wait a minute?’

sheyellsintothephone.‘Justwaitaminute.OK?Tillthese

motorcyclesdriveaway.SoIcanhearyou.’She holds her hand over

themouthpieceof thephone.Watching the men put theirhelmets on. Their gloves.Finally they notice that she’swaiting.They click thebikesinto gear and roar off downtheroad.Howtheycanstandall that noise wherever theygoCarlycan’timagine.

‘Sorry,’ Carly tells theoperator. ‘Sorry. Now whatwasthatareacode?’‘I have nothing for a

Trinity,California.’Carly just hangs in that

moment, not quite knowingwhatitmeans.‘Every place has an area

code,’shesays.‘True. But I’m looking at

every city or town inCalifornia. There’s no

Trinity. There’s a TrinityNationalForestrangerstation…’‘Oh.’ Carly’s throat

tightens. ‘Could you lookagain?’‘Honey, there’re just no

otherplacestolook.’‘OK.Thanks.’She hangs up the phone.

Opens the useless phone-boothdoorandwalks towardthetruck.Andshe’sfine.She

doeseverythingjustfine.Sheopensthepassengerdoorlikeeverything is just fine.Slidesup into the seat. Pulls herkneesupandwrapsherarmsaround them. She doesn’tfastenherseatbelt.‘Get what you needed?’

Alvinasks.She opens her mouth, and

that’s when the dam breaks.The tears come, and there’snostoppingthem.Noamount

of resistance will hold themback.Alvin just sits there in

silenceandletshercry.A few minutes later he

hands her a clothhandkerchief from his jeanspocket.A minute after that, he

says,‘I’lltakethatasano.’

The same light tap on hershoulder makes her jump

almostashigh.Though thereisn’t anybody it could bebesides Alvin. Her closedeyes have been pressed hardagainst her knees, and whenshelooksup, thelightmakesherwince.Plustherearedarkspotsfloatinginfrontofeacheye.They’re back in Delores’s

driveway.Carly knew the truck had

beenmoving. And she knew

ithadstopped.Butshehadn’tthought it out much moreclearly than that. She hadn’tprocessedthosesimplebitsofsensoryinput.Now she feels a little

surprisedtobehere.Tears are still running on

her face, but her hitches andsobs have quieted. Not asthough things are better.Moreasthoughtheygottiredof trying. Ran out of steam.

She’s careful not to look atAlvin. But out of the cornerofhereye,sheseeshimpushsomething across the seat inher direction. She looksdown.It’s a yellow pad of lined

paper,withapenclippedon.‘Write down your

stepfather’s name. And whathedoes fora living.And thenameofthattownwherehe’ssupposed to be. In the

morning I’ll make a fewinquiries.SeeifIcanfindoutwhat’swhat.’Carly sniffles hard and

wipeshernoseonhersleeve.Which she knows isdisgusting. And which shedoesn’twanttodoinfrontofAlvin. But the drip methodstrikes her as even worse.Then she looks down andrealizesshe’sholdingAlvin’s

handkerchief.Asifshedidn’tevenknowwhatitwasfor.She wants to open her

mouth and say something.Likemaybethankyou.Butitfeels too hard. So she justnods.She takes the pad and

writes.

Theodore Thacker.Trinity, California,except the operator says

there is no such place.But it’s supposed to beon the coast up byEureka. Works forcontractors, doingconstruction.

Sheopensthetruckdoorandslidesdown,leavingthecleanhandkerchief on the seat.Takes three steps toward thetrailer,thenturnsandwaves.

She wishes she’d neverseen the look on his face.Boy,doeshe ever look sorryforher.It’sapatheticfeeling.Shemust be utterly pathetic.Not that she didn’t know.Morethatit’sashocktohavethesheerextentofitmirroredbackinhiseyes.He waves back. Even his

waveissad.She doesn’t go into, or

even near, the house. She

doesn’t go anywhere nearJen,who’shangingwashonaclothesline at the far back ofthe property. She doesn’t getclose enough to see if it’stheir laundry, or somethingJen had to do for Delores.She’scuriouswhethertheoldwoman has a washingmachine, or whether Jenwashed things out by hand.Then she remembersDeloresonly has well water that

doesn’t run through a pipe.So that pretty much answersthequestion.She opens the trailer door,

startledalloveragainbythatloud squeal. She thinks sheshould be used to it by now.Butitgotheragain.She sees Delores through

the living-roomwindow, andquickly turns her face awayso the old woman can’t seeshe’s been crying. As she

hurries inside and shuts thedoor behind her, sheremembers.Delorescan’tseewellenoughtotell.She lies on the little bed,

facing the wall. Not activelycryinganymore.Notactivelyanything.After a while she puts the

earbudsbackinherearsandturnsonAlvin’smusicagain.Just to fill her head withsomething. Anything better

than what she’s already got.Whichwouldbeanything.

Afterwhatmightbeacouplehoursof that–Carlydoesn’thavemuchsenseof thetime,but the music has cycledaroundandbeguntorepeat–she feels some movement inthe trailer. Like somethingwas bumping into it lightly,repeatedly. She pulls out theear buds and waits. First

nothing.Then another round.Withoutthemusicinherears,it’s obviously someoneknockingonthedoor.‘Comeonin,Delores.’‘Iwould if Iwas, but lord

knows there’s only oneDelores.’ Alvin. ‘Youdecent?’‘Yeah.’‘Comeonout,then.’Carly stretches. Her

muscles feel weird, like she

hasn’t used them in months.Mustbesorenessfromallthework she’s had to do. Shefeels like thisdayhasbeenayear long. Earlier thismorningfeelslikelastweek.She walks stiffly to the

door and pushes it open,wincingatthesound.‘Yeah?’shesays,squinting

intothelight.Alvin has changed out of

hisuniformshirt,intoaplaid

one. The light is on a longslant,andit’scooler.Mustbealmost dinner time. Carly’sstomachachesvaguely.He’s holding an unusually

largeroadatlasof theUnitedStates,foldedbacktoapage.Heturnsitaroundsoshecanseeit.‘Takealookhere,’hesays.It’s open to Northern

California and has two smallstickynotesonit.Oneonthe

coast, another a hair farthersouth and much farther east,deeperintothestate.‘There’saTrinityCounty.’

Alvin points at the mid-statesticky note. ‘And a TrinityRiver.AndaTrinityNationalForest. And if you putTrinity,Californiaintoamapsearch, it gives you backsomething.Pointssomewhereneartheforest.Butwhenyou

zoom in closer, it’s not somuchofatown,exactly.’Carly looks closely at it,

thenshakesherhead.‘Ralph said it was on the

coast.UpbyEureka.’‘OK,then.Trythis.’He points to the other

sticky note. The one on thecoast. It has a little pencilarrow drawn on it. It pointsdown to a tiny town calledTrinidad.

‘Trinidad!’ she says.Actually, she shouts it.‘That’s what he said!Trinidad!’‘Thoughtthatmightbethe

case, on account of here’sEureka right down here. Sojust dry your tears for thenight, ’cause it’s too late tocall any businesses today. Ialready tried directoryassistance up there, andthere’snolistingonhim.But

Icancallsomecontractorsinthe morning. Pretty smalltown. I expect somebodyought to know him if he’sthere.’Carlyrushesinandthrows

herarmsaroundhim,causinghim to drop the atlas. Then,shocked that shewould do athinglikethat,sheletsgoandbacksupsuddenly.‘Sorry.’

Alvin only laughs, andpicks up the atlas. ‘No needtobe.Goodtoseeyoufeelingbetter. Hope you’re hungry.Smellsgoodinthatkitchen.’He tips his hat to her and

walksbacktohistruck.She watches him until the

corner of the trailer blocksher view, nursing a feelingthat’stheclosestthingtoloveshe’s felt since the last timeshesawTeddy.

Carly is washing her face inthe sink when Jen comesboundingin.‘You OK?’ Jen says,

stoppingsuddenly.‘Yeah.Fine.’‘Oh. Good. So, I have to

tellyou this.Whenyouweregone, this ladycameby.Hername is Virginia, and she’sWakapi. She’s a grown-up.But not old. Maybe likeAlvin.Well,olderthanAlvin.

Butnotold.Andshe’spretty.She has this black hair thatgoesall thewaydown to thebottomofherbutt.Youneversaw hair like this. She musthavetopullitoutofthewaybeforeshesitsdown.Canyouimagine having hair youcould actually sit on?Anyway,guesswhat?Shehassix horses, and three arepaints. Three! And the oldone, she says he’s really

sweet,andifIcomebyIcaneven ride him. And shebroughtmeat.’‘Meat? What kind of

meat?’Carly actually wants to

focusonthehorsebackriding.When does Jen think she’llhave time to ride someWakapi woman’s horse?They have to work all weekand then they’re getting outof here as fast as their feet

cancarrythem.Butthatfeelslike toobigasubject.Soshefocusesonsomethingsimple.Likemeat.‘It’smutton.’‘Oh.’ Then she wonders

why she even cared whatkind.‘ShebroughtitforDelores

and took a bunch of eggs intrade. And Delores mademutton stew with potatoesandonions.And turnips. I’m

notsosureaboutturnips.Butit smells really good. Youshould come in the housenow.It’salmostready.’‘I’llbethereinaminute.’Jen bounds right back out

again. Like a wind-up toywithplentyofwindleft.Likea regular little girl. Onewho’s perfectly normal, and… there’s really only onewaytosayit.Happy.

By the time Carly gets intothe kitchen, there are threebowls of stew on the table.All shehas todo is sitdownin front of one. The smellfloatsupandfillshernostrils,maybe evenherwholebrain.Shefeelslikeshehasn’teatenin days. Like she never sawanything so appealing sittingin a bowl on a table in frontofher.Jenisalreadyseated.

Delores is pouring goat’smilk intocups in frontof theopen refrigerator. Carly canfeelthecoldairwaftoverher.It feels good. Everythingdoes. All of a sudden,everythingfeelsOKagain.Carly slips the iPodoutof

her shirt pocket and slides itacross the table to Jen’splacemat.‘Here.Thanks.’

‘Well, it’s not like it’smine,’Jensays.‘Butheloanedittoyou.’Maybe he likes Jen better.

Or maybe… just maybe…Jen is better at asking forwhatshewants.‘Eat,’Delores says. ‘Don’t

letitgetcold.’Carlypicksupaspoonand

stirsthestewaround,lookingat the colors. There arechunks of fresh tomato in

there, and carrots that lookmore orange than any carrotshe can remember seeing.And the potatoes are goldinsteadofwhite.And there’sone vegetable she doesn’trecognize. That must be theturnips.‘Where’d the tomatoes

comefrom?’sheasksDeloresabsently.In her head, she enjoys

picturing vegetables maybe

hand-wateredfromawateringcan.How does something sodelicate come out of sucharid,sandyredsoil?‘Where do they come

from?’‘Yeah. Where did they

grow?’‘Now how would I know

that?’‘I’msorry.Ithoughtyou’d

knowwherethey’refrom.’

Delores places her handson her ample hips. ‘Theycome from my neighbor,Virginia. Who works inFlagstaff three days a week.Where there aresupermarkets.Sothat’swherethey come from. Thesupermarket. Where theygrew from, well… feel freetogointoFlagstaff’nask.’‘Oh,’ Carly says. ‘The

supermarket.’Shefeelsoddly

disappointed.ShelooksuptoseeDelores

staringatherintently.‘Youmustjustthinkwe’re

awful quaint around here,don’tyou,girl?’‘Um. No, ma’am. I didn’t

meanit thatwayatall.Iwasjustinterested.’She looks away. Lifts a

chunkof vegetable on to herspoon. Looks up at Delores,who’s still watching her

closely. As though she’s yetto figure out somethingcrucial.‘Isthisaturnip?’Delores seems to hear the

question as a potentialchallenge. ‘Yeeeaaaah …’she says, drawing the wordout. As if bracing to hearwhatargumentCarlyisabouttohammerhomenext.Carly pops it into her

mouth and bites down. It’s a

little spicy, but also savory,becauseofthegravy.Becauseof being cooked with themeat. It makes her close hereyes, in order to better tasteit.‘It’s good.’ She opens her

eyes.Deloreslookssurprised.‘Thankyou,’Carlyadds.The old woman’s bushy

white eyebrows arch up alittlehigher.‘OK…’Deloressays. Like there might be

more to that sentence. Butthenthereisn’t.‘And thanks for what you

did formyboots.They’re somuchbetter.And for leavingmore of that salve in thetrailer while I was workingyesterday. It helps. And thatoilyouleftwithit.Weuseditonourlipsandoursunburns.Works just as well for both.Thatwasnice.Thankyou.’

Delores closes her mouth.Alsotherefrigeratordoor.‘You’re welcome,’ she

says. Like it’s the last thingshe ever expected to have tosay.Delores sits at the table,

tucking a napkin into thecollarofhersackydress.Carly looks down to see

Roscoe staring up at herhopefully,tailswishing.

‘Roscoe!’Deloresbellows.‘Go ’way.We don’t stare atyouwhileyou’reeatin’.’Carlythinksthatshouldbe

enough volume. Even forRoscoe. But he just swisheshistail.Oblivious.‘Tell ’im, little one,’

DeloressaystoJen.Probablybecause Jen is closer to thedog.Jen reaches over and lifts

one of Roscoe’s enormous

ears. Puts her mouth rightunderthegreat,softflapofit.‘Roscoe!Goliedown!’Roscoe lowers his head

and slinks into the livingroom, where he circles sixtimesbeforelyingontheonewoven rug. The house fallsstrangelyquiet.They eat together in what

feels almost like a stunnedsilence.Somethingthatworks

without any of the partiesseemingtoknowwhy.

WakapiLand,16May

‘Betthere’snothingevenlefttodo,’Carly says. ‘Whatarewesupposedtodofortherestoftheweek?’She’s proudly standing by

the fully-loaded pickup. Oneelbow leaned on the edge of

the truck’s bed. There’s nojunk left on Delores’sproperty. Carly can lookaround in any and everydirection,andnothingoffendsherinnatesenseoforder.‘Hah!’ Delores spits the

word out hard. She’s sittingin the shade, on a webbednylon lawn chair. She seemsnotsomuchtobesupervisingasbreathingintheday.‘You

ain’t seen the inside of thatshedyet.’Carly sighs.Looksover to

Jen, who’s milking goats,nearly obscured by theoversized cowboy hat, ear-budcordsdangling.‘Whattimedoyouthinkit

is?’sheasksDelores.‘That’s the third time you

askedsofarthismornin’.Gotan important appointment?Hotdate?What?’

‘Justwondered.’She knows by now that

Deloresdoesn’twearawatch.Probably couldn’t see to tellthetimeifshedid.Buttwicealready the old woman hasbeen able to make a goodestimate by stepping out intothe sun to get a sense ofwhereitsitsinthesky.‘Mightbenearoneleven.’‘Isn’t this late forAlvin to

come?’

‘Oh.So that’swhatyou’rewaitin’on.WhysoanxioustoseeAlvinallofasudden?’‘No reason. I mean… he

just said he’d try to findsomethingoutforme,isall.’‘Must’vehadsomeofficial

business to see to,’ Deloressays. ‘Want some coldwater?’‘Yeah.Sure.Thanks.’WhileCarly’swaiting, she

wandersover totheshedand

opens the door. Somethingscurriesoutoftheutter,fully-entwined chaos. Carlydoesn’t even see what, it’straveling so fast. Doesn’tevenwanttoknow.She shuts the door again,

ready to pretend, at least forthe moment, that she neverpeeredinatall.It’saproblemshe’s all too happy topostpone.

RightaroundthetimesheandJenfinishtheirwater,Alvin’struckpulls intothedriveway.Theoff-dutytruck.Carly feels a strain ease

anduntangleinhergut.She’sshocked by how big it was.She’sbeenignoring,denying,thestressofnotknowingyet.It’s quickly replaced by theterror of being about to findout. In many ways, that’s

worse. Certainly more acute.Moreimpossibletoignore.The truck stops in the dirt

near the henhouse, and awoman steps out. Carly’sheartfallsagain.‘Who’s that?’ she asks

Delores.‘Ifitain’tAlvinitmightbe

Pam and Leo,’ Delores says.Asifthat’salltheexplanationthesituationrequires.

It’s not the woman whobroughtthemuttonyesterday.Because her name was …Carly can’t remember. Butsomething else. Somethinglonger. It wasn’t Pam. Andthiswoman’sthickblackhaironly extends a few inchesbelow her shoulders.Nowhere close to the bottomofherbutt.Thewomanisleaningback

intothecabof thetruck, like

there’s something on thebench seat she needs tountangle.Amomentlatershelifts a little boy out and setshim on his feet in the dirt.He’ssomewherebetweentwoand three, as best Carly canfigure. Then she lifts out abasket, drooping from itshandle, looking loaded andheavy.The boy runs straight for

whereDelores sits.Hugs her

around the knees. He’s notquicktoletgo,either.‘Howdy there, Leo,’

Delores says, patting him onthe head in hard pats thatCarly would think he wouldmind.Buthedoesn’tseemto.‘Alvin had a call this

morning,’ the woman says.‘He and Ray had to go intothevillage.Help takecareofa … situation. You know.That usual situation. Here, I

brought you a basket ofapples.Figuredyougotmoremouthstofeedandall.’Carly immediately

wonders if that means he’shad no time to look intohersituation.Pam sets the basket of

applesbyDolores’schair.Delores says, ‘Thank you

kindly.Maybe I’llmakeusapie. You mean the situation

that goes by the nameRodney?’‘That’stheone,’Pamsays.She’spretty,Carlydecides,

but in a way that’s totallynatural. Almost accidental.Pamseemslikeawomanwhocouldn’t care less if she’spretty or not. But, as luckwouldhaveit,sheis.Leo lets go of Delores’s

knees and strides up to Jen,like a gunfighter trying to

keep his holster up. Likethoseoldcaricaturesofbow-leggedcowboys.‘Who’reyou?’‘Jen,’shesays.‘Jen.’He repeats theword

as if it had a flavor. ‘I’mLeo.’Hepointstohimselfwitha

hookofhisthumb.AsthoughJen might not know whichLeo he had in mind withoutexplicitdirections.

‘Pleasedtomeetyou,Leo.’‘Sure,’ he says. The way

he’d say, ‘You’re welcome,’after doing something nice.Then he swaggers up toCarly.‘Who’reyou?’‘I’m Carly. And you’re

Leo.’He’s looking straight up

into her eyes. Fullyunguarded. In that oddmoment, Carly suddenlyknows she wants one of her

own.Notnow.Notsoon.Butshe does. And she neverknew that before. His jet-black hair is so soft-lookingand so shiny in the sun. It’sall she can do not to reachdownandstrokehishead.‘How’d you know I’m

Leo?’heasks.Half-surprised,half-challenging.‘Iheardyoutellher.’‘Oh.Right.’

Then he scampers away.Runs behind his mother andlooks out from between herjeanedlegs,onearmwrappedaroundeachofherthighs.Hesmilesshyly,andwhenCarlysmiles back, he buries hisfaceinthebackofhismom’sleg.It strikesCarlyasodd that

any livingbeingcouldact soconfidentandsoshyinsuchashortspaceoftime.

‘Alvin asked me to comebyandseetoyou,’Pamsaysto Delores. ‘And he wantedme to meet your two newfriends. Which I guess I’mabout to do. Or maybe I’mdoing it right now, already.AndtotakethatlastloadintoChester, if it’s loaded andreadytogo.’‘Oh, it’s loaded,’ Delores

says. Implying some level ofunderstatement.‘Shehadthat

done first thing thismornin’.Before I even got breakfastdownher.Ifthere’sonethingthisgirlwon’tputoff…’SheindicatesCarlywithamotionof her chin. ‘It’s anythingmightgetheroutofhere.’‘Well,youcan’tblameher

for that,’ Pam says. ‘Canyou? Everybody alwayswantstogethome.Ibetboththese girls are homesick likecrazy.’

‘No.’ Jen pipes up. ‘JustCarly.Ilikeithere.’Thatstopstheconversation

for an uncomfortable lengthof time, and makes Carlyburn in a place deep in herchest, where a resentment,already smoldering, issuddenly fanned. But sheclamps down on it and saysnothing.Shedoesherbest toputitawayagain.Shehasnoidea what else to do with it

butkeepstuffing itback intomakeshiftstorage.‘Oh, and one other thing,’

Pam says. ‘I got a note forCarly.That’syou, right?Thehomesickone?’‘Yes, ma’am. A note?

FromAlvin?Whereisit?’‘Dashboardofthetruck.’Carly does not walk. She

runs. Throws the truck doorwide. Mangles the envelopetearing it open. Unfolds it

without even closing thetruckdoor.It’s on a sheet from a

yellow legal pad, folded intoquarters.Itstartswiththenameofa

contractor. Mel VanNess.And an address and phonenumber.Carly’sheartmorphsinto a flock of birds, allstartled to the limits of theircage, suddenly, and at thesametime.

MaybePamwilltakehertothe payphone on the wayhome.But her heart folds its

wingsonthenextline.

Carly Girl. Don’t getyour hopes up too highreading that first partabout Mel. I couldn’tfind where yourstepdad’s working. Thatnameandaddressis just

aplaceheusedtowork.But not now. The guysaidTeddyhurthisback,and as far as he knows,he’snotworkingnowatall.Iwashopingitwould

be a workman’s compcase, but Mel says hehurtitonhisowntime.Itried to track himthrough disabilityinsurance, but it seemslike he wasn’t working

long enough to qualify.His car is registered toan address in Tulare. Isthat where you allmoved from? If so, Idon’tguessthathelps.Mel says he knows

Teddy’s still in town,because he sees him atthemarket.He’s alwayswith this woman namedLinda, who Mel knowsto say hello to. But hedoesn’t know her last

nameorwhereshelives.Or anything else abouther, really. But he sayshe’s seen Teddy in thepasttwoweeksorso.SoI’mthinkinghe’sstill intown. I just don’t knowwhere.Sorry,girl.Wanted to

dobetterforyou.Oh. And Mel says

to check the bar. Iguess that meansthere’s only one.

Makeofthatwhatyouwill.–Alvin

Carlyleansonthetruckforafew minutes, digesting whatshe just swallowed. She canseeJenandPamandDeloresand Leo interact, but she’stoofarawaytohearthem.It’slike watching a movie withnosoundtrack.Teddy’swithawoman?

That holds a surprisingsting.Hewasn’t supposed tobe. He was supposed to bemissing them. All of them.Nothing should have beenable to replace them. Or, atleast…notsofast.ThenshedecidesthisLindaisprobablyjust a friend. Teddy alwaysdid get along well withwomenasfriends.Yeah.Thatfeelsmorelikethetruth.Thatfeelsbetter.

She folds the note andtucksitintohershirtpocket.A strong, sure thought

emerges from the pile ofconflict. Comes right up outof the middle of her, andmakesitselfathome.Asiftostayawhile.‘That’sallIreallyneeded,’

shesays.Out loud,butunderher breath. ‘I can find himwiththat.’

Pam drives the dirt roadsfaster than Alvin. And shedoesn’t slow down for thebumps.Shehits them full onat twenty-five or thirtymilesper hour, sending thesuspensionofthetruckafoothigher off the road. Leo,who’sstrappedintoacarseatbetween them, giggles eachtime. Carly braces andwinces, thinking Delores’srusty old truck will hit the

road in a thousand pieceseachtimeitlands.When they pass over a

rutted, washboard section ofroad, Pam slows some, andLeo makes a low hummingsoundoutloud,justtohearitwarble as the truck bumpsalong. He saves the laughteruntil the road smoothes outagain.Carlyhasn’tsaidawordto

Alvin’swifeorviceversa.

It’sPamwhofinallybreaksthesilence.‘Not sure I’ve ever seen

Alvin so heartbroken as hewas on hisway out the doorthis morning. He wanted sobad to find your stepdad.Heknowsyouneedsomekindofgood solution, and he justcan’tstandthathedidn’tropeitinforyou.’‘It doesn’t matter,’ Carly

says.

She listens to thewordsasthey come out of hermouth,and then later as they echoaroundinthecabofthetruck,leavingaprintofthemselves,as if they hadn’t blown outthe window yet. They soundterriblywrong.‘How can it not matter?’

Pamasksatlast.‘Ithoughtitwasimportanttoyougirls.’‘It’s important to me to

findhim.AndIwillfindhim.

I got enough to go on now.I’llfindhim.You’llsee.IgotallIneed.’Carly stares out the

window,watchingacloudofdust followsomevehicle shecan’t even see, in a far-offfield that doesn’t even seemlikely to have a road. Theypasstwogirlsridingbarebackand double on a fine-bonedgrayhorse.‘How?’Pamasks.

‘We’ll just go there.We’llgo there and findhim.Go tothe market or ask everybodyin town. It’s a small town.We’llfindhim.’‘Awful long way for two

younggirlsonyourown.’‘We came all this way on

ourown.’‘And almost died doing it,

thewayIhear.’Carly decides she’s done

talking to Pam. She’s done

talking, period. There’snothingwrittenintothisworkcontract that says she has totell her story to anybody.Justify her position toanybody. Get anybody’spermission for anything shewantstodo.She looks up to see

Chester’sdogsintheroad.‘I’m not going in there,’

shetellsPam.‘Youletmeoffrighthere.’

Pam brakes in the middleof the otherwise desertedroad.Intheright-sidemirror,Carly watches the cloud ofred dust kicked up by thetruck. Watches it settlebehindthem.‘Here?’‘Anywhere. I don’t care.

Just not in there with thatawful man and those awfuldogs. Leave me far enough

away that the dogs won’tmesswithme.’‘Chester’sjust—’Carly stops her in mid-

sentence by throwing openherdoor.Shestepsdownintotheroad,feelingfreeralready.She slams the door behindher.‘What should I say you

want for all this stuff?’ Pamasks through the openwindow.

‘I don’t care.Whatever hepays.Idon’tcare.I’llberighthere.’A long pause, then the

truck moves forward again,slowly, as if to spare Carlythe bulk of the dust. It’s stillplenty of dust. It settles overher like a red cloud. Shebrushes it off her shirt, thenwipesherfaceonhersleeve.Chester’s dogs follow the

truck into the driveway,

barking. Carly watches for amoment,buttheydon’tcomebackout.She leans on a fencepost,

staring out at a long line ofmountains. The sky looksbluerattheedgeofthemthanitlooksoverhead.It’sacolorof blue she’s never seen in askybefore.Almostaroyalora navy blue. She thinks ofJen’spronouncement that the

sky is somehow better here,thenpushesitawayagain.She’s still surprisingly

angry.Even thoughshecan’tput her finger on anythingPam did wrong. There’s abuckskin horse grazing onscrubby weeds in thedistance,halfwaybetweenthefence and the mountains. Inhis general direction, Carlysays, ‘If anybody thinks theycan stop me from going to

California to find him, theygotanotherthingcoming.’

They ride home in absolutesilence.Itisn’tuntilthetruckstops in front of Delores’shenhouse that Pam speaks toheragain.‘Promise me you won’t

make any decisions untilAlvin comes by to talk toyou. Promise me you won’tdo anything. He’s not going

to let you walk out of thisplace without a cent to yourname. Without anybodylookingafteryou.Alvin’snotlike that. Besides, he has aresponsibility now. To makesureyou’reOK.’Carly breathes in silence

for a moment, realizing thesheer scope of her mistake.Alvinisthepolice.Carlyjusttoldthepoliceman’swifethatshe and Jen are moving on

alone. All the way toCalifornia. She should haveknown better. She shouldhave known Alvin wouldn’tlether.She gets down from the

truckwithoutanswering.Delores is nowhere to be

found.Jen is playing with that

baby goat. The one theywatched tormenting the barncat, back when they were

sitting across the road a fewdays earlier. Before they’deversetfootonthisproperty.It takesCarly back to a timewhentheywereontheirown.Unencumbered. Somehow itfeelsasthoughtherewaslesstoworryaboutthen.She walks up to Jen and

thegoat,bothofwhomtakeaminute to notice her. Whenthey do, the goat startles.Bolts straight up in the air

andthenboundsthreeorfoursteps away. He stops thereandlooksoverhisshoulderatCarly. Carly is scarysomehow.Jenistoplaywith.Carlyistorunfrom.‘We don’t have time for

foolishness,’Carlysays.Jen’smouth drops open at

thesoundofhertone.‘What’s left to do,

anyway?’

‘Wehave tocleanout thatshed.’‘OK, fine. Let’s clean out

the shed. Geez.What’re youinsuchabadmoodabout?’‘Nothing. Imean, I’mnot.

I just want to get done witheverythingandmoveon. I’mjustsodonewiththisplace.’Jenfollowshertotheshed

withoutcomment.‘Carefulopeningthedoor,’

Carlysays.

‘Why?’‘Idon’tknow.Therecould

besomethinginthere.’‘Likewhat?’‘Idon’tknow,Jen.Justbe

careful,OK?’Jen opens the shed door.

Nothingrunsout.Inside they see gardening

tools, pallets, a manualmower, plastic milk crates,metal gas cans, glass bottles,more paint cans, plus dozens

of items Carly can’t evencategorizeinherbrain.‘Damn,’ Jen says. ‘This’ll

beabigjob.’‘Why do you think I

wantedtogetstarted?’Jen looks up to see the

baby goat wiggle back intotheenclosureandtrytonursefromhismother,buttinghardunderneathher.‘You won’t get anything

fromher,’Jenshouts.‘I took

it all this morning. Besides,you’retoooldtonurse.Growup.’They set about hauling

thingsoutintothelight.Carly says, ‘How do you

know how old a goat issupposedtobebeforeitstopsnursing?’‘Delores toldme.Said she

didn’t start milking that goattill it was high time for herlittle one to stop.’ Jen sticks

her head into the shed again.‘Hey.Look.Workgloves!’Jen tosses out three and a

half pairs of heavy leathergloves. Which is good. Noteverything in that shed lookslikesomethingyou’dwanttotouch with your bare hands.It’s all been sitting a longtime, and mice and insectsand God only knows whathavelefttheirmarks.

It takesprobablythebetterpart of an hour just to get itoutwheretheycanseeitandsortit.Jen shakes off her gloves,

then takes off her hat andwipessweatoffherfacewithher sleeve. Carly just lets itdrip.‘You’re awful quiet,’ Jen

says.‘What’swrongwithyoutoday,anyway?’

‘Nothing,’Carlysays.‘I’mjustthinking,isall.’

Alvin comes around near theend of dinner. Just asDelores’s apple pie is beingserved. It’s big enough tofeedanarmy,madeinadeep,square baking dish, with asecond crust covering themountainofitstop.‘Goodtrickonthattiming,’

Deloressays.

‘I smelled it from home,’Alvin replies. He pulls up achair and sits. His eyes lookred and tired, like he hasn’tsleptenough. ‘So, Ihearyougirls met my two favoritepeopletoday.’He’s trying to catch

Carly’s eye, but she won’tallowit.Jensays,‘Leoissocute!’‘That’showIlookatit,but

I don’t guess I’m what you

mightcallimpartial.’Alvin waits for some

comment from Carly.Everybody does, it seems.But Carly isn’t talking.Talking has caused Carlyenoughtroubleforoneday.‘You want me to cut that

and serve it?’ he asksDelores.‘Myhandsain’tbrokeyet,’

Deloressays.Hedoesn’targuewithher.

SheservesAlvinfirst.Setsa square of pie in front ofhim.It’senormous.‘Holycow,Delores.That’s

awholedinner.’‘Doyourbestwithit.’More silence. A square of

pieappears in frontofCarly.She starts in on itimmediately.When everybody has pie,

Deloressitsbackdownatthe

table again. They eat insilenceforafewbites.Then Alvin says, ‘Miss

Carly.’ In a big, solid,definitevoice.Carlyjumps.‘What?’‘You’rebeingawfulquiet.’Sheshrugs.Nothingmore.

When the dishes have beenswept off the table and intothe sink, Alvin reaches out

andputs his handonCarly’selbow. She pulls her armawayagain.‘Takeawalkwithme,’ he

says.‘Whatfor?’‘Giveusachancetotalk.’‘I don’t feel like walking.

All I’ve been doing is walkandworkforaslongasIcanremember.I’msickofit.I’mtired. I just want to sit still.Donothingforachange.’

Alvin sits back and sighs.Folds his arms across hischest.‘Well,wedoneed tohave

atalk.Onewayortheother.Ijust thought maybe you’dratherdoitinprivate.’Carly sits still, silent,

feelingherskinandbonessetlike plaster of Paris. Feelingheavierandmoredeadinthatchair with each second thatpasses. She doesn’t want to

move forward into the nextpart of her life, she can’tmove backward in time evenif she tries. And she doesn’tmuchlikewheresheis.Almost without realizing

she’s about to, she jumps toher feet andwalks the sevenshortstepstothedoor.Thereshe stops, and turns around.Alvin is still sitting at thetable with his arms folded.

Watching to see what she’lldonext.‘Well?’ she says. ‘You

coming,ornot?’

It’s nearly sundown as theyscuff along.Noton the road,but in a straight line towardthe big mesa, though Carlycan’t imaginewhy. Just rightinto the heart of nowhere.Alvin is wearing brown

cowboy boots. She watchesthemkickupdust.She looksup toseea thin,

grayish dog with a narrowmuzzle loping along throughthe weeds. The animal spotsthem, stops, puts its headdown. Watches them withsuspicion.‘Get on, then,’ Alvin

shouts.He picks up what only

amounts to a handful of dirt,

but when he aims it, theanimal spinson its heels andtakes off. As if anticipatingthe hurling of large, painfulrocks.‘Whosedog?’Carlyasks.‘Dog? That’s no dog.

That’s a coyote.’ Hepronounces it as twosyllables. Kie-oat. Without along ‘E’ at the end. ‘Youneverseenacoyotebefore?’‘Idon’tthinkso.’

Itscaresher,after thefact.Even though the animal isgone now. But then sheremembersthatAlvinishere.No coyote would dare comeafter her when Alvin is herewithher.‘Don’t want you and your

sister leaving this place onyourown,’hesays.So there it is. She knew it

was out there. Waiting forher. She felt it. She’s been

braced for it, seemingly forever.Andnowit’slanded.Carly stops walking. It

takesAlvinasteptonotice.‘I thought you were my

friend.’The urge to cry bends her

lowerliparound.Causesittotremble.But she doesn’t cry.Sheholdsfirm.‘Iamyourfriend,’hesays.

‘Whatkindof friendwouldIbeifIletyouandyoursister

go all the way to Trinidad,Californiaonyourown?Youknow how far that is, girl? Ibetyoudon’t. I looked itup.It’s nearly twelve hundredmiles.’‘Noway.Couldn’tbe.’‘It could be and it is. I

lookeditup.Can’tdriveovertheSierraNevadaMountains.Can’twalkoverthem,either,in case youwere getting anybig ideas.Soyouhave to go

south to the Interstate 40,then drive all the way intoBakersfield or so. Then youhavetogonorthforthebetterpart of the length ofCalifornia.California’salongstate.’Carly’s still rooted to the

spot, an odd cross betweenstubbornandscared.‘IknowCalifornia’salong

state. I lived inCalifornia allmylife.’

‘Oh,thatlong,huh?’She turns away from him

and begins to walk back totherelativesafetyofthepinktrailer.‘Hey. Hey. You,’ he says,

catchingupfast.‘What?’‘Notice I never asked you

about your mother? I neverasked you if you ran awayfrom her. Did you noticethat?’

She stops.But she doesn’tlook atAlvin. She keeps hergaze leveled at about theirboots.Maybe the bottoms ofthelegsoftheirjeans.‘Whataboutit?’‘KnowwhyIdidn’t?’‘No. I don’t know

anything.’ It strikes Carly asan expansive statement.Maybe more so than shemeantittobe.

‘Because a runaway, nowthat’s a kid somebody wantsback.Amotherofarunaway,now she goes to somelengths. Provides photos tothe police. Calls a milliontimesaday.Icheckedtosee,but there didn’t seem to beanybody wanting you andyour sister back. Now athrowaway, that’s anotherthing altogether. A motherwho would do such a thing,

youwanttomakesurenottogetkidsbackintoahomelikethat. Because that motherdoesn’t deserve to havethem.’‘Unlessshedied.’Then she kicks herself for

sayingit.Hard.‘I see,’ Alvin says. ‘That

would be a whole differentstory.I’msorry.’‘What are we supposed to

do, then? Just stay here the

restofourlives?’‘You’re supposed to give

mesometimeandtrustmetofiguresomethingout.’But Carly doesn’t trust

much of anybody any more.JustTeddy.Andherself.Andshe’s pretty sure she waswrong to even begin to trustAlvin. He’ll try one moretime to get an address orphone number for Teddy.Then he’ll turn them over to

the authorities and let it besomebody else’s worry.That’s pretty much whateverybody does when thechips are down. They saytheycare.Untilyougettobetoo time-consuming. Toomuchofabother.‘Fine,’ she says.

‘Whatever.’Shestridesforthesafetyof

thetrailer.

‘That’s not what I wantedtohearyousay.’She stops dead in her

tracks. Suddenly. Asundowner wind is comingup, blowing hot on her faceand through her hair. Tearsareleakingoutnomatterhowhardsheclampsdownontheseal.‘What do you want me to

say,then?’

‘ThatIcantrustyoutostayput.’‘You can trust me to stay

put.’Then she stomps all the

way back to the trailer. Hedoesn’tseemtobefollowing.Then again, she doesn’t lookback.

Without a watch or a clock,it’s hard to know how longshewaitsforJen.Itfeelslike

threehours.Carlyguessesit’shalfthat.The longer she waits, the

maddershegets.Heresheis,sitting in this trailer byherself, while her sisterchooses to sit inside withDelores. Are they talking?And if so,what about?Whatcould they possibly have incommon?What about all theyears she and Jen have beenfamily? What about

everythingCarly’striedtodoto get them both to safety?Isn’t that supposed to countfor something? Isn’t thatsupposed to be almostimpossibletobreach?By the time Jen walks

through the squeaky trailerdoor,onelookatCarly’sfacestopsherinhertracks.‘What?’Jensays.Carlysniffstheair.There’s

anewsmell.Jenbroughtitin

with her. For a split second,Carly thinks Jen has beensmoking pot. But that’s notquite it. It’s smoky andpungent,butnotquitethat.‘What’s that?’ she asks

Jen.‘What’swhat?’‘Thatsmell.Likeyouwere

smokingsomething.’‘I wasn’t smoking

anything.’‘Thenwhatisthat?’

First Jen seems unwillingto answer at all. But Carlyjust keeps staring. And theweight of her stare seems tobewearingJendown.‘It’swhite sage.But that’s

allIcantellyou.’‘What do you mean that’s

all you can tell me? Whosays?’‘It’s just the way it is,

Carly. It’s … it’s personal.It’s a ceremony. There’s

nothingwrongwith it. It justprotects me and helps forgrief. But it’s between theperson who gives it and thepersonwhogetsit.Andthat’sallIcansay.’‘So Delores was doing

somekindofmagiconyou?’‘Not magic. More like …

religion.’‘Notyourreligion.’‘CanbeifIwantittobe.’

‘Get your stuff packed,’Carly says. Nice and calm.‘We’releavingtonight.’‘But—’‘No,’Carlysays.‘Nobuts.

That’s the only way it canbe.’Shekeepshervoicelow,because of Delores and heramazingears.Carlygetsupandbeginsto

gather her belongings.Toothbrush and hairbrushfromthecounterinwhatthey

laughingly call the bathroom– the space behind thepartition in the back of thetrailer. Her jacket and spareshirtfromthetinyhalf-closet.Shestuffseverythinginher

backpack.Meanwhile Jen sits down

onthebed.‘It’s already dark,’ Carly

says.Barelyaboveawhisper.‘Getamoveon.’‘I’mnotgoing,’Jensays.

Thenshestartstocry.Carlywalkstothebedand

stands over Jen, makingherself as big and as tall assheneedstobetogetthroughthis. She feels like it’ssomebody else’s body she’sstanding in. Like she’swatching a movie. Like theendingdoesn’thavetomatterso much. Not the way itwouldinherreallife.

‘So,you’resplittingusup?After everything we’ve beenthrough?’And,withthat,Carlystarts

tocry,too.‘Stay, Carly. Don’t go. If

youdon’t go,wewon’t havetosplitup.’‘WehavetogofindTeddy.

Teddy’ll take us in. Youdon’t know Delores will letyoustayhere.’

‘You don’t know shewon’t,’ Jen says, soundingstronger.Carly says nothing.

Because she’s suddenlyseized with a sick feeling inher gut.Maybe Jen isn’t justmaking assumptions. Jen’sspentalotoftimealonewiththe oldwoman.Maybe thesethingshavebeendiscussed.‘I’mnotgoingbacktolive

with Teddy,’ Jen says. ‘I

don’t know why you’re sosureabout that. Idon’tknowwhy you think that’s such aperfect plan. Like all ourproblems’ll be solved theminute you get him on thephone. He’ll just dropeverything and come save usand we’ll live happily everafter. He’s not even ourstepdad. You keep callinghim our stepdad. He’s not.Theynevergotmarried.He’s

just a guyMom used to livewith.’‘Iwon’tstayhere,Jen,you

know that. I hate it here.Delores doesn’t even likeme.’‘Well, maybe if you

wouldn’t be so snotty to her,shewould.’Carlygetsup.Picksupher

loaded backpack. Makes onefinal sweep to be sure shehasn’t forgotten anything.

Then she walks to the door.Placesonehandonthelatch.Stillcrying.‘I mean it. I’ll do what I

say.I’llgo.Rightnow.’She looks out through the

little round window. It’snearly full-on dark. Just theslightest tinge of light stillglowsonthewesternedgeofthesky.Allthelightsareoffinthe

house.Deloresturnsinearly.

She can hear Jen crying.Butnothingelse.‘I’ll walk right out and

leave you here. Now, comeon, Jen. This is not a game.This is our life, our actuallife. And it’s time for us tomoveonfromhere.’She watches Jen cry.

Listens to it. Listens toherself cry. Then shegradually eases the dooropen.

‘Wait!’Jencalls.‘Don’tgoyet. You have to take this.It’llkeepyousafe.’Jen levers to her feet and

runs the three steps towhereCarly is standing. She slipssomething off from aroundherownneck,somethingthatwashidingunderhershirt.Ablackandwhitefeather,threeor four inches long, withsomekindofsymbolspaintedoninred.Ithasathinstripof

leather wrapped neatlyaround the shaft and formedinto a loop on top. It’s on aleatherthong.She slips it over Carly’s

neck.‘Keep it under your shirt.

Againstyourskin.’‘I don’t believe in that

stuff.’‘Maybe it’ll protect you

whetheryoudoornot.’

‘Or maybe it won’t doanythingatall.’‘Soitcan’thurtanything.’Then Jen goes back and

sitson thebed.Kneesdrawnup tight. Arms wrappedaround them. Refusing tolookatCarlyagain.Carlyopensthetrailerdoor

again. Carefully. Slidesthroughbeforethepartwheremetalcontactsmetal.She’soutintothenight.

She walks down thedrivewaytotheroad,lookingover her shoulder five times.Waiting to see Jen run afterher.She stops at the road.

Squatsontheballsofherfeetandwaits.It’s barely cool, and the

darkfeelsenveloping,butnotentirely safe. She thinks ofsnakes and coyotes. Angrydogs. She touches the tips of

her fingers to the red dirt, asif for balance. But she’s notreallysurethat’swhy.Maybemore to ground herself. Shecrouches like that for a time.Long enough for her legmuscles to ache. Fifteen,twenty minutes, maybe. Thefeather tickles her chest. It’snot an altogether unpleasantfeeling.Jenneverfollows.

We’ve got ourselves asituation here, Carly thinks.She remembers those words,in Teddy’s voice. Andremembering Teddy’s voicefloods her with home-sickness. But at no time didshe ever actually intend towalkoffWakapilandwithouther sister. It’s just not apossibilityshe’ssettoaccept.She walks back to the

trailerandletsherselfinside.

Jen is lying facing thetrailerwall,herbacktoCarly.Carly strips down to her tee-shirt and climbs into bed.Theylieinsilenceinthedarkforaminuteortwo.‘I’mgladyou cameback,’

Jensays.Clearlystillcrying.‘I’m leaving tomorrow

night,’ Carly says. ‘I’m justgiving you a littlemore timetocometoyoursenses.Bettergettoworkonthat.’

Shealmostslipsthefeathernecklace off and gives itback. But then Jen mightthink she really is staying.That’s why she doesn’t.Probably why. Unless,somewhere inside her,Carly’sthinkingsheneedsalltheprotectionshecanget.Neither says another word

all night. But Carly sleepsvery little. And she gets the

impression that Jen is awakeformostofthenight,too.Situations are like that.

Theytakeupallthetimeyouused to use for working andeating and sleeping. Theysoakupyourwholelifelikeablack hole in space soaks upthesunlight.Andthen,whereyou used to have a life, allyouhaveleftisasituation.

WakapiLand,17May

Carly slips out of bed whileher sister Jen is still asleep.Her eyes are burning, andsore, like she tried to keepthem open in a sandstorm.She feels a little sick to herstomach.

She dresses quietly, andslipsoutofthetrailer,carefulnot to wake Jen. It’s afterdawn,butnotmuchafter.Shelets herself into the unlockedhouse. The house is alwaysunlocked. People don’t locktheirdoorsaroundhere.Or,atleast,Deloresdoesn’t.Delores is in the living

room, making her bed. It’sthefirsttimeCarlyhasgottena look at where and how

Deloressleeps.Herbeddropsdownoutofacupboardinthewall, the way some people’sironing boards do. It’s builtin. Carly has heard of bedslike that, and might evenknow what they’re called. Itmight be in there, in her,somewhere.Butshecan’tgetherbraintowork.‘Littleone.Good,’Delores

says. ‘Help me get this darnMurphy folded back up. My

grandson the carpenter madethis for me, and he was soproud, but it’s getting’ to bemoretroublethanit’sworth.Iswear, might come a time Ihave to just leave ’er down.Gettin’harderever’day.NotsurehowlongI’llmanage.’‘OK,’Carlysays.The old woman’s face

changes.‘Oh,’ she says. ‘You.

Thought you were your

sister.’‘Sorry to disappoint you,’

Carly says, not bothering tohideherfeelings.‘Just that she tends to

bounceupearlier.Usually.’‘Wehadaroughnight.’Carlytakesholdoftheend

ofthebedandlifts.Onceshegets it partway up, it seemswilling to go the rest of theway on its own. She closesthecabinetdoorbehindit.

That’s how you putsomething away, she thinks.Nice and neat. Now you seeit,nowyoudon’t.Sheusedtobe able to do that witheverything. But now sheknows. Some things don’tstoresoeasy.Delores nods twice. Carly

assumes she’s to take that asathankyou.‘Youcan’thavemysister,’

Carlysays.

Itwouldhavebeeneasytocry, in the middle of sayingthat. But she doesn’t. Shecloses a cabinet door on atleastthatmuchemotion.Delores crosses her arms

across her chest. Lifts herchin.‘KnowhowlongIbeenon

this earth, little girl? Ninety-twoyears,that’showlong.Inall that time I had a lot ofstrange things said to me.

Thought I’d heard it all,matteroffact.Butyoumightof just won the prize there.You think I’m takin’ heragainstherwill?’‘No,’ Carly says. ‘Just

againstmine.’‘Uh huh? That so? Well,

maybe your will for whatyour sister ought to do ain’tthe be all ’n end all. Maybeyour sister’s will for whatyour sister ought to do is

more to the point. Can youblame her for not wantin’ togo back and live with thatman?’Carlyrealizeshermouthis

open.Hangingwide.‘Yes!Icanblameher!And

Ido!’‘You got blame trouble,

then, if you could blamesome poor child for notwantin’ to go back to amantriedtoforcehimselfonher.’

The room turns a bitunstable. Carly finds herselfreachingoutandtouchingherfingers to the cabinet. Just tobeonthesafeside.Shehastorunapathinhermind.Traceit back. Delores never mettheir mother. This can’t behappening. This is not thewaythingsaresupposedtobehappening.‘Whotoldyouthat?’

‘Use your head, girl. Youdidn’t say it. Who’s thatleave?’‘Jen told you Teddy tried

to force himself on her?That’satotallie!’‘Why would she lie about

it?’‘I don’t know. I don’t

know. That’s the wholequestion,’ Carly says,windingmoredeeplyintothe

panic. ‘Why did she tell youthat?’The circularmotion of her

thoughts is accelerating.Makingherdizzy.WhyisJenacting like this? Why iseverything that used to besolidsuddenlyfluid?Whyarethefewthingsthatusedtobedependable suddenly upsidedown?‘I don’t think that is the

question,’ Delores says.

‘Here’s what I think’s thequestion.Whydidn’t she tellyou?’A pause that feels like an

age,anera.It’sprobablytwoor three seconds. But sometwo- or three-second spansarelongerthanothers.Carly marches out of the

house.Stompsacross thedirtto the trailer. Throws openthe trailerdoorwithasmuchnoise as possible. She wants

Jen awake. But Jen is noteventhere.Carly steps out again and

looksaround.Jen is carrying a pail and

themilkingstoolintothegoatcorral. She must havewakened upwhenCarly did.Either that or she was neverasleep. Maybe she was onlypretending to be asleep.Maybe Jen pretends a lot ofthings. Maybe Carly doesn’t

know Jen at all. But if shedoesn’tknowJen,shedoesn’tknow anybody. And that’s apossibility right now.Anything is. Carly’s lifecould be anything right now.Since it obviously isn’t whatshethought.Carly strides over and

ducksbetweentherailsofthecorral.Jennotices.Turnsherhead

toward Carly. Takes in the

lookonCarly’sface.Butshedoesn’t react in any specialway.Maybe thingswere badenough last night that Jenfigures they’re still just that.Justthatbadandnomore.Jenpullsthestooluptothe

oldest mamma goat. ‘You’reupearly.’‘Never got to sleep. You

told Delores Teddy tried tomolestyou.’

It’s not a question. So shedoesn’t put a question markontheendofit.Jen begins milking the

goat. Carly can hear thedistinctivelightringingsoundof the stream of milk hittingthesideofthepail.‘You’re not answering

me,’Carlysays.‘Didn’t think it was a

question.Are you askingmedidIordidn’tI?’

‘Sure,’ Carly says. ‘Let’sstartthere.’Jen milks for a long time

without answering. Carlywants to grab her sister’sshoulderandforciblyturnheraround. A second later shewantstostrangleJen.‘I said it,’ Jen says. Still

not looking up from herwork.‘Why? Why, Jen? Why

would you do a thing like

that?Tellme.Why?’Atfirst,Jendoesn’t.Then, after a time, she

does.‘Becausehedid.’Theworldspinsonitsaxis

forabrieftimewithoutmuchof anything happening. Noone speaks. Carly’s braindoesn’tputoutmuchactivity.It’s just a fallow period, inwhich everything holds still.Forachange.

Then Carly awakens.Suddenly.‘Howcouldyoulieabouta

thinglikethat?Howcanitbesoimportant tostayherethatyou’dlie?It’sbeen,like,fourdays. Not even four days.How can this place mean somuch to you? Why wouldyoulie?’‘Iwouldn’t,’Jensays.Carly walks around to

Jen’s left side and sits down

inthedirt.Cross-legged,rightin all thatpotential filth. Justtomake sure shedoesn’t falldown instead. Just to pre-empt disaster. The baby goatcomes around and nibbles atherhair.Sheshooshimaway.Jen is refusing to look at

her.‘It was while you were

awayatthelake,’Jensays.‘Iwassleeping,andthenhewasin the bed with me, and he

had his hand clamped downovermymouth.Hewas realdrunk. He said he wouldn’thurtme,butIhadtobequiet.Mom wasn’t home anyway,butmaybehedidn’twanttheneighborstohearmescream.I kicked him where it hurtsand then I jumped out thewindow. And I ran in mypajamas all thewaydown tothe bar. I went over hedgesand cut through yards so he

couldn’t see which way I’dgone. So he couldn’t follow.Itwascold.’‘You jumped out the

second-floorwindow?’‘Yeah, and it hurt, too.

Reallybruisedupthebottomsofmyfeet.Likebonebruises.Theywerejustgettingalmostcompletely better when westartedwalking.’‘Youweredreaming.’‘Idon’tthinkso.’

‘You said youwere soundasleepwhenithappened.Youdreamed he was there. Andthen youwoke upwhen youjumpedoutthewindow.’Jen’s hands stop moving.

The goat kicks out lightlywithonebackhoof.‘Fine. Believe what you

want, Carly. You always do,anyway.’And on that line, the tears

comeback.Forbothofthem.

At almost exactly the sametime. It’s tedious to have somany tears. Tiring. Carlykeepsexpectingtorunoutofthem. It’s discouraging tokeep waiting to touch thebottomofabottomlesswell.‘Whywouldyoutellthatto

Momandnotme?’Jen’s tears come faster

now, and shewipes her eyesfuriously on the back of hersleeve.

‘Because…well, why doyou think,Carly?LookwhathappenedwhenMomtriedtotellyou.Youcalledheraliar.Youturnedonher.Youhatedher. You never forgave her.You wouldn’t have believedmeanyway.Youonlybelievewhat you want. So itwouldn’t’vedoneanygood.Ididn’t want you hating me,too.’

A movement catchesCarly’s eye. ApparentlyJen’s, too.Because theybothlookup.A woman is riding up the

driveway on a white horse,towing two saddled, riderlesshorses behind her. Pullingthem along on lead ropesattached to their bridles.Oneisabigbay, theotheranoldmostly-brownpaint.

‘Virginia’shere,’ Jen says,sniffling. Wiping her eyesagain.But Carly already knew it

wasVirginia.Because of thewoman’s hair. It’s so longthatshehadtogatheritallupand wear it over her leftshoulder to keep from sittingon it. It trails over her thighandontothesaddle.The woman rides right up

to the fence.Herwhitehorse

leans his head over the rails.Stretches out his neck. As ifhe’dalwayswantedtomeetagoat.‘I thinkmaybeIcameata

badtime,’Virginiasays.Jen shakes her head

vehemently. ‘No, it’s OK,Virginia.’Butshedoesn’t tryto hide the fact that she’scrying.It strikesCarly thatmaybe

nobody would expect

otherwise from them. Theirmother is dead. Teddy is notquite findable. They have nofather.Theyareveryfarfromhome.Theirtearsmustnotbemuchofasurprisetoanyone.Usuallywhenyou see two

girls crying, you ask themwhat’s wrong. But in theircase, nobody even needs toask.Virginiasays,‘Delorestold

Alvin you girls were all

caughtuponyourwork, thatthere wasn’t much left foryou to do. So I thought youmightliketogoriding.ButifIcameatabadtime…’‘Yeah,’ Carly says. ‘We

were sortof in themiddleofsomething.’Jen jumps to her feet,

startling the goats andknocking over the milkingstool.‘Iwanttogoriding.’

‘I’m not in the mood,’Carlysays.‘Well, I am. I’m going.’

Jenmarches to the fenceandducks through the rails. ‘CanIridethepaint?’It’s an ugly replay of last

night. Carly always thoughtwhen the chips were down,Jen would do what Carlysays. But this is the secondtime she’s seen through thatlie.Whenthechipsaredown,

Jen does what Jen thinks isbest. Carly’s judgmentdoesn’t even get its day incourt.ItstrikesCarly,allatonce,

that she reallymight have tochoose between leavingwithout Jen or not leaving atall.She struggles to her feet

anddustsoffherjeans.‘Fine, OK,’ she says. ‘I’ll

gofortheride,too.’

It’sadecisionmadepurelyfor expedience. She wantsnothing less than toclimbupon a horse and not get theanswers she needs from thisconversation. But Jen isgoing. And Carly doesn’twant to lethergoalone.Shewants them tohave a chanceto talk some more. And shedoesn’t dare let that finethread break. The only thing

that’s held them together fordays.If she lets her sister go

now, Jen might really begone. Gone gone. Out ofCarly’s life for ever. Or,anyway,that’showitfeels.It’sarealenoughfeelingto

getherintoasaddle.That’sprettydamnreal.

They ride east together,backtracking down Delores’s

road, the road they used towalkintothisplace.ThebigbayhorsecarriesCarlyalongthroughwhatmustbethelifeof someone else entirely.There’s a rocking motion tothe bay’s gait. It’s almosthypnotic.Carly feels around for that

place in herself that’s deeplyagitated. The way yourtongue feels for a sore tooth,unable to leave that pain

alone. But she can’t entirelyfind it. She’s toodisconnected. The pain she’srooting around to find is inher life, and she’s … well,she doesn’t know where.Somewhereelse.Jenisridingbesideher,so

close that their woodenstirrups occasionally bangagainsteachother.Virginia is riding a few

lengthsahead.

Jeniseatingthelastofherbreakfast. Delores scrambledeggs and folded them in frybread, like a breakfastsandwich. Handed one up toeach girl before they rodeaway. Carly finished hersbefore theygot to the endofthe driveway. Jen has beensavoring hers. Eating withboth hands. Riding with nohandsatall,thepainthorse’s

reins resting on the horn ofthesaddle.As Jen takes a tentative

bite, a scrumble of egg getsaway from her. Bounces offthe saddle and lands in thedirt.‘Ahhh,’ Jen says, half-

standing and twisting aroundin the stirrups, as if thatwillhelptolocateit.Seemingnotto worry about unbalancingherself.Seemingnottonotice

thatthegroundisalongwaydown.Thenagain,shejumpedout

asecond-storywindow.Carly pushes the thought

away again. It’s just a thingshe heard. She doesn’t knowfor a fact that anything likethateverhappenedatall.Jen pops the last bite into

hermouth.Carlytakesaneventighter

griponthesaddlehorn.

‘NowIdon’tknowwhattobelieve,’Carlysays.It seems like such a

reasonable thing to say. Butit’s met with utter silence.Longand…utter.Then, suddenly, Jen says,

‘Screw you, Carly.’ Shedrums on the paint horse’ssideswithherheels.The horse breaks into a

trot, and catches up withVirginia’shorse.

Carlyridesbehindthemfora time, a little unsure as towhat just happened. Then alight dawns. Things come alittleclearer.Itseemssoobviousnow.Jen thinks Carly was

supposedtobelieveJen.

Theyrideupadirtroad,pasta schoolhouse. There arehorses tied under an awningin the shade, and a few cars

and trucks parked out front.Bikes lean on the fence.Some parents are justdelivering their kids for themorning. Other kids are justdeliveringthemselves.A group of five girls runs

in a circle around them astheypass.‘Hi,Virginia,’theyallsay,

almost all at once. Only thelittlestonemissestherhythm.

‘Who’re your friends,Virginia?’ a girl in a brightyellowshirtasks.‘They’revisitors.Sayhi to

them.’‘Hi,visitors,’ thegirlssay,

alittlelesssimultaneously.ItfeelsgoodtoCarlytobe

called a visitor and not aninterloper.‘Bye, visitors,’ the little

onesays.

They ride on up the road.Past a herd of cattlewith nofencestokeepthemin.Pastafenced yardwith five cars invarious stages ofdismantlement. Past a littlewhite wooden house with aporch swing. With a womanon the porch swing. Whowavesastheygoby.Carlywaves back, but she

can’t shake the feeling thatthegreetingwasforeveryone

else.JenisstillridingnexttoVirginia,leavingCarlytofeellike everyone fits into thislandscapeexcepther.The trail begins to climb,

andthenCarlycanseethatitwindsaroundtothetopofthemesa. The sun is higher andstronger now, and sweatbegins to creep down hercollar,rundownherback.She nudges the bay

forward,buthe’sinnohurry.

He makes up maybe onelength of the ten they’retrailing, then fallsbackagainwhenshestopsnagging.A solid decision forms in

her head. She’s leavingtonight. If Jen is going to bepig-headed, Carly can’taffordtobeweak.IfJendoeswhatJenthinksisright,CarlyhastodowhatCarlythinksisright.

She’ll take off after dark,and not look back this time.And when she gets toTrinidad,she’llbeabletoseethe ocean. Ralph said it wasright on the coast. So therewill always bewater, and allshe’ll ever have to do to seewater is just look. Shewon’tbehotanymore,likeshehasbeen all her life. She won’tspend every day baking.Feeling herself sweat. And

for the rest of her life, shewon’tgoanywheredustyanddryandhotandempty.She’llalways be where it’s tree-linedandcoastalandcool.It’s a perfect, perfectly

welcomeplan.There’s reallyjustoneproblemwithit.She only has about twelve

hours to convince Jen tochangehermind.

‘You can ride over to theedge,’ Virginia says, whenthey’reupontopofthemesa.‘It’s quite a view. You cansee almost as far as theInterstate40.Well.Morethanhalfwaythere,anyway.’Jen nudges her horse

forward.Carlyholdsback.‘Isn’t it dangerous to take

themrightuptotheedge?’‘Ahorsehasenoughsense

nottostepoffacliff.They’re

notstupid.Theywanttolive,too.’Carly pretends the view is

just as good fromwhere shesits. She looks all around,trying to see somethingfamiliar.Sheseesa road thatlooks likea real road.Paved.It heads south, or maybesouthwest, in a straight line,disappearing toapointat thehorizon.

‘What’s that road?’ sheasksVirginia.‘Ithoughttherewere no paved roads aroundhere.Wheredoesthatgo?’‘That’sthisroad,’shesays.

‘Theonewerodeupon.Theone with the school. If youtakeittheotherwayfromtheroad Delores lives on, it’s adirt road for about a mile.Then it turns into pavement.GoesallthewaydowntotheI-40. Dumps you down

between Winslow andFlagstaff.’Carly remembers Alvin,

convincing her that Trinidadwas too far away. He saidyou’d have to take theInterstate 40 all theway intoCalifornia.NowCarlyknowswhichroadtotaketomeetupwith the highway that willtakeherhome.She squeezes her boot

heels against the bay

gelding’sside.Hetakesafewdozen lazy steps, and thenshe’s right beside Jen. Rightattheedgeofthebluff.They look off into the

distancetogether.Carly knows she’s looking

downonDelores’shouse,butshe can’t figure out whichone it is. Everything is toosmall, too unfamiliar fromthis distance and angle. Thefew tiny homes are scattered

so far apart that they look toCarlylikepinsonamap.Thesunhasgonebehindapebbly,perfectly mottled blanket ofclouds. She can see amountaininthedistancewithtracesofsnowonitspeak.‘Those clouds look just

likepopcorn,’Jensays.It’sthefirstshe’sspokento

Carly since Carly admittedthetruthofwhatshedoesanddoesnotbelieve.

‘I really am leavingtonight,’ Carly says. ‘Nobluff.Thistimeit’sreal.’‘Iknowit.’‘Comewithme.’Jen only shakes her head.

She doesn’t cry. Carly waitsforhertocry.ButapparentlyJen found the bottom of herbottomlesswell.‘ThenI’llgoonaheadand

find Teddy. I’ll find outwhat’swhat.’

Jensaysnothingforatime.Carly’s horse shifts hisweightunderher,rubbinghisfaceontheinsideofhisknee.Likescratchinganitch.Jen says, ‘I already know

what’swhat.’‘I’llcomebackforyou.As

soon as I’ve got thingssquaredaway.’‘Ifyoudon’tdie.’‘I’mnotgoingtodie,Jen.’

‘I sure hope not. But youcan’tsayforafact.’‘No. I guess I can’t. But,

anyway…I’mgoing.’‘Iknowit,’Jensays.There’s a calmness in her

words. No less pain, but nomore agitation. It’s allaccepted, apparently, as justthe way it’s going to be.Apparentlyit’s just thateasy.Ifyou’reJen.

They stare out at the viewfor a while longer. Thegathering clouds form a nicebreak from the normallyrelentlesssun.‘I just don’t get how you

can look at all this and notthink it’s beautiful out here,’Jensays.Carly tries to look at the

vista with new eyes. Shereallytries.Itmaybetheonlyway to stop this split that’s

about to happen. If Carlycould suddenly fall in lovewith the Arizona desert …Loveitenoughtostay…‘Idon’tseeit.’‘I know you don’t,’ Jen

says.‘AndIjustdon’tgetit.’‘There’snothingouthere.’‘See, that’s the problem

withyou,Carly.Youthinkifit wasn’t made by a person,then it’s not anything at all.You justwantmallsandcars

and cell phones.You look ata sky like this and think it’snothing.’Jen reins the paint horse

around,as ifshe’dbeenbornonhisback,andridesbacktoVirginia. Carly sits on herhorse a minute longer,wondering how long there’sbeen a problem with her inJen’s eyes. She alwaysthought they fit each otherfine. Funny how wrong a

personcanbe.Andhowlittletimeittakestopullthecoversoff someone’s biggestmistake.

They lie inbed thatnight formaybeanhour.Carlyisfullydressed. She even has herboots on. She tells herselfshe’s just waiting to be sureDelores is asleep. But shedoesn’t share that thinkingwith Jen. Because she’s not

even sure she believes itherself.She rehearses the sentence

maybe twenty times in herhead.Openshermouthtwice,only to hear nothing butsilencecomeout.Finally she pushes harder.

Forcestheissue.‘I’mgoingnow.’‘Becareful.’‘Iwishyou’d changeyour

mind,Jen.’

‘I wish you’d changeyours.’Carly climbs out of bed.

Reaches for her backpack.The realness of everythingsettlesinonherhardandfast.She almost wavers. But shethinks about Teddy, and aplace with an ocean. A coolplace,with a nice big house.And him. He’ll help herunderstand how this wholehorrible misunderstanding

could have happened. He’llleadhertoatruthshecanlivewith. She couldn’t stay hereanyway. Never could have.Butnow,especially,shecan’tstay here and not know. Shehastoknow.She threads her arms

through the straps of thepack.Hoistsitontoherback.It feels familiar, but not in agoodway.‘I’llcomebackforyou.’

She doesn’t cry. She feelstooscrapedouttocry.‘Andwe’llberightbackto

where we are now. Youwon’tstayandIwon’tgo.’‘No,I’ll fix it. I’ll findout

whatreallyhappened.It’llbeOK. You’ll see. I think youjusthadadreamthatnight.’‘I don’t think so. It felt

real.’‘Dreamsdosometimes.’

‘I feel like I might neverseeyouagain.Likeyou’llgoout there and get yourselfkilled.’‘No, I won’t. Look. Say I

leftwhile youwere sleeping.Thatyoudon’tknowwhereIwent.’Jen snorts. ‘Right. Like

they won’t know where youwent.’That makes Carly feel the

needtogetgoing.Getahead

startonAlvin.Besofarawaybymorning that hewon’t beable to imagine she couldhave made so many miles.Then he’ll be looking in allthe wrong places. Too closetohere.‘I’ll see you soon,’ Carly

says.But it sounds a little bit

like whistling past thegraveyard.Shedoesn’t say it

like she fully believes it. OrlikesheexpectsJento.

The moon is still more thanthree-quarters full. AndCarly’seyeshaveadjustedtothe light. It’s enough light toallow her to walk normallydownthedirtroad,duesouth,until it turns into pavement.Which it does, sooner thansheexpected.

It feels weird to walk onasphalt. Like she’d alreadyforgotten such moderninventionsexisted.Carly is nursing an

unpleasant feeling inhergut.Like that weird unsettledfeeling you get right beforethe nausea of a stomach fluhits.Oh,God,don’tletmebesick, she thinks. Just what Icouldn’t afford to dump ontopofallthis.

Her jeans pockets areheavy with quarters. Elevendollars in quarters. It jinglesand weighs her down as shequickens her step, ready tomake time, now that she cansee where she’s going wellenough.Now that the road issmooth.For a while she actually

runs.Jogsdowntheroad.Herblistersarenearlyhealed,herboots feel fine. She’s in the

best shape of her life. Theroad is a gentle downhillslope,whichgivesherasenseof power. Like when you’rewalking on one of thosemoving walkways at theairport.Itmakesyoufeellikeyou’re a better walker thanyou really are. Like you candoanything.Before she wears down

fromtherunning,shehearsamotorbehindher.

Her stomach goes cold.She spins around, expectingtoseeAlvincomingafterher.But it’s a different truck. Agood twenty years older. It’sa flatbed, with wooden slatrailings on the sides of thebed.She stands, frozen like a

deer,litupbyitsheadlights.Suddenly, and without

even thinking, she sticks her

thumb out. The truck passesher,thenrumblestoastop.Carlyrunstocatchup.Sure, she said no more

hitchhiking. But that waswhen Jen was along. It washer responsibility to makesurenothingbadhappenedtoJen. But now it’s just her.And she doesn’t worry somuch about herself. Ormaybe she doesn’t even stillcare.

A middle-aged nativewoman leans out thepassenger window. Points tothe bed of the truck. Carlyrunsaroundtotheback,stepson the trailerhitch, andpullsherself up. Drops on to theflatwoodenbed.She crawls up nearer the

cab as the truck rolls onagain. Takes off herbackpack. Flops on her backand uses the pack for a

pillow.That funny feeling inher gut is still there, but shetries to focus off it. For thefirst time since arriving onWakapi land, she looksstraightupintothenightsky.It’s alive with stars. Billionsof stars, bright and clear.Even the strong moonlightcan’t wash them outcompletely.She thinks of Jen, saying

the sky is better here than

anywhere else. But sheconvincesherselfthattheskywill be at least as good inTrinidad.Better.Within minutes, she’s

asleep.

Thenativewomanisshakingher by the shoulder. She sitsup suddenly. The truck isstanding still. The moon isdown. It’s dark. Truly dark.Justathinpathilluminatedby

the headlights of the oldtruck.‘Weturnhere,’thewoman

says.‘Yougoingtothe40?’‘Yeah,’ she grunts, still

shakingoffsleep.‘Thatway.’Carly thanks the woman

fortherideandclimbsdown.The truck turns right on to adirt road. Carly watches ituntilit’sgone.Thenshelooksup.

Thestarsare surreal.Theysurroundherlikeadome,andshe feels as though she cansee into the depth of thatfield.Likethestarsarereallyin three dimensions. She caneven see an eroded-lookingband of mass that could betheedgeoftheMilkyWay.Somewhereinthedistance,

a dozen or more coyotesstrike up a chorus. Yippingandhowling.Itsendsashiver

up her spine. Makes littlehairs stand up at the nape ofher neck. That’s when sheknows she’s never been soalone in the world, or soawareofheraloneness.That sickening feeling

slices through her gut again,leaving her thighs trembling,asifshecan’tholdherselfup.She falls to her knees in thedirt,wonderingifshe’sabouttobesick.Butwhensheturns

hergaze fully to it, she findsit’s not sickness at all. It’sfear.She’sbeenterrifiedeversinceleavingonherown.Butshecouldn’tletitstopher.Soshecouldn’t letherselfadmitit.Shethoughtsheknewwhat

it felt like to be on her own.But back then, she had Jen.But it’s as if she didn’t evenknowit.Shethoughtthatwas

alone,justherandJen.Butitwasn’t.Thisis.

It’s about fourmiles later, asbestshecangaugemiles,andCarlyismoreorlesssleepingon her feet. Walking andsleepingatthesametime.Suddenly, the world lights

up in red, and Carly jumpsfully awake, heart pounding.About fifty feet down the

roadinfrontofher,redlightsflash. Cop cars, she thinks.Whatelsecoulditbe?She has no doubt it’s her

they’reafter.Then rhythmic bells start

clanging.Dingdingdingdingding.Andtheredlightsmovedown in an arc, toward theroad. First she thinks shemight be dreaming with hereyes open. Then the lightsdrop into context, and make

sense.They’re railroadgates.That’s all. A railroad trackintersects this road. And thetrain is coming. She can seeit,offinthedistance.Shecanhearonelongwhistlefromitsengine. Carly starts to run.Right in the direction of theclanginggates.The train is coming. And

it’sheadedwest.It’slikeawindatherback.

She’s getting help. She’s out

ontheroad,makingabeelinehome to Teddy, andsomething in the universe ishelping her get there. Pavinga smooth road. First a truckpicks her up and takes herpracticallytoarailroadtrack.Thenatraincomesbyheadedwest.She sees the light on the

engine of the train clearlynow, off in the distance. Sherunsfaster.Thenshetripson

something in the dark, andgoes flying. Lands on herbelly and the heels of herhands.Itknocksthewindoutofher,aswellastheburstofsudden confidence. But shestruggles to her feet. Theheels of her hands arestinging and wet, probablywith blood. She leans on herknees, bloodying her jeans,until she can breathe again.Thenshetakesofftrotting.

By the time she ducksunder the clanging, flashinggate, the train has almostpassed. She sees one finalboxcargoby,butthedoorisjust a crack open, barelyenough toget ahand in.Sheknowsthere’ssuchathingasjumping a train. But she hasno ideawhatyougrabon to.Howyougripthething.Thecabooselumbersby.In

the flashes of red, Carly

thinks she sees a ladder onthe back of it. She runs afterthe back of the train, andleaps on pure faith. If she’swrong aboutwhat she thinksshe sees, or if she misses,she’s inforanotherhardfall.She braces for it. Herbleeding hands grab on tosomething metal. A metalrung. ThankGod the tops ofher hands are dry. So herfingerscan takeagoodhold.

Her feet swing around forpurchase.Thentheylandonarungaswell.Sheslidesonearmthrough

theladderandwrapsherarmstightly, so she can’t lose hergrip.Amomentatatime,herheartbeat calms, and herbreathing returns to almostnormal. She’s headed west,watching the dark shapes ofwhittled rocks and giantcactus flash by, dark

silhouettes. Now all she hasto do is hold on tight. Andresisttheurgetofallasleep.ShethinksaboutJen.Isshe

sleeping soundly, or lyingawake worrying? What willDelores say in the morningwhenit’sclearCarlyisgone?A startling thought

descends.MaybeDeloresandAlvin will turn Jen over tochild protective services.After all, Jen had nobody

except an older sister, andthen even Carly ran out onher.But Jen will say it wasn’t

likethat.But maybe no one will

believeher.Carly almost lets go, and

makesherwaybackdownthetracks in the direction of theWakapi. Then she realizesthey’ve passed a dozen of

thoselittleroads.JustliketheoneCarlycamedown.It’stoolatetofindherway

backnow.

PartFourSeemsSoLong

Ago

NewMexico,ChristmasDay

‘Christmas is supposed to bea day you wake up early inyour warm house and rundownstairs inyourPJs toseewhat’s under the tree withyournameonit,damnit.’

‘Hmm,’ Jen said. ‘Well.Wedon’tgetthat.Solet’sgoseewhatweget.’They’d just wakened up

shivering in a tent at a StateParkcampground.Whoknewit could get so cold in NewMexico? Carly thought.She’d expected it to be hot.Hotter than Tulare even. Butthey’d been climbing inelevation.

She’dwantedtoaskiftheirnew home was in themountains. But then shewould’ve had to talk to hermom.Or,Godforbid,Wade.‘You ready?’ she asked

Jen.‘ReadyasI’lleverbe.’They stepped out into the

freezingabsolutesilence.Wadeand theirmomwere

sleepinginthebedofWade’struck, which was parked

behindtheirmom’scarwithabigrentedtrailerattached.Noonemovedinornearthecars.Noonemovedanywhere.Notmany people were campinghere. Most were home withtheir families for theholiday.Those who were here wereapparentlystillasleep.Jen pointed up at the pine

trees. ‘Christmas trees,’ shesaid. Without muchenthusiasm.Likeitwasjusta

thing she figured might beworthatry.‘ImissTeddy’smillionsof

dumb decorations,’ Carlysaid.Jensaidnothing.

‘Still not speaking to me?’Carly’smomasked.They sat at a booth in a

cheap roadside pancakerestaurant. Carly watchedWade try to find a spot to

park his mega-truck, alongwith the trailer containingmostoftheirstuff.Whattheystillowned,thatis.Theplacethey were moving into wassmall. Or so Carly had beentold. Over and over, thewhole time they’d packed.They’d had to leave a lotbehind.ThankGodhewasdriving

a separate vehicle, Carly

thought for about thetwentiethtime.‘Carly,’ Jen said. ‘It’s

Christmas.’Like that hadn’t gone

withoutsaying.ButofcourseCarly got Jen’s point. Youcan’t not speak to yourmother on Christmas.Silently, inwardly, Carlydisagreed. Potentially rightdown to the suggestion that

this day deserved to behonoredasaChristmas.A car pulled out of the

parking lot, giving Wade achance to park his long loadacross threespaces.Toobad,Carly thought. Now he’ll bejoiningus.‘Wade says we should get

there later today,’ Carly’smomsaid.‘Soitmightnotbemuch of a Christmasmorning, but at least we can

haveadecentdinner.Imean,nota turkeyoranything.Butatleastwecanstopandbuyacannedhamandsomerollsorsomething. Eat in our newplace.’She stared at Carly and

waited. Carly could see it inher peripheral vision. Shedidn’t look back. Instead shewatchedWadepacedownthesidewalk to the restaurantdoor. She could hear the

clicking of his boot heelsfrominside.‘When do we get to open

ourpresents?’Jenasked.Anawkwardsilence.Thenhermomsaid,‘Little

bitofaproblemwiththat.’Jensighed.‘Youwerebusy

movingandyoudidn’tgetusany.Wegotyours.’‘No,Igotthemalongtime

ago.Weeksago.’

‘Then what’s theproblem?’CarlyfeltlikeJenwashalf

being herself and halfchanneling Carly. Sayingwhat Carly would have said,buttoningdownthevitriolinthetranslation.Wadesatdownatthetable.

Jen said good morning tohim. Carly said nothing, andwas careful not to look hisway.

‘I … got you girls giftcertificates to your veryfavorite store,’ their momsaid.‘Oh,’Jensaid.Adownbeat

‘Oh’.Jenhadfilledintheblanks

already. So had Carly. Theirvery favorite store was, ofcourse,inTulare.‘You don’t say good

morningwhenIsitdown?’

Wade. She heard thedarkness in his voice. Shecould match it to a glare inhis eyes from experience.From memory. She did notlook up to confirm what sheknew.‘Leave the girl alone,

Wade. But what we’ll do,we’llgiveyougirlsalittlebitof cash.Can’t bemuch.Youknow. Things being whattheyare.Butyoucangointo

town – the new town – andget to know the place bylooking around and pickingyourself out presents. Won’tbe anything toobig, but thenI’ll get my money back onthose gift certificates andwe’llhavemorepresentslateron.’‘OK,’Jensaid.Carly said nothing. Just

watched a woman with aleashedcollie let thedogout

of the car to sniff around inthe parking lot. Watched itliftitslegonabush.‘Thisisgettingold,’Wade

said.‘I told you leave the girl

alone,Wade.’‘No. I’m gonna speak my

piecehere.This isChristmasmorning and your mom justtold youwhat she’s doing tosalvage Christmas for you

girls in a tight squeeze andyougotnothingtosayatall?’‘Wade, butt out. She’smy

girl.Notyours.Getoffit.’‘Damn her!’ Wade

pounded theheelofhishandonthetable.Hard.Everybodyintherestaurant

fellsilent.Everyneckcranedto see. Carly watched thecookcomeoutofthekitchen,a middle-aged man withbroad shoulders. He stood

watching Wade until itbecame clear that nothingmore was about to happen.Then he shook his head andpushed back through theswingingdoor.‘Wouldn’t letmy daughter

treatmelikethat,’Wadesaid.‘Well, now there’s a

surprise. I never would haveknown that if you hadn’talready told me about ahundred and fifty times.And

what do I tell you everytime?’‘That I can treat my own

daughterhowIwant,butthisone’syours.’‘Right.Goodjoblistening.’The waitress appeared at

their table, pad and pencil inhand. ‘Merry Christmas.What’llyoufolkshave?’ShelookedtoJenfirst.‘Two eggs over well with

pancakes,please.’

The waitress turned toCarlynext.‘Baconandscrambledeggs

with rye toast. Please. AndmerryChristmastoyou,too.’‘Ah,’ Wade said. ‘It

speaks.’‘Enough, Wade,’ Carly’s

momsaid.‘I’llhavetheshortstack. Wade, what do youwant,honey?’‘Steak and eggs. Over

easy. And a new

stepdaughter.’The waitress pretended to

smile. Or tried to, anyway.‘Well,I’llbringyouthesteakandeggs,anyway.’Shehurriedoff.‘Steak and eggs?’ Carly’s

mom turned her irritationfullyon toWade. ‘Steak andeggs? You just had to orderthe most expensive thing onthemenu?Iwasabouttogivethe girls twenty-five dollars

each for Christmas and youjust single-handedly cut itdowntotwenty.’‘I like steak and eggs. I

wantedsteakandeggs.Damnit, it’s Christmas, and whathave I got here? Steak andeggsisn’taskingsomuch.’Afewheadsturnedagain.‘Fine, we’ll talk about it

later. Just shutupbeforeyouget us kicked out of here.Probably theonlyplaceopen

for miles. Maybe the onlyplace open in the state. Soshut up and don’t blow thisforus.’The energy around Wade

turned so tight and so darkthat Carly involuntarilytwitched her shoulders as away of letting it movethroughher.

Later,afterbreakfast,as theytrudged out through the

parking lot together, Wadeleaned over close to Carly’smom and spoke, his voicemeasuredbutchilling.‘And you don’t ever tell

metoshutupagain.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Jen shriekedastheydrovethroughthegatein the white picket fence.Following Wade and thetrailer.‘Youcallthissmall?’

Carlylookedup.ThehousewastwicethesizeoftheiroldrentalinTulare.‘This is Wade’s brother’s

house,’theirmomsaid.‘He’slettingususetheguesthouseuntilwecangetittogethertoaffordsomethingbetter.’‘Oh,’Jensaid.TheystoppedbehindWade

in the driveway. Wadehonked.Andwaited.

Afewminutes lateramanstepped out of the house.CarlyfiguredhewasliterallyWade’sidenticaltwin.‘Oh, crap,’ she whispered

toJen.‘Twoofhim!’‘Iheardthat.’Carly caught her mother’s

eyes in the rearview mirror,thenlookedaway.Jen rolled her window

down. The air felt light and

cold. Carly briefly wonderedifiteversnowedhere.She watched Wade walk

uptohisbrother,armsoutasif to embrace him. WadeTwo,asshe’dalreadynamedhim in her head, stuck hisright hand out to shake. Butwhat kind of brothers shakehands? Carly thought.Especially twin brothers.These two, it turned out.

Wade dropped his arms andshook.‘Just wanted to say hi,’

Wade said. ‘But we’ll getright out of your hair again.Let you enjoy Christmas inpeace.’‘Yeah, that’d be good,’

Wade Two said. ‘It’s notlocked.’Thenheturnedandwalked

backintothebighouse.

‘Runsinthefamily,’CarlywhisperedtoJen.‘That one I didn’t hear,’

hermother said. ‘But I don’twant youwhispering to yoursister. I got a good idea Iwouldn’tlikeit.’‘Who’s he going inside to

have Christmas with?’ Jenaskedtheirmom.‘Hashegotawholebigfamilyinthere?’‘I don’t think so. Wade

said his wife and kids left

him. I don’t know why hewantstobebyhimself.’Carly exchanged a look

with Jen, but said nothing.Because it all pretty muchsaiditself.

‘It’sonebedroom?’Carlyblastedthewordsout

tonooneinparticular.Then,realizing she’d just scrapedclosetospeakingtohermom,

she sat on the floor in thecornerandsaidnothingmore.Jen stood in themiddle of

the one main room, lookingaround. ‘So, I’m guessingyou guys get the bedroom.Right?’‘Well, of course, honey.

Youknowweneedprivacy.’‘Andwedon’t,of course,’

Carlybarelybreathed. Itwasnot meant to be heard by

anyone but herself. And itwasn’t.‘Where dowe sleep?’ Jen

asked, her tone riding theedgeofexasperation.‘Wade’s brother is loaning

usafold-outcouch.’‘Ihavetoshareabedwith

Carly?’‘Itwon’tkillyou, Jen. It’s

justforawhile.’‘Shit, this ain’t gonna be

easy,’Wadesaid.‘We’llhave

to put a TV in our bedroom.I’mgonnafeellikeaprisonerin there, and if I sit out herewith these two kids, I’mgonnafeel likeawholeotherkind of prisoner. This placewould fit us great if it wasjustthetwoofus.’Jen came and sat on the

floor, her hip bumping upagainst Carly’s. Ducking thegatheringstorm.

‘Well, it’s not, Wade.WhenImetyou,didIlieandsayIwaschildless?’‘No,but—’‘Then just shu—’ Carly’s

mom stopped herself. It wasunlike her. But the tone inWade’svoicewhenhe’dsaidshewasn’tevertotellhimtoshut up again – thatwas noteasily forgotten. ‘Let’s justhave a nice Christmas,’ she

said. ‘Much as we can.What’sleftofit.’‘You want to have a nice

Christmas? Give those girlstheir money and send ’eminto town. I already needroomtobreathe.’‘What do you think’ll be

opentoday?’‘I don’t care. They can

windowshop.’‘Well,gettheirbikesoutat

least.It’stoofartowalk.’

‘Bikes are buried. All theway at the front end of thattrailer.’‘Well, they can’t go into

town,then.Canthey?’‘I’m gonna go nuts trying

tounloadwith themstandingrighthere.EveryplaceIwalkthey’llberightinmyway.’‘Theylivehere,Wade.I’m

telling you, they live here,too.’

‘AndI’mtellingyouIwishtheydidn’t.’Jen jumped to her feet.

‘We’ll walk,’ she said. ‘Justgo ahead and give us ourChristmasmoney.We’llwalkintotown.’‘It’s like three miles,

honey.’‘Idon’tcare.’‘Eachway.’Jen looked down at Carly.

Toseeifshewasgame.Carly

nodded. Of course she waswilling to take a six-milewalk.Even though sheneverhad before. The trick wasfiguring how not to end upbackhere.‘OK. It’s your life.’ She

doledouta twenty-dollarbillforeachofthem.‘Givethistoyoursisterwhoisn’tspeakingto me. And tell her merryChristmas.’

Jen walked over to whereCarlywas still sitting.Cross-leggedonthehardwoodfloorin the emptiness. Itwas hardforaplacetolooksmallwithnothing in it, Carly thought.Butthisplacemanaged.Jen held the twenty down

toCarly.‘Shesays—’‘Iheardher.’As they were walking out

the door, Carly heard Wadesay, ‘Thank the Lord they’re

gone. Not a moment toosoon.’

‘What’d you get?’ Jen askedwhen they met up again onthecornernear the ice-creamstore. ‘How’d you knowalreadywhatyouwanted?’Carly took it out of her

pocketandshowedittoJen.‘Aphonecard?’‘Yup.’

‘Theyhavepre-paidcallingcardsforonlytwentybucks?’‘They even had cheaper

ones. But I wanted all theminutesIcouldget.’‘You going to call your

friendsbackinTulare?’‘Yeah,’Carly said. ‘That’s

whatI’mgoingtodo.’‘I’mgoing to have a great

bigchocolatesundaewithmymoney while you do that. Idon’tknowwhattospendthe

rest on.Yet.But I surewantthat sundae. Give me theenergy to walk all that wayback.’‘I’ll meet you in there,’

Carlysaid.She walked to the

payphone at the end of theblock. Her feet were alreadyswollen, making her shoesuncomfortable. They weren’tmeant for that kind ofwalking.Andshedidn’thave

anything better. It was goingtobealongwalkback.If she could even bring

herselftogoback.She punched the numbers

on the card into thepayphone, then touchedTeddy’s cell-phone numberbyheart.Sixrings.‘Hi,thisisTed—’‘Teddy?’

‘… I can’t pick up rightnow,butleaveamessage.’‘Oh,’Carlysaid.‘Ithought

it was really you. Oh, crap.Teddy, this is Carly. I justcalled to say merryChristmas. I’m in NewMexico. We’re in the newplace. Should’ve brought theaddress, but I don’t know ityet. I’ll call again. So …that’sall, Iguess. Just to say

merry Christmas. And that Imissyou.’Carly hung up the phone.

Stoodinfrontofit,staringatit, for a time. As if it mighthavesomethingmoretooffer.Thenshehobbledbacktotheice-cream store. Jen stoodoutside, staring through thewindow. Steaming up theglass.‘Should’ve known they’d

be closed,’ Jen said. ‘You

werefast.’‘Nobodywasaround.’‘Oh.Yeah.Christmas.’‘This is the worst. Worst.

Christmas.Ever.’‘It’s pretty bad. But she

tried. You know? She didn’tknow we wouldn’t be livinginTularebyChristmaswhenshe bought us those giftcertificates.Shetriedatleast.’‘She failed. How’re we

supposed to live in that little

box with her and Wade andnoroomandnoprivacy?’‘Maybe it’s not for very

long.’‘How are we supposed to

livethereeventonight?’‘Oh, crap, I don’t know,

Carly.She’strying.’‘She’sfailing.’‘You’ve got to talk to her

sometime,Carly.’‘That’swhatyouthink.’

For lackofanythingbetterto do, they began the longwalk home. At least, itseemed like a long walk atthetime.

NewMexico,28February

Carly sat at the table, eatingcereal for dinner, becausenobody had cooked. Andreading the box. Despite thefact that there was nothinginterestingonthebox.Infact,if someone had asked her

what was written there, shewouldn’t have been able tosay.Wade emerged from thebedroom and plugged in thecoffee maker. Strange, shethought, how much of amorning routine they seemedtohaveintheevenings.He sat down at the table.

Carlycarefullykepthergazegluedtothecerealbox.When she finally looked

up, he was staring at her. It

feltalarming.‘What?I’meatingcereal.’‘Seems like you’re always

here. Wherever I go in thishouse,thereyouare.’‘This closet, you mean?

Besides, I’m never here. Iride my bike from school tothe Internet café, and I sitthere for hours because Idon’twanttobehere.’‘Every time I look up,

you’re looking back at me.

That’sallIknow.’‘Look, it’s not my fault

that we’re still living in thissardinecantwomonthslater.Ifyou’dgooutandgeta joblikeyoukeepsayingyouwill…’Then she pulled back,

wondering if she’d gone toofar. She risked a glance atWade’s eyes. They said yes,she had. But his mouth saidfarless.

‘Nobody’s hiring in myfield.’‘Then work in some other

field.’‘I’m not gonna do just

anything.’‘Mymomdoes.You think

shelikesringingupgroceriesand taking breakfast orders?Sheworkswhatevertwojobsshecanget.’The dark of Wade’s eyes

darkened. ‘Liked you better

whenyouwereamute.’Carly’smomcamestriding

outofthebedroom.‘Where’sJen?’sheasked.Carly just kept staring at

the cereal box. Reading thesame part for the third time.About how the cereal wasbakedwithlove.Shepictureda big factory whereeverybody’s feet hurt andnobody could wait another

minute to take their break.Love.Sure.Weallbuythat.‘Yourmother is talking to

you,’ Wade said, a thinveneer of calm brushed onoverhisdarkrage.‘Forget it, Wade. Leave it

alone. I’m going in to themarketearlysoIcangroceryshopbeforework.WhenIgethome tonight, I expect helpcarryingthegroceriesin.’

‘Tell your mother you’llhelp,’Wadesaid.So much for leaving it

alone.Carlynodded.The door slammed behind

Carly’smom.Carlyheardhercarstartup.All of a suddenWade had

herbytheleftwrist.‘Ow!’ she yelled. ‘Hey!

Ow!’ The more she yelled,

the harder Wade twisted.‘Hey!You’rehurtingme!’‘I’vejustabouthadmyfill

ofyou,’hesaid.Eerilycalm.They were on their feet

now, Carly movingbackwards, trying to pull outof his grasp. The harder shepulled, the tighter he held,and wrenched. Carly waitedfor the sickening crack of abonebreak,butitneverhadachancetohappen.

‘Let.Me.Go!’He did. Too suddenly.

With a sharp push that sentCarly stumbling backwardsinto the brick of the fakefireplace.The corner edgeofthe brick struck hard againsttherightsideofherback.Herheadmissedthesamefatebyinches.She lookedup to see if he

was coming after her. ButWadewasn’teven lookingat

her. He was looking at thefrontdoor.‘How long you been

standingthere?’heasked.Carly followed his gaze to

see Jen frozen in the opendoorway.Letting thecold in.Her mouth open, but nowords coming out. Her eyeswide.Carlyseizedthemomentto

escape, jostling Jen on herwayby.Shegrabbedherbike

fromthespotwhereitleanedagainst the guest house,mounted it at a run, andpedaled fast in the directionof town. It hurt every timeshepushedwithherrightleg.Ithurtalot.Butshejustkeptpushing. She could see herbreathasshepedaled.Shegothertearsoutofthe

way on the ride. So that, onthe off chance Teddy pickedup his phone this time, he

wouldn’thavetohearhercry.Itwasn’t likelyhe’dpickup.He hadn’t any of the othernine times she’d called. Butsomehow she thought hemight this time. Because shesodesperatelyneededhimto.Then she realized she

hadn’tbroughtthephonecardwithher.Butitdidn’tmatter.Because she knew the cardnumberandthepinbyheart.

‘ThisisTed—’Everything fell inside

Carly.Saggedintothelowestpossible position. She sat onher bike, feet down on thepavement, in front of thepayphone. Absorbing theletdown.Shiveringslightly.Ittookheracoupleofbeatstoolong to realize she shouldhavebeenhearingthesecondsentence of the outgoinggreeting.

‘Hello?Tedhere.Anybodythere?’‘Teddy?’‘Yeah.Who’sthis?’‘Teddy,it’sme.Carly.’‘Carly? Why didn’t you

say anything? Why didn’tyousayhello?’‘I thought you were your

voicemail. That’s exactlywhat you say on yourvoicemailmessage. It soundsexactlythesame.’

‘Oh.Really?Ididn’tknow.Justahabit,Iguess.’A silence. One of the

young women from the ice-creamstorewavedatCarlyasshe walked by, her heelsclicking on the concrete.EverybodyknewCarlyinthistown,becauseof all the timeshekilledhere.Tryingnot togohome.It was already dusk, she

realized. She’d have to ride

homeinthedark.Ifshedaredgohomeatall.She spoke. Since Teddy

didn’t.‘I’msorryIcalledsomany

times. I don’t want you tothink I’m a freak. I’m not astalker.Normally I’d just tellyoutocallmeback.Butyoucan’tcallmeback.’‘No, that wouldn’t be too

smart.Igotyournewaddress.Thanksforleavingthatonmy

voicemail. I’m worried,though. About all the callsyou’remaking to here.Whatifyourmomseestheseonthephonebill?’‘I’m calling from a

payphone. I’m using a pre-paidcard.’‘Ah. Good. Smart. She’d

make trouble for me if sheknewyouwerecalling.’‘Iknowshewould.’Anothersilence.

‘Are youOK, Carly? Youdon’tsoundsogood.’‘Ican’tstayhere,’shesaid.

Her voice cracking on theword ‘here’. ‘It’s not evensafe here. I can’t even goback there tonight, Teddy. Idon’tknowwhattodo.’She couldn’t not cry, so

shecriedquietly.‘God, Carly. I don’t know

what to say to help. Iwish Icould help. But if you run

away from home, you can’tcome here. This is the worstplaceyoucouldcome.Thisisthefirstplacethey’dlookforyou.’‘Oh,’Carlysaid.‘Right.’Another loss to absorb.

She’dreallyfeltsomehow,atsome deep level, that ifTeddy answered the phone,he’d saveher.She could justpour herself over the phoneline toTulare.Andhewould

neverletbadthingshappentoher again. But he was right.She couldn’t go to him.They’d find her. Bring herback. They’d make troubleforTeddyanditwouldbeallherfault.And yet … somehow she

felt just a tiny bit saved.Anyway. Even his voicecould save her. At least, forthemoment.Foraslongasit

lasted. She didn’t even feelcoldanymore.‘So … where are you

living?’sheasked.‘Oh.Nowhere.’‘How can you be living

nowhere?’‘Well. I’m somewhere. I

mean,Isleepsomewhere.Butit’snotmyplace. I’msortofcouch surfing right now.Freeloading.’‘Areyouworkingagain?’

‘Yeah.Ihaveto.Ihavenochoice.’‘How’syourback?’She didn’t like her own

questions.Theyfeltlikesmalltalk. But she didn’t knowhowtochangethat.‘Not good. But I can’t

afford not to work. So I’mback with Ralph. He’sthrowingmeacoupleorthreedays’ work a week. That’spretty much all he’s got to

give me right now anyway.Youknow.Withtheeconomysobad.’‘Right.Right.’‘You sure you’re OK? Is

this,like…anemergency?’Carly shifted on the bike

seat. Stretched her backslightly, as if to assess thedamage.Thepainstoppedhercold.Alittlecryescapedher.‘Whatwasthat,Carly?’

‘Nothing. Something justsurprisedme.’She couldn’t tell him. It

wouldn’t be fair. He didn’thave his own place, and shecouldn’tstaythereevenifhedid.Hewasn’tinanypositionto help her. So it wasn’t fairto tell him how badly sheneededhelp.‘You know … it’s only

anotheryearandahalfuntilIturn eighteen. And then I’m

coming back to Tulare. Imean,thedayIturneighteen.The same day. I’m movingback.And I’ll get a job, andwe’ll live pretty closetogether, you know? Andthenmaybe I can seeyouallthetime.’‘I’d love that,Carly.’ Said

with depth. With genuinefeelingthatoozedthroughthephone and blanketed her.Soothedher.

‘Youwould?’‘Yeah, that’d be great. I’d

lovetohangoutwithyou.I’dcome by afterwork and say,“Hey, you.Want to go get aburger?” And we couldcomplain about our days orour crappy bosses orsomething. Well. Not really.Ralph’s a nice guy. Youcould complain about yourcrappyboss.Icouldcomplainaboutsomethingelse.’

‘I just miss you so much,Teddy.’Something caught Carly’s

eye in her peripheral vision.She shifted carefully on thebikeseattoseeJensittingonher bike. Maybe ten feetaway. Close enough to heareverything.Jenhadthatsamelook on her face. Thedoorwaylook.‘Teddy?’ Jen mouthed the

word.

Carly waved the questionaway. Then she realized shehadn’theardTeddy’sanswer.Had he said he missed her,too?‘So, listen, I should go,’

shesaid,‘butwhenyougetareal address, email it to me.OK?’‘Youstillhave thatcrappy

dinosaurofalaptop?’‘No, that crashed. But

there’s an Internet café. And

the libraryhascomputers.SoI can check my email, andthey’llneverknow.’She glanced at Jen’s

shockedfaceagain,thenbackattheconcrete.‘OK,’ Teddy said. ‘It’s a

deal.’‘Promise?’‘Yeah.Ipromise.’‘Iloveyou,Teddy.’‘Hey,yougonnabeOK?’

‘Iguess.Ihavetobe.WhatchoicedoIhave?’‘It’snotarealemergency?

Because I can hearsomething’swrong.’‘Nope. Not a real

emergency.’‘Well. If it ever is, I’m

yourguy.’‘I know that, Teddy. I

know you are. That’s why Iloveyou.’‘Takecare,Carly.’

‘’Bye,Teddy.’She hung up the phone

gently. Cradled it back intoposition. As if it was tender.Easilywounded.Asthoughitwas the phone receiver thatneeded love and protection.Nother.She lookedupat Jen,who

scootedherbikecloser.‘Momwouldkillyouifshe

knew you were talking toTeddy.’

‘Iknow.Don’ttellher.’‘YouOK?’‘No.’‘How’syourback?’‘Bad.’‘CanIseeit?’‘No.’‘Please?’Carly sighed. Leaned

forward.JenliftedthebackofCarly’s shirt. Carly heardJen’s breath suck in. A deepgasp.

‘It’sallscrapedupandit’sgotyourshirtallbloody.Andit’s getting really bruisedreallyfast.’‘Don’ttellMom.’‘AboutTeddy?’‘Aboutanything.’‘Oh. Um … I’m sorry,

Carly. I already told her yougothurt. I calledheratworkandtoldher.Shewantsus tocomethere.Notgohome.I’msorry, I didn’t think you

wouldn’twantmetotellher.Why wouldn’t you want metotellher?’‘I just think itmightmake

things even worse withWade.’‘But I told on him. You

didn’t.I’lltellhimitwasme.She’lltellhimitwasme.’‘Iguess.’‘Comeon.Let’sgooverto

Mom’swork.’

Carly pedaled behind Jen,trying to keep up. But thepain on every pushoverwhelmedher.Wassheina lotmore pain now than onthe ride into town? Or hadshe really managed to keepthat down, where it couldn’tgetinherway?That’s when she looked

downather leftwrist. It hadswelled to twoor three timesitsnormalsize.Shecouldsee

the perfect prints of Wade’sfingersinfreshpurplebruise.

Carly’s mom towed her intothebreakroominthebackofthe Stop-n-Shop Market. Bytheelbow.Jentumbledalongbehind.‘I’m sorry, Lara,’ she said

totheonlyotheremployeeinthe room. ‘I know she’s notsupposedtobeinhere…’

‘It’s OK,’ Lara said. ‘Dowhatyougottado.’‘It’sherback,’Jensaid.‘Andwhataboutthis?This

isnothing?’She held Carly’s left arm

upforJentosee.‘Oh. I didn’t know that

part.’Carly felt herself turned

around.Thebackofhershirtlifted.Again.

‘Shit,’hermomwhisperedonalongout-breath.Carly heard Lara suck in

her breath. Pretty much thewayJenhad.‘Carly.’Hermomspunher

backaroundandgrabbedherhard by both shoulders. Ithurt. Her shoulders and herback. Both. ‘Listen up. Do Ineed to be taking you to ahospital?’Carlyshookherhead.

Her mom’s eyes snappedshut.‘Myeyesareclosed,Carly.

I can’t see you. I can’t seeyou nod your head or shakeit.Soyouhavetotalktome.You want to stop talking tomeagainaminutelater,fine.Butrightnow,talktome.Dowe need to get you to anemergencyroomoranurgentcareplace?’‘No,’Carlysaid.

‘Yousure?’‘No.’Carly’s mom opened her

eyes.‘You’renotsure?’‘Ithinkit’llbeOK,butI’m

notsure.’‘Then I’ll ask you again

tomorrow.OK?’Carlynodded.‘Shit.Lostheragain.’‘You need to go home,

Jocelyn?’ Lara asked. ‘Take

careofthis?We’llgetby.’‘That’snot fair toyouand

Tom.’‘We’llmanage.Really.’‘I can’t afford that,

though.’‘Jocelyn.Ithinkthismight

bemoreimportant.’‘Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of

course. You’re right. This ismoreimportant.’

‘Theyjustkeepgoingaroundand around in a circle,’ Jensaid.They layclose togetheron

atwinbedinthecornerofthetinyhouse.Behindastandingscreen. Both the screen andthe bed were on loan fromWade Two. The fold-outcouch hadn’t panned out,becauseitwouldn’tfitbehindascreen.

Carly didn’t know howlong they’d been listening tothe fight in the bedroom.Twentyminutes,maybe.‘Whydon’ttheyjuststopif

theycan’tsayanythingnew?’‘Becauseshe’snotgoingto

leave him over this,’ Carlysaid. ‘So she has to make itinto something she doesn’thave to leave him over.Andshe’snotthereyet.’

‘Didyoudowhathe said?Bait him about beingunemployed?’‘Hestartedit.’‘Geez, Carly. Are you

tryingtogetkilled?’‘Hewasbaitingme.UntilI

couldn’t take it any more.JustlikehesaysIdidtohim.ButwhenIlostmytemper,allIdidwastalk.’‘Iknowhewaslyingabout

howyoujustfellback.Isaw

himpushyou.’‘Didyoutellherthat?’‘Yeah.Butshekeptsaying

it might be hard to tell thetwoapart.Youknow.Justbylooking.’‘Great.See?WhatdidItell

you?She’snotgoingtoleavehimoverthis.’

After another half hour ofmuffled shouting and a fewmoments of ghostly quiet,

Carly’s mom stomped intothe room, pulled aside thescreen, and turned on thelampbytheirbed.Carly winced and covered

hereyes.‘I’m considering this half

your fault, Carly. I don’tknowwhat thehellyouwerethinking, talking to him likethat about his job situation.Don’t you know a mandoesn’t feel likeamanwhen

he’s not working? Whensomebody else has toprovide? This is at least halfon you, girl. But I made itreal clear he’s never to lay ahandonyouagain.Andifhedoes,we’reoutofhere.’‘We know,’ Jen said. ‘We

heardeverywordofit.’‘Youkeepoutof this,Jen.

ButIknowyou,Carly.AndIknowyou’dusethatasawayto get what you want. So

here’s the deal. You neversay a word to Wade again.Ever. About anything. Gotthat? You break that rule,you’re on your own. Youkeep your mouth shut, I’llprotectyou.OK?’Carlysaidnothing.‘Anodwilldo.’Carlynodded.Barely.‘Right. Should’ve known.

Keeping her mouth shut iswhatCarlydoesbest.’

Shestompedawayagain.‘Turn off the light, Jen,

OK?It’sinmyeyes.’‘OK, Carly. You want

someaspirin?’‘Yeah.Thanks.’‘Funny Mom didn’t think

ofthat.’‘Not really,’ Carly said. ‘I

don’t think it’s so funny.Mom thinks aboutmen.Andnottoomuchelse.’

NewMexico,30April

Carlywoke suddenly. Sat upin the dark. She looked overto find Jen already awake.Sitting on the edge of thenarrowtwinbed.Something had gone crash

inthebedroom.

‘How long have they beenfighting?’Carlyasked.‘Ithinkit’sanewrecord.I

can’t believe you sleptthroughit.’‘Can you tell what it’s

about?’‘Notreally.AllI’vegotso

far is Mom thinksWade’s abastard, and he thinks he’stotally justified. I still can’treallytellwhyshethinkshe’sabastard.’

‘Wasiteverindoubt?’Jen didn’t answer. Or

laugh.Orevensmile.‘What time’s it? Do you

know?’‘Last time I went in the

kitchen it was one thirty. Somaybetwo.’Carlysatupontheedgeof

thebednext tohersisterandlistened.The bedroom door flew

open, banging against the

wall. Both girls scootedstraight backwards on thebed. They couldn’t seethrough the screen, so theyhadnoideawhatwashurtlingin their direction. But theycouldhear.The screen flew away and

fell to the floor with astartlingbang.Their mother stood over

thebed.

‘Getdressed,girls,andgetyourthingstogetherasfastasyoucan.We’releaving.’‘No,’ Wade said. ‘I don’t

thinkyouare.’Theyallthreelookedupto

see him standing with hisbacktothedoor,thatlookofeerie calm in his eyes. Carlycould see just enough of hisface in thespillof light fromthebedroomtoiceeveryinchofhertorso.

Nothingmovedandnoonespoke for a long time. Or atleast it seemed long. Carlylooked at her mother’s faceand saw fear. She tried toremember if she had everseenhermothervisiblyafraidofanything.Nothingcametomind.‘Isthatathreat,Wade?Are

you telling me you’re goingtodosomethingbadtomeor

mygirlsifwetrytowalkoutthatdoor?’Time slowed to a crawl,

leavingCarlyunabletotelliffive seconds or five minuteshad passed. Probably fiveveryslowseconds.‘Jocelyn,’ Wade said.

‘Baby.Thisisme,baby.Thisis us. Don’t walk out on us.Afterallwe’vebeenforeachother? I can’t believe you’d

walk away. We just need totalkisall.’‘We been at it for hours,

Wade.’‘Yelling. Gimme an hour

talking. Lemme remind youwhatwemean to each other.Then– I swear – youwannawalk out that door I won’tstandinyourway.’Anothertimefreeze.Don’t do it, don’t do it,

don’t do it, Carly thought.

She almost said it out loud.But she stopped herself,because itmight set him off.She could feel the frozenenergyofJenjustinchesfromherrightshoulder.Carly watched the air go

outofhermom.Watchedhergrow smaller and less rigid.She slumped down on to thecouch.‘Talk,then.’‘Notinfrontofthem.’

‘Thenwhere’dyouhaveinmind?’‘We’llgoforadrive.Like

we used to. Remember howweusedtogooutforadriveandjusttalk?’Nothing moved for a long

minute. This time Carlycounted off the seconds. Sotime couldn’t play any trickson her. She counted to fifty-seven.Theirmomrosetoherfeet.

‘Girls, I’m going for adrivewithWade.Be back inanhour.WhileI’mgone,yougatherupallyourstuff.Getitreadytogo.Iknowwedon’thaveboxesandnothingmuchinthewayofsuitcases,sousesome kitchen trash bags, orjuststackitalltogethersoit’seasy to take out to the car.OK?’‘Sure,Mom,’Jensaid.‘OK,’Carlysaid.

Wade and their momwalkedoutthedoor.

‘God, that’s so depressing,’Jen said. ‘I can’t believethat’s all our stuff. Whathappened to all the stuff weusedtohave?’‘A lot got left in Tulare.

AndIthinkWadethrewstuffaway. I heard him tell Momoncethatwhenweleavestuffaroundhethrowsitawayand

we never know thedifference.’‘Geez. Thank God we’re

gettingoutofhere.’‘Maybe,’ Carly said. ‘I’ll

believeitwhenIseeit.’‘Shewouldn’tbehavingus

get our stuff ready if weweren’tgoing.’‘We’llsee.’‘I’msosleepyIcan’tstand

it.I’mgoingbacktobed.’

‘Yeah, go ahead. Whattime’s it, anyway? It feelslike more than an houralready.’‘Idon’tknow.Lookinthe

kitchen.’Carlysquintedat theclock

abovethestove.Itwasnearlyfourthirty.

Carly sat bolt upright inbed.Light poured through thefront windows. The screen

still layflatonthefloor.Thebedroom door hung open.Carly could see that thebedroomwasempty.She shook Jen by the

shoulder.Hard.‘Huh?What?’‘Jen,wakeup.’Jen sat up, blinking.

‘What?Whattimeisit?’‘I don’t know. But it’s

light. And they’re still notback.’

Nothing happened for along time. Neither spoke.Carlydidn’tknowabout Jen,but she needed time forpossibilities to click togetherinherbrain.Jenspokefirst. ‘Youdon’t

think they just took off andleftus,doyou?’‘No. Mom wouldn’t do

that.Wouldshe?’‘I don’t think so.But then

wherearethey?’

‘Idon’tknow,Jen.’‘Whatdowedo?’‘Idon’tknow.’‘Dowegotoschool?’‘I’mnot going.Not unless

they show up between nowandthen.’

Theydidn’t.

Itwasafternoon.Theysatatthetable,eatingpeanut-buttersandwiches.Well, Carly was

eatingher sandwich. Jenwasmostly playing with hers.Peelingthetopsliceofbreadback and watching the waythe peanut butter separated.Overandover.Jen hadn’t been talking

much.Sowhenshespokeupsuddenly, it made Carlyjump.‘Whatarewegoingtodoif

theynevercomeback?’

‘I don’t think we shouldtalkaboutthatyet.’‘OK,’ Jen said. ‘I’msorry,

Carly.’

‘Maybe we should call thehospitals. Or the highwaypatrol or something. See ifthere’ve been any accidents.Maybethey’reinthehospital,andcan’tgetback.’Jenhad taken tobitingher

right thumbnail. She went at

it again the minute she’dfinishedtalking.‘They’d call us from the

hospital, though. Wouldn’tthey?’‘Iftheycould,’Jensaid.‘I thought about calling.

But it scares me. Becauselet’ssaywecall.Anditturnsout there was an accident.We’re letting them knowwe’re underage and we’rehere alone without them.

They might come over andput us in a home orsomething.’‘You could call and

pretendtobeolder.’‘But on the phone

everybody thinks I’m evenyoungerthanIam.’‘Oh,’ Jen said. ‘That’s

true.’‘I think we should just

wait.’‘Howlong?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Carlysaid.‘Butlonger.’

‘Oh, my God, here comesWade!’Jenshrieked.She’d been sitting by the

window for hours. Manyhours. It was after seven inthe evening. The sun wasnearlydown.Carlywasinthebathroom and couldn’t getoutthereasfastasshe’dhaveliked.

‘But I don’t see Mom.What’shedoingbackwithoutMom? Oh, wait. That’s notWade.That’sWadeTwo.Hishairismuchlonger.’‘WadeTwo?’Carly zipped up fast and

ran to the window withoutwashingherhands.Together they watched

Wade Two walk down thepath to theguest-housedoor.Neither said a word. Both

girlsknewsomethingthatdidnot need to be spoken outloud. In the four monthsthey’d lived in this guesthouse,Wade Two had nevercome to the door. Not once.Notforanyreason.They watched him raise a

handtoknock.‘I’ve got a bad feeling

aboutthis,’Carlysaid.Heknocked.‘Ibettheyjustgothurt.’

‘Ihopeso.’‘Well,lethimin,Carly.’Carlyopened thedoorand

staredintothefaceofWade’stwin brother, who staredback. He did not look like ahappy man. Then again, henever had, all three of thetimes Carly had seen himfrom a distance. But in thatmoment he seemed lesshappythaneverbefore.

‘You girls sit down,’ hesaid. With close to noemotionatall.They did. In unison. They

sank on to the couch, facingthe door. Bizarrely, WadeTwo did not come in. Juststoodintheopendoorway.‘I have to tell you bad

news. I hate to do it. Butsomebodyhasto.I’llcutrightto it. There’s been anaccident.’

‘What kind of accident?’Carly asked, a tingly electricheatspreadinginherchest.‘Wade’s truck. Went off

the road up in the highmountains.’‘AretheyOK?’‘No.’Just for a second, Carly

thoughtshewasastatue.Thatshe had turned to stone. Avoice in her head said, Youknew.Youalreadyknew.But

there’s knowing, and thenthere’sknowing.Thiswastheworseofthetwo.‘Itwasontheedgeofabig

drop-off,’ Wade Two said.‘Oranyway, that’swhat theytold me on the phone. Thepolice,orwhoeverjustcalledme. Hard to pay goodattention at a time like that.You just hear the bad newsandnotmuchelse.’

Something rose up inCarly.Somekindofvoice tospeak.‘So,whatyou’resayingis,

Wade tookourmomuphighin the mountains and drovethembothoffacliff.’WadeTwo’sfacetightened

down. The look of losssuddenlyarmoredoverwithapestered expression. AsthoughCarlywereagnatora

mosquito, hovering too closetohisface.‘He didn’t do it on

purpose.’‘Howdoyouknow?’The only reaction was a

deeper solidification of hisfeatures. It rattled Carly tolook into the face of a manwho looked exactly likeWade.‘I’ve donemy part here. I

told you.’ He turned away.

Marchedtwostepstowardhishouse. Then he stopped andlooked at Carly over hisshoulder.‘I’llmakethephonecalltogetyougirlstakencareof.’Carlyrantotheopendoor.

‘Wait. What do you mean?Takencareofhow?’‘Well, I don’t know. The

authorities will know. Therehas to be a procedure. Yougirlshaveafatheryoucango

live with?Well, nevermind.Don’t bother telling me. I’llcall whatever agency takescare of children. You tellthem.’‘It’s too late,’ Carly said.

Blurtedout,really.‘Toolate?’‘Theiroffice’llbeclosed.’‘Well … I don’t think it

matters,’hesaid.‘Ifachildisin danger, and it’s an

emergency, somebody willcomesortitout.’‘But we’re not in danger

and it’s not an emergency. Imean, not tonight.We’re oldenoughtostayalone.Westayalone all the time. I’m oldenough to babysit.Whydragthem out here at night whenwecanjustgotosleepinourown bed? Like we alwaysdo?’

Carly could see him chewontheinsideofhischeekforamoment. She had a suddendizzying sensation, like atightropewalker.Asensethatonemistakeinbalancewouldleadtothefinalfall.‘I’ll call in the morning,

then. You girls try to getsomesleep.’He walked away. Carly

watchedhimgo,knowingshehadtoturnandfaceJen.And

notwantingto.Sheput itoffas long as she reasonablycould.Jenwas still sitting on the

couch.Doingnothing. Jen, itseemed, really had turned tostone.‘Jen?’‘What are we supposed to

do,Carly?’‘We’re going to go live

with Teddy. Now come on.Get your backpack, and go

through your stuff and puttogetheronlywhat fits in thebackpack. Like just the stuffyou’d take camping. We’releavingtonight.’Carly was halfway across

the room to her backpackwhen she heard a small,muffledthump.Sheturnedtosee Jen sitting on her owncrumpled legs in the middleofthefloor.‘Comeon,Jen.Getup.’

Butshedidn’t.‘Here,I’llhelpyou.’But Jen’sbones seemed to

haveturnedtojelly.SoCarly sat in themiddle

of the floor, shoulder toshoulder with her sister. Foraboutanhour.Thinkinghownice it would be to collapse.But she couldn’t afford to.Somebody had to stayupright. And the job hadfallentoCarly.

There wasn’t much Carlycould do, under thecircumstances, but shefiguredatleastshecoulddoadecent job of being the onewhodidn’tcollapse.

PartFiveNowAgain

Arizona,18May

It’s undoubtedly the smallhoursof themorning, thoughCarlyhasnowayofknowingwhich ones. She only knowsit’s getting harder to stayawake.She’s been holding on to

this metal ladder for whatseemsliketwoorthreehours

now, one arm hookedthrough, so she doesn’t haveto trust her hands. So herhandscan’tslip.Funny how something can

start out heaven, then soquicklyturntohell.Thedarkscenery has grown tedious.Over and over she’s startledby a sudden rock facespringing up just a few feetfrom her right or leftshoulder. Or a tunnel. It’s

hard to know what’shappening when the trainsuddenly plunges into atunnel.But that’s not whatmakes

ithell.It’sthefactthatthere’sno way to rest. And it’sgettinghardertostayawake.Actually, it’s getting

almost impossible to stayawake.She tries climbing up

higherontheladder,thinking

maybeshecanpullherselfupon to the top of the railroadcar. But she can’t see whatshe’d be stepping on to, andshe can’t stop thinking abouthow much clearance theremight be between the top ofthe train and the roof of thetunnels.Shethinksaboutlettinggo

andgivingupontheride,butshe can’t see what she’d befalling on to, or into. The

trainmightbeacoupleoffeetfromtheedgeofacliffforallshe knows. Besides, wherewould she go then? Shedoesn’t know herway to theInterstate 40 from here,whereverhereis,thewayshewould if she’d just keptwalking down that pavedroad.Shecouldgetlostinthemiddleofnowhere.Forever.Well.Thepointbeingthatfor

ever,forher,wouldonlybeacoupleofdaysinthatcase.So she’s stuck. No going

up, no going down. Too lateto turn back. But she’s notquite sure what’s in front ofher if she just hangs on. Dowest-bound trains just keepgoingwest? Or do they bearnorthorsouthatsomepoint?Shehasnowaytoknow.It’sneveraffectedherlifebefore.Soshenevercared.

She tries to sit on a rung,but it leaves her feetdangling.Butshe’sdesperateenoughtogivethatatry.A few moments later she

snaps awake, hanging bynothingbutthebruisedcrookof her right arm. She has touse her left to grab holdagain, and while she does,nothing but her rigid refusalto relaxherbent right arm iskeepingherfromfalling.She

takes a good hold with herleft, but her whole body isstill trailing free, swinging.She eases her right armstraight,thengrabsthesideofthe ladder with her righthand.Bothofherarmsshakewith the strain, and her heartis pounding. She has to pullherselfuptogetherfeetbackon the ladder. Her arms areready to fail her. To just letgo. The backpack isn’t

helping.It’sweighingonher,pulling her backwards. Shelooks down. Just blackness.No way to know what willhappenifshefalls.She gives it all she’s got.

Pulls up, arms trembling,muscles screaming withoveruse.Thenher foot hits arung.Shestepsinclosetotheladder again and wraps herarms around it, shaking.Calmingherheart.

Shehastostayawake.It’snowofficiallya lifeor

deathsituation.She thinks about Jen,

saying, ‘I’m afraid you’regoing to go out and getyourself killed.’ Or words tothateffect.She was so sure Jen was

wrongaboutthat.Nowshehastoproveit.

The train stops. It seemsalmost too good to be true,butCarlycanhearthescreamof the brakes, the metal-on-metal. And then they’restandingstill.Sheclimbsdownontothe

tracks.Her arms are shaking, not

so much with fear – thoughshe has plenty of that, too –but from overexertion. Likethey couldn’t lift a leaf

without five or six days torest and regroup. But shedoesn’t have time to thinkaboutthat.There’snowaytoknowhowlong the trainwillremain stopped. They don’tseem to be anywhere. Andshe has to find a way to getinto this train, rather than onit.Soshecanrelax,andsleep.She picks her way in the

dark up to the last box car.The one with the door that

was open just a crack. Shegrasps the door with bothhandsandtriestoslideit,butit’s heavy. Her arms are allbut useless. She uses theweight of her body instead.Holds with her fingers andthrows her body in thedirection she wants the doorto go. It gives a few inches.She uses the samemaneuverfive more times, getting

another few inches on eachpull.The train starts to move

again.She slips off her backpack

andthrowsitintotheboxcar,then immediately regrets thedecision. If she fails in herattempttojumpthetrain,it’sgoneforever.Shehastogeton.She takes a three-step

running start and throws her

body through the opening,hitting one hip hard on theedge of the sliding door. It’snot enough. She barely hasherwholeupperbodyon thefloorof thecar.She’s fallingbackagain.‘Oh, shit!’ she says out

loud.Her waist is bending, the

weight of her legs pullingdown and inward, and ratherthan falling back and away

from the train, she’sabout tofall in a hook motion, rightunderthewheels.Andthere’sno way to stop it. She hasnothingtograbonto.Jenwasright.In that tiny fraction of a

second, she processes theinevitabilityofherowndeath.Thisisit.From inside the box car,

twohandsgrabherwrists.

A little noise somethinglike a scream escapes herthroat. She instinctively triestopullawayfromtheirgrasp.‘Don’t let go!’ a voice

says. It’s a male voice, butyoung. Teenage-boy young.‘I’m gonna pull. Letme pullyou. Try to shimmy up onyourbelly.’He pulls hard, and it hurts

Carly’smid-section,which isscrapingalongtheedgeofthe

boxcarfloor.Shestraightensas best she can, lifting herlegs with great effort, theninchwormsalongtheboards.When her knees touch

wood, she knows she’s notgoing to die. She collapses,tryingtobreatheagain.She has no idea who’s in

this car with her, but sinceshewasdeadaminuteago,itdoesn’tseemtomatter.

‘Thank you,’ she says.‘Whoeverthatis.’‘Yeah. You don’t wanta

falllikethat.That’stheworst.Youcouldenduprightunderthose wheels. People loseboth legs. Or if it goes rightover the middle of you …well…why talk about that?Youmadeit.’She wants to say

something else appreciative,but nothing comes out. She

doesn’thaveenough strengthlefttofindandformwords.A deep male voice says,

‘What’s going on, Davis?What’sallthenoise?’‘It’snothing,Dad.Goback

tosleep.It’sjustagirl.Agirljumpedthetrainisall.’‘A girl? All by herself?

What’s a girl doing jumpingthetrainallbyherself?’‘Idon’tknow,Dad,butit’s

OK.Justgobacktosleep.’

A second or two later,Carly hears a deep, rumblysnore coming from the frontofthecar.‘Heneverreallywokeup,’

Davis says. ‘He’s nice whenhe’sawake.Buthesleepslikerocks. So he’ll say stuff likethat,buthe’sreallyasleepthewhole time. He’s real niceand polite when he’s awake.So,whereareyouheaded?’

‘You seen my backpack?’Carly asks. It’s notwhat shemeant to say. It’s just whatcomesout.‘Yeah,it’srighthere.’She hears it sliding across

thewoodfloor,feels itbumpherhand.Shepullsitinclose.Setsherheaddownonit.‘California,’ she says,

failing to enunciate thewordclearly.

‘Oh,’ Davis says. ‘We’regoing to Lake Havasu.Supposed to be real nicethere.Wemightevenstayfora while. All summer. If itworks out, I might do asemester of school there inthefall.’Carly tries to say

something in return, but thewordsdon’tquiteform.She’sso spent she feels almostdrunk,andthewordsarejust

a slur, whatever they wereabouttobe.Aminutelatershe’sasleep.

It’s still dark when shewakes. She sits up. Davis’sdadisstillsnoring.Thedooron theother side

of the car has been slidpartway open, and Davis issittingontheedgeofthecar,swinging his legs andwatchingArizonarollby.The

skyshowsjustahintofdawnoff to the left. Carly canalmost see the shapes ofthings.Fromthesilhouetteofhim,

CarlythinksDavisisacoupleof years younger than her.Older than Jen but youngerthanher.The wind coming in feels

bracingandcool.Thatclassiccold desert night. But …clearer. Or something. Like

they’re somewhere elseentirely. This is not Wakapiland.Shecanfeelthat.ShethinksagainaboutJen,

and what will happen to herwhen they find out Carly isgone. She calms her gut byconvincing herself that evenif Jen gets put in a homewhile she’s gone, Teddy cangetherbackagain.Therearemore nagging fears, but she

squashes themashardasshecan.She levers to her feet,

nearly falling to the flooragain when her arms fail toholdher.Sheteeterscarefullyover to the partly open door,and sits cross-legged on thefloor, safely back from theedge.Sheknowsexactlywhyshe

does this. It’s because sheremembers that feeling,

standing under the stars lastnight. That completealoneness.Andshewantsnottobealone.Ifonlyforashorttime.‘Hi,’shesays.‘Oh.Hi.’He seems surprised that

she’sawake.‘I think you savedmy life

backthere.’‘Maybe. Or you might’ve

grabbedonbyyourself.’

‘I don’t think so. I think Iwasfalling.Anyway,Imeantto say thanks.Youknow.Atthe time. But it wasweird. Iwas just so used up from allthat. ItwaslikeIdidn’thavethe strength. But anyway,thanks.’‘Youdid.’‘Ididwhat?’‘Saythanks.’‘Oh. Did I? I don’t

rememberthat.’

‘I think so. Anyway,you’re welcome. Noproblem.’Theysitquietlyforatime.

Carly is unsure of what elsetosay.Ifanything.Shethinksabout Jenagain, andwhethershe’s in trouble where Carlyleft her. It strikes hersuddenly that Jen is the onewho should have the feathernecklace to protect her. Not

that Carly really believes itwill.Butstill.Shetakesitoutfromunder

her shirt and examines it inthe dim light, to see if shedamaged it. The shaft of thefeatherisalittlecrooked,butshe straightens it out as bestshecan.‘Pretty,’ Davis says.

‘LooksNativeAmerican.’‘Itis.’‘Genuine?’

‘Yeah.’‘Navajo?Zuni?’‘Wakapi.’Carlyexpectshimtosayhe

neverheardofsuchathing.Instead he says, ‘Oh!

That’ssorare.Didyoureallymeet a Wakapi? That’samazing. They’re almostgone.’‘You’veheardofthem.’‘Yeah, I did a report on

Native American culture for

school.Abouthow importantitistokeepitgoing.Like,theWakapi are a perfectexample. They teach theirkidsthisoralhistory,butthenif the kids leave thereservation,maybetheydon’tteach it to their kids. Andthenwhatifitjuststops?Canyou imaginewhat a loss thatwouldbe?’‘Iguess.Yeah.’

‘You guess? It’s a wholeculture. But it’s not just thekids leaving the reservations,it’susandthewaywetriedtoerasetheirculture,takingkidsfromtheirparentsandputtingtheminboardingschoolsandchangingtheirnamesandnotletting them speak theirlanguage. I have an apple.Youwanthalf?’Carly is surprised by the

suddenshiftinconversational

direction.Shewasjustgettinginterestedinthecultureissue.WasDeloresteachingJentheWakapi oral history? CouldJen pass it on to her kids,eveniftheyweren’tWakapi?OrmaybeJenwouldsaytheycould be if she wanted themtobe.‘Um. Sure. If you think

that’sfair.Imean…it’syourapple.Ifyouwantitall.’‘Idon’tmind.’

Carlymoves a little closerto watch. Davis opens whatlooks like a small penknifeand cuts the apple into twoequalhalves.Heseems tobeworking very hard to makethemexactlyeven.Infact,heendsupbringingtheknifeupthrough the stem and slicingitverticallyintwo.‘Here,’ he says, extending

thegiftinherdirection.

‘Thanks. That’s reallynice.’She takes it fromhim,and

takes a bite. It tastes like aRed Delicious. But, more tothe point, it tastes like thebest bite of apple Carly everheld in her mouth. Evercrunched intowith her teeth.And she knows why, too.Becauseshewasn’tsupposedtobealivetotasteit.

She looksoutat thedawn,and it’s a more beautifuldawn than she ever knewexisted. And for the samereason.It strikes her that this

feelingwillwearoff in time,and she hates knowing that.Shewantstoholdit.Frameit.Bronze it. Title it, ‘This isHow it Feels to Be in YourLife.’ But she’s been in herlife all along. She just didn’t

see that as anything worthnotingbefore.Shetakesanotherbite.Thensheleansbackalittle

and reaches into her pocketforoneofhermanyquarters.Sets it on the floor betweenhersorehipandDavis.‘Here,’shesays.He looks closely to see

what it is. Picks it up andholdsit.

‘Youdon’thavetopaymefor that apple. I gave it toyou.Forfree.’‘Iknow.Iwasn’t.Really.I

wasn’t trying to pay you. Ijust wanted to give yousomething.Becauseyougaveme something. But I don’treally have anything else butthat.’‘Oh,’ Davis says. ‘OK.

Thanks.’

He slips it into the breastpocketofhisdenimjacket.‘Kind of stupid,’ she says.

‘Aquarterisn’tmuch.’‘Well. It’s a lot to you, I

bet.Youprobablydon’thavemuch.’That’s so true that Carly

doesn’t even want tocommentonhowtrueitis.Soshesaysnothingatall.Theysitquietlyforatime,

finishing the apple and

watching the world go by inthedark.Theskyistakingona coppery glow off to theeast, and Carly can see thelights of some kind ofcivilization. Like they’regetting close to a town. Shepullsherjackettighteraroundherselfwithonearm.‘I’mpracticallybitingright

into the core,’ Carly says.‘Because I don’t want towasteany.’

‘Ieatthecore,’Davissays.‘Really?’‘I eat everything but the

stem. The seeds are sort ofchewy,butit’snotbad.’Carlypullsoutthesevered

stem and pops the rest intohermouth.Thetextureofthecore ishard tobitedownon,but it still tastes like apple.They launch the stem halvesoutintotheworldattheexactsame moment, then laugh at

how perfectly accidentallytimedthatwas.‘Any idea where this train

goes?’sheaskshim.‘MydadandIarejumping

off as soon we see theColorado River. That’s thestateline,youknow.Arizonaturns into California right atthe Colorado River. Right inthe middle of the river. Idon’t know where the traingoes after that. On into

California, I guess. My dadwould know.We’re going togoseeLakeHavasu.’‘Whybyfreighttrain?’‘We go most everywhere

by freight train. Or wehitchhike.Oneortheother.’‘Always?Allyourlife?’‘Not always. Just the last

couple years. Since my dadlosthisjob.Sincewelostthehouse. Well, not the wholetimesincehelosthisjob.Just

since we lost the house. Helost his job, and then for afewmonths hewas trying toget another one, but nobodywas hiring in his field. Andthen he decided if wecouldn’t have a house weshouldat least see theworld.He said he could stand toraise me poor, but not on astreet corner, or in someshelter. He said at least we

could be free and have somerealexperiences.’‘You like it? Traveling

aroundallthetime?’‘It’sOK.We’veseensome

really nice places. It’s justdifferentthanhavingahouse.Not as good in some ways.Butit’sOK,Iguess.’‘Whatdidyourdadusedto

do?’‘Engineer.’‘Train?’

‘Aerospace.’‘Oh.’‘How’boutyou?’‘Oh.Yeah.Me.’Carly takes a minute to

decide what to tell him. Shestarts at the beginning,whenthey had to leave Teddy.Thenthestorygetsmoreandmore detailed. And by thetime she’s told himeverything,thesunisupover

themountains, pouring on totheirfaces.Davis has shaggy hair and

bad skin, but his brown eyesarebigandnice.‘I hope you find him,’ he

says.‘Me,too.’‘You think he did what

theysayhedid?’Carly opens her mouth to

answer, and is struck by acomplete thought. If he did,

that explains everything.Jen’s incomprehensiblebehavior is completelyunderstandable.Ifhedid.‘Maybe,’shesays.She’s a little stunned to

hearherselfsayit.It’salmostas thoughher opinion on thesubject has changedretroactively. Withoutbotheringtonotifyher.Then again, that would

mean Teddy really did. And

that’s equallyincomprehensible. Thatrequires every bit as muchexplaining.‘Will you staywith him if

hedid?’‘Oh, no. I don’t think I

coulddothat.’‘Whatwouldyoudothen?’‘Noidea.’They stare out into the

dawn in silence for a fewminutes. It’s not an

uncomfortable silence. Just amoment when nothing needssaying.Then Carly says, ‘I don’t

evenknowwhyItoldyouallthat.’‘I do. It’s because you’ll

neverseemeagain.Strangerstell me and my dad stuff allthetime.Bigstuff.Stufftheydon’t even tell their ownfamilies. It’s easier with astranger. They don’t even

know who you are, so whatcouldithurt?’‘IthinkI’mgoingtotryto

sleep some more,’ she says.She’s feeling a little off-balance now, and that’s partofwhyshesays it.But she’salso just really tired. She’sprobably had two or threehours’ sleep in the last twodays.‘MaybewhenIwakeupwe’llbeinCalifornia.’

‘Maybe. If you wake upand we’re gone, you’re overthestateline.’‘Nice meeting you, if that

happens. But it’ll be nice tobebackinCalifornia.’Butnotasniceasitwould

havebeenafewminutesago.Before she figured out thatJen was probably telling thetruth.

Carly dozes for a minute oranhour.It’shardtotell.Then she sits up, nursing

an uncomfortable feeling. Alotofwhatshe’sstoredlatelyisworkingitswayloose.Thatcan’tbegood.Davis is still sitting in the

open door of the box car,watching themorning go by.Or waiting for the river. Orboth.

It’s warmer now. Shestruggles to her feet. Herwhole body is sore, eitherfrom impact or overexertion.Insomeareas,both.Shefeelsas though she was hit by aspeedingcarinhersleep.Davis looks partway over

hisshoulderasshesitsdownnexttohim.‘As long as I’m never

going to see you again,’ shesays,‘there’ssomethingelse.’

Then she stops a minute.Wondering what thesomething is. She’s literallyabouttotellDavissomethingshehasn’tsharedwithherselfyet.‘OK,’hesays.‘Ihavetothinkhowtosay

it.’ She knows a little aboutwhatitis.Becausesheknowshow it feels. But training acollectionofwordstocontainitmightprovetricky.‘Ithink

howeverIsayit,it’sgoingtocomeoutwrong.’‘Just say it however you

can.’‘Whydidhepickher?’‘You mean … not

somebodyelse’ssister?’‘Imeannotme.’In the silence that follows,

Carly has a chance toexperience just how wrongthatreallysounds.

Davis says, ‘You didn’twanthimto…’‘No!Ofcoursenot.Ididn’t

meanthatatall.Ifhedidthat,whichI’mnotsurenowifhedid,heshouldn’thavepickedanybody. I mean, anybodyyoung. But he picked her.Why her and not me? Oh,crap.That’snotwhatImean.WhatdoImean?’‘Maybe you just wanted

him to like you best? Even

though … probably youwanted him to like you in abetterwaythanthat.’‘Maybe. It sure sounds

better thanwhat I said. I betyou think I’m the sickestpersonontheplanet.’‘No. I don’t. Really. You

shouldhearsomeof thestuffpeoplehavetoldus.’‘Don’ttellanybody.’‘Iwon’t.’‘I’ddenyit.’

‘Whowould I tell? Idon’tevenknowwhoyouare.Thatwas the whole point,remember?’Then, as Carly is settling

back into that morecomfortable reality, Davisshoutsoutsuddenly.Loudly.‘There it is!Dad!There it

is!’‘Hmm?’ his father

mumbles.

‘TheColoradoRiver!Icanseeit!Dad!Getup!Wehavetojumpoffinaminute.’And Carly already misses

Davis. And maybe evenDavis’s father. Even thoughthey’restillonthetrain.Silently, and as bravely as

possible, she adjusts back tothatplaceofbeingalone.Herconsolation prize is knowingthat’stheCaliforniastatelineshecanseefromhere.

Davis’sfatherleansoverher.He’sabigman.Tall.Heavilybuilt.‘The train’ll probably stop

in Needles,’ he tells her.‘There’sa trainyard there. Ifthe train stops in the yard,jump off. Fast. Securityman’ll go all down the trainopening thedoorsof theboxcars. You don’t want to getcaughtinhere.Lookoutbothdoors. See which side he’s

on. Jump out the other side.Headforthemaindrag.’‘How do I keep going

west,then?’‘Hitch a ride. The main

drag ofNeedles is right nexttothetrainyard.Broadway,Ithink they call it. It’s abusinessloopontheI-40.Sohitchariderightthereonthestreet. Just about everybodygoing down that street’ll bemergingontotheInterstate.’

‘Dad, come on,’ Davissays.‘Wehavetogo.’‘Don’t hitch on the

highway shoulder,’ his dadsays.‘Becausecarscan’tstopthere anyway. Hitch onBroadway.’‘Thanks,’shesays.But she’s not even sure if

heheard.He’salreadyovertothewide-opendoorofthecar,timing his jump. Trailing ahuge backpackers’ multi-day

packfromtheendofhisrighthand.Davis disappears. Davis’s

dad throws the pack afterhim. Then Davis’s daddisappears.Carly runs to the open

doorway,butthetrainisonacurved section of track, andshe can’t even see wherethey’vegone.They’rejustgone.

Carly wakes to the loudbanging noise of box cardoorsbeingslammedopen.She jumps to her feet and

looks out the door she camein. The side of the train thatalmostkilledher.Thedoorisstill only open a couple offeet.Shepeersouttowardtheengine, and sees the securityman. Fortunately, he’s stillway up at the front of the

train.Hehasalongwaytogotogetbackhere.She grabs her pack and

leaps out the other side,forgetting how battered andtired her muscles are. Sheendsuponher face inheavygravel, scrapingher chin andher already-scraped hands,and furtherbruising the frontof just about everything else.Shehastoregroupamomentbeforepullingtoherfeet.She

can still hear the banging ofthedoorsastheyslamopen.Shemanages to trotacross

the yard, looking both waysas she stumblesover a seriesof tracks. There’s a shinysilverAmtraktrainwaitingatastationafewhundredyardsdown. Facing west. Carlywishes like hell she hadenoughmoneyinherpocketstoboardit.

She forces her attentionbacktocrossingtheyard.She stops, considers

briefly. Decides to headtowardtheAmtrakstation.‘Hey! You!’ a big male

voiceyells.Carly turns and looks

behind her, across the yard.The security man is lookingrightthroughanopenboxcarather.

She takes off running.Problemis,shekeepsrunningintotrains.Therearesomanytrains stopped here, onparallel tracks. It’s likerunninginamaze.Whenshefinally gets to the end of thelast train blocking her fromthe street, she heads forfreedom.Butbetweenherandthe main street of town is afence. A chain-link fence.About six to eight feet high.

Toppedwithbarbedwire.Davis’s dad forgot to

mentionthat.Foramoment,shehasthat

feeling again. Like the oneshe had as she began to fallunderthewheelsofthetrain.Thatfeelingof:AfterallI’vebeen through, it’s just goingtoendlikethis.‘No,’ she says out loud.

No.Thisisnothowitends.

She sprints around abuilding, puffing with theexertion,andcomesoutintoaparking lot, in view of anopengate.Sheblaststhroughto freedom.Runsall thewayto a corner on themain dragoftown.There she stops, and looks

back.And sees that the trainstation is not fenced in anyway. Somehow she hadboxed herself into some

private, adjacent area.Somehow she had found theonly fence around. It seemstoomuchlikeasymboloftheway her life is flowing thesedays.She also sees that the

security man apparentlydidn’tcareenoughtofollow.

It’s hot. Needles is in theMojaveDesert, she seems torecall.

Shewalksstifflydownthestreet,headedforthefirstgasstation.Alighteddisplayonabankshepassessaysit’s9.23a.m.andninety-sixdegrees.Shestilldoesn’thaveahat.

She never thought to bringDelores’s old gardening hat.Ifshe’dthoughtofit,shestillwouldn’t have. Because thatwouldhavebeenstealing.Butsheneverthoughtofit.

She hobbles into the gasstation and uses their ladies’room. It’s unlocked. Andfilthy. But it doesn’t reallymatter.Shewashesherhandsandfaceatthesink.Looksupinto the mirror. Her chin isscrapedandbloodyfromthatheader she took into thegravel. The soap stings herchin and the heels of herhandswhenshewashesthem.She has fresh blood on her

shirt. Dried blood on thekneesofherjeans.Shetakessometoiletpaper

and paper towels, and stuffsthem into her backpack.Holdsonepaper towel toherchin to try to stop thebleeding.Sheleansintothesinkand

drinks water from the tapuntil she can’t possibly holdanotherounce.

Then she walks around tothe convenience store andbuys a chocolate bar and apacketofpeanuts.Sheaddsitup in her head. It’s abouttwenty per cent of her lifesavings. Then again, shemight be nearly halfwaythere.Maybe.Ormaybeonlyathird,butshehatestothinkthat. She wants to stay withthehalf.

Thewoman at the counterrings her up with the tips oflongpinkfingernails.‘West,’ Carly says, still

holdingthepapertoweltoherchin.‘Thatway?’Shepoints.The woman nods. Like

talkingistoomuchtrouble.Shewalksbackoutintothe

oven of theMojave. Throwsthe paper towel in the trashonherwayby.

She wants to eat thepeanuts first, but then sheremembers that the chocolatewill melt in her pocket orpack. So she walks to thestreet. Peels the paper backonthecandy.Lookscarefullyfor cops, or the highwaypatrol. Takes one bite ofcandy and sticks her thumbout, justasahugeoldbusofamotorhomeroarsby.

It stops a few yards upahead.It’stealandwhite,twohorizontal stripes of each.Twenty years old, maybe.The covered spare tire saysLazyDaze.Ithasaladderonthe back, a sickeningreminder of theworst of lastnight.She hasn’t even been

hitchhiking long enough tochewandswallowonebiteof

chocolate, and she alreadyhasaride.As she jogs up to the big,

sillyvehicle,shethinksaboutthis wind she’s had at herbackthewholetrip.Thetruckisthere,thetrainisthere,themotor home is there. Justexactlywhensheneedsthem.Then she remembers she

almost died jumping thattrain.

ThensheremembersDavisgrabbing her wrists andpulling her on. She decidesshe has to count her near-death experience as wind atherback,too.Before she can reach the

motor home, it movesforwardafewyards.Damn, she thinks. I was

wrong. They’re not stoppingforme.Itstopsagain.

Anolderwoman leans herheadoutthewindow.‘Come on, honey,’ she

yellstoCarly.Carlyrunsagain.The motor home jerks

forwardafewmoreyards.This isn’t funny, Carly

thinks, stopping in her trackson the sweltering sidewalk.She can feel the sun bakingdownonherscalpat thepartofherhair.

The engine of the bigmotor home shuts down,giving way to silence. Amoment later, the side dooropens, and the woman leansout,aringofkeysjinglinginherhand.‘Come on, honey,’ she

says. ‘I’m sorry about myhusband. If I don’t take thekeys fromhim,he just keepsondriving.’

Carly takes a few steps.Not sure if any of this is forreal.‘Mygoodness,’thewoman

says. ‘You’re so young.Don’t you know it’sdangerous to hitchhike whenyou’re so young? And whatdidyoudotoyourchin?Youshouldn’t be out here byyourself.’ItcausesCarly’shacklesto

rise. But she moves a few

steps closer. She can feelcoolnesspouringoutthedooroftherig.Shedoesn’twanttomissthischance.Ifit’sreallyachance.Ifit’sreal.‘Did you just stop to tell

me that?’ she asks thewoman.The woman is white-

haired, maybe in herseventies. Bright-blue eyeswith laugh lines at thecorners. Like Teddy’s laugh

lines, only more so. Only acoupleofdecadeslater.‘No, honey, we’re giving

youaride.Comeon.’The woman backs up the

three inside steps, into theliving space of the motorhome. Carly follows her in.It’sgloriouslycool.‘It’s nice in here,’ Carly

says.‘Thanksfortheride.’‘We never pick up

hitchhikers,honey,butyou’re

so young. I was worriedaboutyou.Youcan sit downhere on the couch if youwant. Or even lie down andtakeanap.Youlooktired.’‘Iam.’‘Youthirsty?’‘No, ma’am. I just had a

drink.Thankyou,anyway.’‘OK,then.’Like that’sall thebusiness

theycouldpossiblyhavewitheachother.

The woman carefullycloses and locks the sidedoor. Carly looks at thehusband, behind the wheel.Hehasn’teventurnedaroundto see who’s joined them.He’s just staring forward,through thewindshield.As ifanxioustokeepgoing.When Carly’s hostess is

fully settled into thepassenger seat, and has hersafety belt fastened, she

handstheringofkeysbacktothedriver.‘OK, Malcolm,’ she says.

‘Nowyoucandrive.’

Just as Carly is dropping offto sleep on the surprisinglycomfortable couch, thewoman’s voice jolts herawakeagain.‘Beforeyoutakeyournap,

hon, better tell us whereyou’reheaded.’

Carly sits up. Her headfeels thick andmuddled, likeshe’s been sleeping fortwelvehours.‘Far west as you’ll take

me.Whereareyouheaded?’‘We go west and then

north.’‘Me, too!’ Carly says,

excitednow.Wind.Atherback.Right?‘Whereexactly?’‘Trinidad.’

‘Trinidad?’ the womanasks. ‘Trinidad? Where’sthat?Neverheardofit.’Malcolm, the driver,

mumbles something tooquietlyforCarlytohear.His wife leans over and

swatshimonthearm.‘Malcolm, sometimes you

just piss me off somethingroyal.Youknowthat?’‘What’d I do?’ Malcolm

asks,alittlelouder.

He still hasn’t taken hiseyes off the road. Carly stillhasn’tseenhisface.‘OnedayinthreeIhaveto

wake up in the morning andremindyoumyname isLoisafterforty-nineyears,butyouremember the name of somelittle piss-ant town nobody’severheardofupbyCrescentCity.Damnyou.’‘Eureka,’Carlysays.

‘Eureka what, dear?’ Loisreplies.‘It’snearEureka.’‘Oh. I thought you meant

you had an idea orsomething.’Malcolmmumblesagain.‘He says it’s in-between,’

Lois says. ‘North of Eureka,southofCrescentCity.Damnit, it pisses me off that youknow that. You don’t evenknowmyname.’

‘Lois!’ he proclaimsproudly.‘Well, sure. Now that I

tipped you.’ Then she turnsaround in her seat to addressCarly again. ‘You go aheadand take your nap, dear. Ifyou’restillasleep,we’llwakeyouupwhenwegethometoFresno.Weought tobetherebydinner.’Fresno.Bydinner.

Carly stretches out on thecouch and tries to rememberthedetails ofhow long she’sbeenontheroad.Sheleftlastnight … no, wait, the nightbefore.No. It reallywas justlast night. It only seemslonger. And by dinner she’llbeinFresno,California.Nowthat’satailwind.If Malcolm doesn’t forget

howtofindFresno,thingsare

working out better than shecouldeverhaveimagined.

Carly wakes up, blinks. Sitsuponthecouchinthebigoldmotor home. It’s afternoon.Maybe late afternoon. She’sbeen asleep a long time.Herstomach is growling. Herbladder is straining with allthat water she drank thismorning.

The motor home is notmoving.Lois and Malcolm are

sitting at the dinette table,eating sandwiches. It’s thefirst time she’s gotten a lookathim.He’sasoldasLois,orolder, seventies at least, buthe seems big and almosthandsome.Hishairisfullanddarkexceptforalittlegrayatthe sideburns. He looks likehewasastrongmanformost

ofhislife.Buthiseyesarefaraway. He never bothers tolook at Carly. Maybe he’sbeenwatchingher sleep, andhas gotten his fill. Butsomehow she doesn’t thinkso. She thinks probably hejustdoesn’tcare.Carly can see and smell

whatthey’reeating.Tunafishon wheat bread. It smellsgreat. Her stomach cramps

painfully.Butatleastshehasthatpackofpeanuts.Lois looks over, sees that

Carly’s awake, andimmediately jumps to herfeet. Still chewing, shebustles over to the littlerefrigerator. She extractsanother sandwich, alreadymade, on a stiff paper plate,and garnished with picklespearsandpotatochips.

She sets it on the dinettetable.‘For me?’ Carly asks,

hardlywillingtobelievesuchathingcouldbetrue.‘Well, of course for you,’

Lois says. ‘You think we’regoing to eat in front of youwhileyoustarve?Ifyoudon’tlike tuna fish, Malcolm willeat that and I’ll make youpeanutbutterandgrapejelly.’

‘I like tuna fish. A lot.Thank you. That was veryniceofyou.’‘You want some

lemonade?’‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.

Think I could use yourbathroombeforeIeat?’Lois points. Though,

really, there’s only one littleboxed-off area in the motorhomethatcouldpossiblybeaminiaturebathroom.

Carly stumbles over andopens the door. It actuallylooksbig toher, because shegot used to the one inDelores’strailer.She sits down gingerly on

the toilet–everymuscleandbruise still aches–herkneesnearly brushing the door.Wondering how Malcolmfits. There’s a mirror on theinside of the door, and itmakes her uncomfortable.

Thescrapesonherchin lookalmost black. The sunburnblisters on her forehead andnose are peeling. Her hairlooksasthoughithasn’tbeenbrushedinweeks.I look homeless, she

thinks. Then it hits her. Sheis.Sheflushesthetoiletwitha

pedal on the floor, andwashesherhandsinthesink.There’sashowerinhere.She

wonders whether her hostswould allow her to use it. Ashowersurewouldfeelgood.Deloresonlyhadabathtubinher house, and Carly onlyused itonce.Theyhad to fillitwithbucketsofwaterfromthe pump at the well. Theyhadtoheattwoofthebucketsonthepropanestove.Mostofthe time they took spongebathsinthetrailer.

She sits down at the tablewithLoisandMalcolm.Loissmiles at her. Malcolmdoesn’tlookup.Shesipsthelemonadefirst.

It delivers a blast of flavorshewasnotexpecting.‘This is homemade,’ she

says.‘Well,ofcourse.Youthink

I’dserveyouthatpowderoutofajar?’

‘I don’t know. Everybodyelse always did. Where arewe?’‘Bakersfield,’ Malcolm

says. Still without looking ather.They eat in silence for a

few minutes. The food ismaking Carly feel moregrounded.ThenLois says, ‘Wedon’t

feel comfortable letting you

hitchhike all the way toTrinidad.’Like it’s her decision,

Carlythinks.It’s that sinking feeling

that’s become so familiar. Ittakes her back to Alvin,saying, ‘Don’t want you andyour sister leaving this placeonyourown.’Thatdefinitivemoment when an adultdecides they’re taking overyourlife.

‘Ihavetogetthere,though.Anditcan’tbemuchfarther.’‘It’s almost another five

hundredmiles.’Carly’s heart falls. The

half-eaten sandwich sinks inherhanduntilit’sbackontheplate.‘Oh, no. It couldn’t be.

FromFresno?Orfromhere?’‘FromFresno.’‘Couldn’tbe.’

Loisgetsupandbringshera giant road atlas that looksalmost exactly like the oneAlvinshowedher.‘This looks like …’ She

was going say ‘Alvin’s’ butshe decides she doesn’twantto bring up Alvin. Thoughshe’s not sure why not. ‘Afriend of mine had one justlikethis.’And,inthestingoftheword ‘friend’, she knowswhy not. Some friend she’s

been toAlvin. Promised himtohis facehe could trust hertostayput.Andsheknewthewholetimeitwasnothingbutalie.She looks up Northern

California. Finds Fresno.Runs her finger up the coasttoEurekaandbeyond.‘Holy cow, that’s a long

state,’ she says. ‘But …Anyway,I’vegottogetthere.

I didn’t come all thisway togiveupnow.’‘We’ll take you to the bus

stationinFresno.’‘Oh,’Carlysays.‘OK.’Thatallowsherappetite to

functionagain, and shepicksup the sandwich and takes afewmorebites.That’ll be fine. She hasn’t

got enoughmoney for a bus,of course. But Lois doesn’tneedtoknowthat.Maybeshe

can spend the night in thestation. In themorning she’llbeonherownagain.Shecanjust keep going. And therewillbenoonearoundtotakeover.Noone to tellherwhatshecanorcan’tdo.If there was anything she

couldn’t do, shewouldn’t behererightnow.If only other people knew

thataswellasshedid.

Lois insists on coming intothe bus station.Which is notthe way Carly planned it atall.‘I’ll be right back,’ Lois

tells Malcolm. ‘Give me thekeys.’Malcolm just sits in the

driver’sseatforamomentortwo,handsat tenand twoonthewheel.Theengine is stillrunning. Then he pulls back

out into traffic, watchingcarefullyinthesidemirror.‘Malcolm, stop. No, wait.

Don’t stop. We’re too farnow.You’llhavetocircletheblock. Where did you thinkyouweregoing,Malcolm?’‘Home,’hesays.‘We’re taking the young

ladytothebusstation.’‘Oh.’‘And we were already at

thebusstation.’

‘Oh.’‘Makearighthere.’‘I know how to circle a

block.’Twomorerightturns, then

theypullupontheothersideofthestation.Thesuniswelloff to the west. It’s pastdinner time. Probably sevenorseventhirty.‘Now, stop, Malcolm,’

Lois says. ‘Turn off theengine.’

Malcolm sighs. Shifts intopark.Turnsthekeytooff.Lois reaches over and

grabs the keys out of theignition. As though she’sbeenpracticingforyears.‘Comeon,honey,’shesays

toCarly.‘Let’sgoseewhat’swhat.’Theystepoutthesidedoor

together.It’stheremainsofahot day in Fresno. It’s the

kindofhotCarlyknowsfromTulare,whichisn’tfaraway.Carly thinks maybe she’ll

justtakeoffrunning.Getthisover with. She looks bothways.Makesadecision.She sticks. For the

moment.MaybeLoiswill justcome

in, see when the bus isscheduled, then leave herthere.Thatwouldbebetter.

They walk along thesidewalk. Round the cornertogether.Carly says, ‘I don’t mean

toberude,but…isitsafeforhimtobedriving?’‘Oh, my goodness, yes.

Malcolm’s a great driver.Never takes his eyes off theroad.Nevergetslost.’‘You’re not afraid he’ll

forgethow?’

‘Honey, I should be solucky that man could forgethow to drive. It’s everythingelsehe’sforgotten.’She holds the door of the

busstationopenforCarly.AblastofcoolhitsCarlyinthefaceasshewalksinside.‘He’s forgotten me a time

or two,’ Lois says. ‘Until Igot smart and started takingthe keys. Left me once in agas station in Seligman,

Arizona.Rememberedhowtodriveawaybutforgotme,andwhen I called him eighthundredtimesheforgotwhatyou’re supposed to do withthe cell phonewhen it rings.That was a mess, let me tellyou. But in sixty years hehasn’t gotten so much as aparking ticket. If there’s onething thatman can do – andthere may be only one thing

left that man can do – it’sdrivethatrig.’Lois marches up to the

counter.Carly sits down on a hard

bench. Turns her back to thebusiness being done. Afterall,itreallyisn’therbusiness.She’snot theonewho thinksshe can’t hitchhike. That’s agrown-upstranger’sdecision.It takes a long time. She

can hear Lois talking to a

man behind the counter. Butshe purposely stays too faraway to hear what they’resaying.Shelooksbehindheronce,

and thinks she can just slipout the door.But Loismightcallthecopstogetherpickedup. Better she should wait.Lois will probably leave herhere to wait for the bus.Maybe she can get herselflockedinsideforthenight.In

themorning she’ll be on herown.Andonherway.She looks up to see Lois

standingoverheragain.‘OK, here’s your ticket,

hon. Bus doesn’t go all theway to Trinidad. Goes toArcata. That’s about sixteenmilesaway.Ormaybehesaidfourteen. Anyway, he saysthere’saregionalbusyoucanpick up right there at thesame station. Almost like a

city bus, but it goes up anddownto those little townsonthe coast. Just ask in thestation in Arcata, they’ll tellyou. But the bus from heredoesn’tleavetillmorning.’Carly just stares at the

ticketforalongmoment.‘Youboughtmeaticket?’‘Well, how else were you

gonnagetthere?’‘How did you know I

didn’thavemoneytobuymy

own?’‘Honey … really … what

kind of fool stands in thehundred-degree heat in thefullsunintheMojaveDeserthitching a ride if they haveenough money to buy anytickettorideanything?’Carlynodsafewtimes.All

that bravado about how shecanhandleherselfforanothernight, for another fivehundred miles, melts away,

leaving her overwhelmedwith gratitude that shedoesn’thaveto.‘That’s very nice,’ Carly

says.‘Iappreciateit.Butyouhave towrite your name andaddress down in my littlebook. And how much youpaid for the ticket. So I cansend you the money backwhenIcan.’She opens her backpack

and begins to rummage

around,lookingforthebook.‘It doesn’t really matter,

honey.Wecanmanage.’‘No, really. It’s important

tome. Iwant togive it backwhenIcan.’Lois shrugs. ‘OK, if that’s

whatyouwant.’Carly wraps her hand

around the book and pulls itfree.Lois sits beside her andwrites down the informationinthetiniest,loopiest,neatest

script Carly has everwitnessed.Loisfoldsupthebookand

handsitback.‘Nowcomeonback to the

rig, and we’ll all get a goodnight’ssleep.’‘I can sleep here in the

station.’‘No, you can’t.Man locks

upatten.’‘Don’t you want to get

home,though?’

‘Honey,wearehome.Thatishome.Whenwegethome,we just park it in theCrestview Trailer Park. Stillhome inside the rig. Onlydifferenceiswhatweseeoutthewindows.Nowcomeon.’

In her dream, Carly leapsthrough the narrow doorwayinto that box car a secondtime.Justlikeshedidthefirsttime.Shemakesit justasfar

in. Hits her hip just as hard.Thenshe’sfallingbackagain,underthewheelsofthetrain.Noonegrabsherwrists.Shelandshardonherback

onthemetalrail.Shecanseethe wheel that will take herlife, thatwill cut her in two,bearing down on her in thedark.Shesitsupright,beltingout

agiganticnoise.

Eyes open, she looksaround. She’s in the oldmotor home with Malcolmand Lois. Sitting up on thecouchacrossfromthedinettetable. She looks toward thebedroominthebacktoseeifshe woke them. But nothingstirs. Maybe that huge noiseshe made in the dream wasnothing but a rush of air intherealworld.

It’s thesecondtimeintwodays that she’s died – not intruth, but in her own head,her own perception. She’sgetting tired of dying. She’sgetting tired of that momentinwhichher life is supposedto flash before her eyes.Because both times itcontained nothing at all. Herheart calms easily, but shecan’t stop shaking. It’s anactual trembling, a shudder,

as if it were below zero inhere. Her teeth even chatter.It feels as though her nerveshavebeenstrippedbare.Likelifeistouchingthem.Eveninthemiddleofthenight,inthedark, with no actual lifeeventsinsight.She berates herself,

reminding herself that it wasonlyadream.Buttheminuteshe does, she knows thedreamhasnothingtodowith

it.She’snotscaredofwhat’sbehindher. It’swhat’s aheadof her that’s causingproblems.She never gets back to

sleep.

California,19May

Lois gets up at four in themorning. Before it’s evenlight. Carly knows it’s fourbecause there’s a littlebattery-powered clockmounted over the dinettetable.Itticks.

‘Whatareyoudoingupsoearly?’Carlyasks.‘Oh, I always get up at

four.Alwaysdid.Allmylife.Well, my adult life, anyway.Usedtogetupatfourtogotowork. Been retired twelveyears,butIstillcan’tseemtokick the habit. How aboutyou?What are you doing upsoearly?’‘Neverreallygottosleep.’‘YouOK?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she says,though she’s not. ‘I think Ijusthavemydaysandnightsturnedaround.’Whichishalfthetruth,anyway.Loissitsonthecouchnext

to Carly. Fairly close. Shestill hasn’t turned on a light.She presses her hand againstCarly’s palm. At first Carlythinks the old woman istryingtoholdhandswithher,which feels mildly alarming.

Thenshefeelsit.Cash.Somefolded bills. Carly doesn’tknow what kind of bills, orhow many. Maybe three orfourfromthefeelofit.‘It’sgoing tobe latewhen

thatbusgetsintonight,andIwant to make sure you havesomeplacetostay.’‘I can stay with my

stepfather,’Carlysays.Butshe’snotahundredper

cent sure that’s true. She’s

beenupallnightthinkingofahundred reasons why Teddymightnotbeable to takeherin. Or why she might notwanthimto.‘I just worry that it’ll be

lateandmaybethefirstnightyouwon’t have any place togo. I’d just feel better if youhave enough on you to get aroom.’So now Carly knows the

billsarenotones.Orfives.

‘OK, thanks,’ Carly says.‘But I’m writing it down inmylittlebook.AndI’mgoingtopayyouback.’‘Fairenough,’Loissays.Then they sit without

talking for a moment. Carlywants to say something, butshe can’t imagine how tophraseit.Can’timaginewhatwords will not completelymisrepresent her feelings.Thensherealizesthatshehas

that trouble a lot. Nearly allthetime.‘I really, really appreciate

that you’re being so nice tome,’Carly says. ‘But I don’tknowwhy.Iappreciateit,butIdon’tknowwhyyou’dwantto.Youdon’tevenknowme.’CarlyhearsLoissighinthe

mostly-dark. Her eyes areadjusted enough to the lowlight to see that the olderwoman’s hair is down, long

andwhiteandwispyandthin.Itmakesherlookevenolder.Andalotmorevulnerable.‘Both my parents died

when I was young,’ Loissays.‘Youngerthanyou.’Immediately, the tears

come to Carly’s eyes.Because her mother died. Ithitsher thatevery timeshe’scried since leaving NewMexico, no matter what shethoughtshewascryingabout,

shewasreallycryingbecausehermotherdied.‘I went to live with my

granddad.AndthatwasOK,Iguess. I’m lucky I had him.But he was already prettysenile. So it felt a lot likebeingalone.’It strikes Carly as a cruel

trick for life to play on poorLois.Twice.‘Bet you must feel the

same way now,’ Carly says.

Thensheimmediatelyregretssaying it. ‘I’m sorry.What astupidthingtosay.I’mreallysorry. I didn’t mean that tocomeoutthewayitsounded.’‘It’sOK,’Loissays,neatly

wrappingupthemomentandputting it to rest. ‘You’reabsolutely right. I’m justsaying my heart went out toyou.Youcanunderstandthat,right?’‘Yes,ma’am.’

‘Lois.’‘Yes, Lois. I can

understand that. I don’t likebeingalone,either.’‘I don’t think anybody

does.’But Carly thinks some

people are better at it thanothers.LikeJen.Jencanrelyon her ownwits and beOK.ButCarlydoesn’tsayso.Thinking about Jen brings

agreatpangofmissingJen.

Itstrikesherthatshehasn’teven told Lois she has asister. It strikes her that thisolder woman, whom sheinwardly accused of takingover her life, has actuallyasked very few questionsaboutCarly’ssituation.‘Well, sit tight,’Lois says.

‘I’ll make you some baconand eggs and fried potatoesandpackyoua lunch for thebus.’

The suggestion that Loiswoulddoallthatforher–no,thevery fact that someone iseven around to be able to doall that for her – makes hercryalloveragain.

They walk into the stationtogether, Carly feeling freshand revived from the showershe took in the tiny motor-home bathroom. Lois handsherwhat’ssupposedtobeher

lunch in a brown-paper bag.It feels more like dinner forsix.Carly doesn’t know what

tosay.Soshesays,‘Whenyouget

home,willhestilltrytodriveaway?’‘Oh, no.Whenhe’s home,

he’shome.He’llhookupthesewer drain. Hook up thewater.Rinseoutallthetanks.Plug into power. Cover the

tires. All the stuff you’resupposedtodoafteratrip.Heknowsnottodriveawayafterthat.’‘So… then… what does

hedo?’Lois thinks that over for a

moment.‘Absolutely nothing,’ she

says.Now Lois seems

uncomfortable.Theybothdo.

‘Youdon’tmind if Idon’twaitwithyou,doyou?’Loisasks.‘’Cause,youknow,he’sawake now, and he’ll bewantingtogo.’‘No,’ Carly says. ‘Not at

all. I’ll be fine.You’ve doneplenty.Thankyou.’They stand awkwardly for

amoment.Then Carly dives in and

gives Lois a hug. It wasn’texactly premeditated. It just

happened that way. Loisseemssurprised.Unbalanced.Shejuststandsthere,withherhands at her sides. But intime,shegivesCarlyapatontheback,thenonthehead.Carlyletsgo.‘You travel safe, now,’

Loissays.She hurries out of the

station.Carly hears the noisy

engine of the motor home

roartolife.Shecrossestothewindow andwatches it driveaway.Now she’s alone. Just as

surely as she was alone outonWakapilandinthemiddleof the night, under the stars.It’s light in the bus station,and there are a few peoplearound. But that doesn’tmatter. Carly knows by nowhowitfeels tobealone.Andthisisit.

Shedigs themoneyoutofher pocket and looks at it inthe light. She’s wanted tocount it a dozen times sinceLois gave it to her. But itseemed rude,with Lois righttherewatching.It’sfourtwenties.It strikes Carly that, if

she’s going to be alone, it’sbettertobealonewitheightydollars,abusticket,andabigbagoffood.

She knows she’s hadworse.

Afewhoursintothelongbusride, Carly wakes suddenly.Herneckissore,andherfacefeels smashed and sweatyfrom pressing up against theglass of thewindow.But therest of her face is cool,because the air conditioningblowsupfromthebaseofthewindow.Rightontoherface.

The bus has left the moreflatandhotinlandsectionsofHighway101 and iswindingupthroughaforestedsection.Carly looks out the window,wishingshe’dsatontheotherside. The left side. Shedoesn’t know how soonthey’ll see theocean,but sheknows the best views of theocean are on the left sidewhen you’re heading north.She should have thought of

that.She’sneverseentheocean

before. Until recently, she’dnever thoughtmuch about it.Butnowshefeelsherlifewillchangewhenshe finally seesit. Whenever that might be.She tries to look out thewindowson theothersideofthe bus, hoping to see aglimpse of it, but the mansitting next to her keepsacting as though she’s

looking at him, which ismakingthembothuneasy.CarlyopensLois’sbag.Initisasandwichonabig

French roll, cut in half, andwrapped in plastic film. Oncloser investigation, it turnsout to be homemade chickensalad. It’s easily big enoughfor two meals. Under that isan orange, a banana, a bottleof apple juice, and a sealed

cupofstore-boughtchocolatepudding.There’s also a plastic

spoon, and two papernapkins.ItmakesCarlycryagain.Are the tears still because

her mother died? She asksherselfthat.Turns out that’s partly it.

It’s also the fact that, evenwhen her mother was alive,she never did anything like

this. Never took this goodcare of her.Maybe gave hermoneytobuylunchatschool.But only if Carly reminded.Insisted.She wonders if Lois’s

mother packed her luncheslike thisbefore shedied.Shewonders how Lois’s parentsdied.Suddenly, in one big rush,

she wonders if Lois wouldtakeherinifTeddywon’t.Or

ifshecan’t lethim.AndJen.She could go back and getJen and bring her to Fresno.Loisdoesn’twanttobealone.AndCarlyhasheraddress.Then the truth rolls over

her, and sets her back towhere she started. Lois andMalcolm live in a motorhome. It’s barely big enoughfor two people. Besides.Whataweirdthoughttohave

about strangers. What’shappeningtoher?No, it’s Teddy or nothing.

ThereisnoPlanB.It causes the trembling to

start again. Now she’strembling and crying. Inpublic. On a bus. With agrown man sitting rightbeside her. She thinks he’sgoing to ask her what’swrong.Andshedoesn’twantthat. He averts his gaze.

Pretendshecan’thearorsee.ThenCarlywisheshe’daskedherwhat’swronginstead.

Carly issleepingon thebackseat of the bus, which is allonelongbenchseat,fromonewindowtotheother.Becausethe bus is not so crowdednow. Lots of people havegotten off, but not so manyhavegottenon.

She wakes, and sits up.Looks out the windows. It’sdark. She wonders if they’realmostthere.Orifshepassedherstop.Butno,Arcataisthelaststop.Isn’tit?Butsheknowsshecouldn’t

have overslept. Because thattailwindwouldneverallowit.It’s just so clear now. She’sgetting help. Something orsomeone is looking out for

her.Otherwise, howwas shesupposed to cover twelvehundred miles in two days,with barely a cent in herpocket?And another thing. It

dawnsonherquitesuddenly.If she’s getting help to gohometoTeddy,thenhometoTeddymustbetherightplaceto go. Would the universehelp speed and ease herwayback to a childmolester? Of

course not. She’s on a goodroad. She can tell by thesmoothnessofit.She knows this in a way

she’s never known anythingbefore.Asurenessshealwaysthought was reserved foranyone else in the worldbesidesher.Then, in her half-asleep

state,itdawnsonherthatthebusisnotmoving.

She stands up and looksthroughthefrontwind-shield.They’re on a small, two-

lane stretch of highway. Intheir lane, the north-boundlane, nothing but red taillights as far as the eye cansee. Thing is, it’s a twistyroad. So the eye can’t seevery far. Maybe seven cars.But they’re definitely allstandingstill.

In the south-bound lane,nothing.Thatlaneisempty.Nomatter how longCarly

stands at the back of the buswatching, no cars come bygoingsouth.She can only see a half-

dozenheadsofotherridersonthebus, and theyall seem tobeasleep.She makes her way up to

the driver. He jumps. As ifstartled to suddenly see her

standing there.As if he, too,wasasleep.‘What’s going on?’ she

asks.‘Overturned truckacouple

of miles up ahead. One ofthosebigloggingtrucks.’‘Any idea how longwe’re

stuckhere?’‘No idea at all. Pretty

remote where we are.Dependshowlongit takestoget some emergency

equipment up here to clearthe highway. First they gottaclear the logging truck.Thentheygottaclearthelogs.Everseen the logs those thingscarry? Whole trunks of oldgrowth redwoods. I’ve seen’em where six logs is a fullload. They weigh tons. Noidea how they’ll get ’em outof there. Probably they’llhave to bring in an empty

truck. And some kind ofreallybigwinch.’‘How far are we from

Arcata?’‘Depends on when we

moveagain.We’dbethereinprobablyanhourandahalfifwecouldmove.’It strikes Carly suddenly

that the local bus up toTrinidadmightnotruninthemiddleofthenight.

‘HopeIdon’tmissthelastbusuptoTrinidad.’Thedrivershakeshishead.

Glumly.‘We’ve been sitting here

for over an hour.Even ifwestarted to move right now, Idon’t see you catching thatlastbus.I’msorry.’Carly sighs. Thanks him.

Walksallthewaybackdowntheaisleandsitsdownontherear seat again. Her mind is

clear. She’s careful of that.Nopointthinkinganythingatall.She looksout thewindow.

A couple of the trees liningthe road have trunks almostaswideasthebus.Onherleftis a sharp drop-off, withwaterbelow,glisteninginthemoonlight. But it’s not theocean.Morelikeawidecreekor a shallow river. She

wonders again when she’llseetheocean.Sheliesdown.Some kind of emergency

vehicle comes by, speedingthewrongwayup the emptysouth-bound lane. No siren,just lights. She watches theflashingred lights fireup thegiantredwoods.Thennothingatall.

California,20May

The bus driver shakes Carlygently by her shoulder andtellsherthisisArcata.She sits up, rubbing her

eyes.They’restoppedinfrontof

a small, squat tan building

with a hanging wooden signthat says ‘Arcata Mad RiverTransit’. Carly has neverheard of a place called MadRiver. And she isn’t at allsure she wants to hear of itnow.There’s no one on the bus

exceptCarlyandthedriver.‘Time’sit?’shemumbles.‘Half-past midnight. You

gotsomeplacetobetonight?Ifeelbadwegotsofarbehind

schedule.Yougot someplaceto go? Station’s alreadylockedup.’Shethinksabouttheeighty

dollars. She could go to amotel.But it seems likea lotofmoney towaste just to lieawake all night. She’s beensleeping all day. Her sleepschedule is officiallybackwards.‘I’m OK,’ she says,

grabbing up her backpack. ‘I

justneedapayphone.’‘There’s a payphone

outsidethestation.’‘That’s fine, then. I’ll call

my stepfather. He’ll drivedownfromTrinidadandpickmeup.’The last thingCarly needs

isanotheradultwatchinghermovements.Sheshufflesdowntheaisle

andoffthebus.

She looks over hershoulder on the way to thepayphone. The driver is stillwatchingher.Shedigsintoherpocketfor

oneofhermanyquarters.Forone crazy, sleepy moment,she almost drops it into theslot on the phone. Like shewassolostinadream,maybeshe thought she really couldcallTeddyandgetpickedup.Instead she pantomimes

putting several quarters intotheslot.Aminutelatersheturnsin

toward the phone and awayfrom the driver. Likesomebody just answered.Like she wants to talk inprivate.She reads the sign on the

windowof the bus station. Itsays, ‘NO LOITERING. NO OPENALCOHOL CONTAINERS. NOSMOKINGWITHINTWENTYFEET

OF BUILD’ – that’s all, just‘build’ – no ‘ing’ – ‘NOPUBLIC USE OF MEDICAL

MARIJUANA.’ That one feelsespecially perplexing. ‘NODOGS.’Shelooksovertoseealine

of homeless people sittingwith their backs up against alow wall. Looking at her.They’re all young. Not asyoung as Carly, but youngenough.Shewondersifshe’s

just a step abovewhere theyarerightnow.Orifeventhatisflatteringherself.She looks over her

shoulderatthebusdriver,buthe’sgone.She hears cars going by

behindherback.Fast.Notallthat regularly. Not constanttraffic. But she can hear thehighwayfromhere.Sheturnsaround.

Behind her and across thelittle street is a brick wall,twoorthreefeethigh,withachain-linkfenceaboveit.Butit’s not a high fence.Maybefivefeet.Andnothingontoptomakeithardtoscale.Justahorizontal wire to keep itfrom sagging. If someoneclimbsit.She doesn’t even hang up

thephone.Justletsitdrop.

Shelooksaroundonemoretime,avoidingtheeyesofthehomelessgroup.Thensherunsforthefence

and scales it in four bigmovements.Her body is stillsore, and it screams pain atevery move, but Carly justabsorbs that. Doesn’t let itstopher.Doesn’tletitchangeathing.She drops down into the

weedson the shoulderof the

highway. It’s two lanes ineach direction, with a widegrass –well, weed –mediandown the center. Not verywell-lighted, unless a car iscoming by. And when onedoes, Carly ducks into theweedsandcrouchesdown.Incase it’s the police or theHighwayPatrol.It’sprobablyillegal to walk on thefreeway.

She sets off in the onlydirection she can go withoutcrossingthefourlanes.She doesn’t even know if

she’s headed north or south.But in a few minutes shecomes to a signmarking thisthe101South.So shehas tocross the highway and startover in the other direction.There are no cars cominganyway.

It’scold.Surprisinglycold.And foggy. The longer shewalks,thefoggieritgets.Andshestillcan’tseetheocean.Itcould be right there, rightbelowherandoff to the left.She’d never know it. Hervisibilityhasbeencuttonearnothing. The world is blackuntilacarcomesalong.Thenit’swhite.But none of that matters.

It’s only sixteen miles to

Trinidad. And if there’s onethingCarlyknowshowtodo,it’s walk. Sixteen miles isnothing.Walking all night isnothing.At least it’s the final

stretch.Atlonglast.

Awindcomesup.It’sawindunlike any Carly canremember. At least, fromsuch an exposed position asoutdoors, facing right into its

wrath.Itfeelslikeaminiaturehurricane.Carly finds herself leaning

forward to push harderagainst it. She needs to, justto keep moving. She mightactually move backward ifshestoppedpushingsohard.Thefogisevenmoredense

now, making her feel asthough the world hasdisappeared, leaving nothingbut a windy, white outer

space. Thewind iswhippingfog mist into her face. Herface is wet. Her hair is wet.Herjacketissoakingthrough.Gradually,butit’swettinghertotheskin.Shecanfeelwaterdripping off the feather anddownherbelly.It’scold.Reallycold.Her eyelashes are thick

with moisture, and it hurtswhenthewindwhipsdroplets

into her eyes. It’s gettinghardertokeepthemopen.Carly reaches an abutment

for an overpass, and standsbehind the concrete structureforaminuteor two,blinkingand catching her breath. Ittakessomuchenergytowalkinto the wind, she feels likeshe’s climbing a mountain.She wants to stay here, hidehere, and be safe from thefury.Butshe’sprobablyonly

thirteen or fourteen milesfromTrinidad.She didn’t come all this

way to let a big wind stopher. She didn’t come all thiswaytoletanythingstopher.She thinks about Jen.

Wonders if she’s fast asleepin the trailer, or even in theold woman’s house. If she’ssleeping with a smile on herface.Orifshe’snotthereany

more at all. That remindsCarlythatshe’dbetterhurry.She steps back into the

wind and whipping fogdrizzleandwalksmoremilesin that misery. She could beanywhere for all she knows.Shecouldbenowhere.Shecan’tevenprove fora

factthatthisisplanetEarth.In time, the road angles

steeply uphill. A long,relentless, painful gradewith

nothing but redwood forestoneitherside.Butatleastshecan see something besides awhitecurtain.Shecanbarelymakeouttrees.Buttheylookmore like the ghosts of treesinallthatfog.Still she plows on, sheer

stubbornness replacing hernormal energy. Nothing canhold her back. And yet itseems as though the wholeworldisconspiringtotry.It’s

holdingherbackwith all theforceitcanpossiblymuster.As if somehow dreaming

on her feet, she sees Alvin’sface very clearly andsuddenlyinhermind.Andhespeakstoher.Or,atleast,hermind speaks to her. InAlvin’svoice.‘Face it, Carly girl. You

lostthattailwind.’‘That was bullshit,’ she

says. Out loud. The wind

snatching her words away.‘Thatwasstupid toact like Ican know right from wrongbyhowlongittakestogettoit.’‘But you liked that theory

fine,’ he says, ‘when it wasgoingyourway.’That knocks Carly fully

backintothemoment.She rests again behind the

abutmentofanotheroverpass.Shivering and cold, and

holding back tears offrustration, she pulls theremnantsofLois’sbag lunchout of her backpack and eatsthe other half of her chickensaladsandwich.Thenshestepsoutintothe

wind and fog and keepswalking.Something dawns on her

suddenly. It’s just a feeling.She never really matches itwith words. But … all the

grown-upswhoactedlikesheshouldn’tbeout in theworldon her own… that she wastooyoung…thatshewastoosmall and the world was toobig. All of a sudden it feelsliketheywereright.

The wind has mostly diedwhen she sees the exit forTrinidad. The fog is just asthick, though,soshe’snearlyontopofthesignbythetime

sheseesit.Herwholebodyisshaking fromexertion.But itreallydoesn’tmatternow.Dawn is somewhere

nearby. It’s hard to track itthroughsomuchfog.Butit’sdefinitelygettinglighter.She walks down the

shoulder of the exit andfollows a sign towardTrinidad State Beach.Somewhereinthebackofherhead she knows she saw a

sign that told the populationof Trinidad, and it was only311.But she can’t rememberhowlongagoshesawthat,orwhere.Howhardcan itbe to find

apersonamong311?She walks down a curvy

little street, through a townthatfeelstoosmalltobereal.The blank whiteness thatmasks each building untilshe’snearlyrightontopofit

only adds to that other-worldlyfeeling.She passes the Trinidad

Trailer Court, where hugeAmerican flags blow in thewind. Please don’t let Teddylive in the trailer court, shethinks. Shewants to see himin a big house looking outover the ocean. But then sheremembers he’s not evenworking.

Whatifhelefttowntofindajob?Shepresseshermindback

to the moment. She can’tafford panic now. She’s …well,she’shere.Butwhereishere?Howdoesithelphertobe here?When does she gettostop?What’sshesupposedtodonext?She comes around a curve

in the road, and passes anelementary school. It has a

play yard, and Carly stops aminute and looks across theparking lot and through thefence.PicturesJenplayinginthatyard.Allbyherself.Tooclearly, really. Almost asclearly as she pictured Alvinon the highway. As thoughshe’s lost some grasp ofwhat’sstillreal.She turns her face away

again. Passes a tiny librarythat seems also to be the

police station. Out front arestatues of a mermaid and adolphin surfing on individualmetalwaves,sidebyside.She passes a bright red

volunteer fire station. Reallybright.Whatshedoesnotpassare

people. It’s early, and thetownisdeserted.Likeaghosttown or a movie set. JustbuildingsandCarlyandfog.

It’s getting light fast now,andshelooksuptotheendofthe street, and sees whatlooks like the top of alighthouse. A whitelighthousewitharedroof.Shestopscold,andlistens,

realizing she can hear theocean. It’s not crashing,exactly. It sounds more likeit’sbreathing.Drawinginandout.Shebreaksintoarun.

Attheendofthestreet,shestandsat the topof the stairsthat lead down to thelighthouse.The ocean is stretched out

beneath her.Maybe 150 feetbelow this sudden cliff. Asleepy bay. Dozens of boatsfloatdownthere,anchoredinthe fog. Rocks jut up out ofthe water, like roughpyramids.Some the sizeofabus.Somethesizeofahouse.

Somethesizeofanapartmenthouse. There’s a dull, distantbellclanging.Itseemstoringintimewiththeswell.Carly pulls in a sharp

breath, then presses her eyesshut.Please,shesaysinherown

mind. Please let it still bethere when I open my eyes.Shecan’thelpfeelingit’stoobreathtaking to be real. Andyet shecan’tbelieve that her

imagination could havecreatedit,either.Sheopenshereyes.It’sall

stillthere.She sits on a bench for a

while, watching the scenegrow lighter. The bench iswetandcold.Butsoisshe,soitdoesn’tseemtomatter.It’smorning.She’swalked

all night and she needs tosleep.

She thinks about getting aroomwithhereightydollars.But maybe she should savethat for more of anemergency.Anyway,firstshewantstowalkdownthepath,through the manicured littlepark surrounding thelighthouse. See what morethereistosee.She finds a long, steep

stairway down to the beach.It’s made with pieces of

railroad tie, and lined withgreen berry vines and trees.She takes it almost all thewaytothebottom.Before the last setof steps

downtothebeach,shestops.Shecanhear seagulls crying,that same bell clangingsomewhere, thebreathof thebay.Shecanseesomekindofdock or pier far off to herright,butshecan’tseeitwellinallthisfog.Shecouldstep

down on to the beach, butthen what? You can walk tooneend,thenyoucanwalktothe other. But when you’vespent the night walkingsixteen miles in a smallhurricane, taking a walk onthe beach doesn’t sound allthatappealing.Shejustwantsto sleep somewhere. Whereshe’ll be left alone. Whereshewon’tbeseen.

Shelookstoherright,and,without even thinking it out,divesintotheberryvinesandheavyunderstory.Tinythornsscratch her hands and face,snag her hair, grab on to herjacket. But she just movesthem aside as best she canand keeps going. The thornsjustmeannooneelsewillbebrave enough to tramp intothesamespot.

She curls up in the dampfoliage,andrestsherheadonherbackpack,listeningtothegulls,andthebreathingoftheswell.A couple ofminutes later,

she’sfastasleep.

When she wakes, the fog isgone. The sky is blue. Shecanseesnatchesofitthroughthetreesandberryvines.Shelooks west, at the sunlight

glinting off the ocean in along,sparklyband.Thesun’salready on a pretty goodslant.Whichmeans she sleptmostoftheday.Sheclawsherwaybackto

the stairs, scratching herselfupfurtheronthethorns.As she emerges from the

foliage, she startles a youngmotherwith a little boy.Thewoman draws in a sharpbreath, and yanks the child

closer to her side. Then shehurriesherselfandtheboyupthe stairs double-time,glancingoverhershoulderatCarly.Twice.Carly can’t help but feel

offended.Atfirstsheassumesshe just startled the womanby appearing suddenly andunexpectedly, and that wasunderstandable. Buteverything after that seemslikeoverkill.

Sheeasesherwayupafewstairs.The woman with the little

boy needn’t have worried.The sixteen miles Carlywalked,uphillandagainstthewind, have taken a toll. Hermuscles have stiffened now,and feel barely useable. It’snotsobadwheretherailroadties are set close together,creatingshortrisers.Butnowandthenthere’sabigstepup.

Carly can’t make those bigsteps without easing her legup with the help of bothhands. She also can’t do itwithout letting out a littlewhimperofpaineachtime.When she gets back up to

the tiny park around thelighthouse, she isn’t surewhat to do next. She figuresshe should go into a fewbusinesses and ask aboutTeddy. Find someone who

knows him. But – after thatexperience with the motheron the stairs – she decidesshe’d better find a publicrestroomandgetagoodlookatherselffirst.

It’sprettyshocking.Carly stands in the gas-

station bathroom, leaning onthe sink. Just staring at herownreflectioninthemirror.

Her chin is a mass ofblackenedscabs.Hersunburnblisters have left a line ofscarsacrossherforeheadandnose.Sheknewthat.Butthenthere are the scratches. Theydidn’t seem likemuch at thetime. But she has maybethirty scratches on her face,and they’re red with blood.And, even worse, they’vebecomeswollen.Andherhairlooks almost like dreadlocks,

it’ssotangled.Shereachesupandpullsa

few stray bits of berry vineoutofherhair.Then she decides staring

won’thelp.She washes her hands and

face. She pulls the hairbrushoutofherpackandworksthetanglesoutasbestshecan.Itpulls, and she loses a lot ofhair. But it has to be done.Shelooksinthemirroragain.

It’s not much progress. Butthere’s nothingmore she cando. The rest is notimmediatelyfixable.

‘You knowTeddy Thacker?’sheaskstheclerk.She’s at the check-out

station in the only market intown – at least, the only oneshe’s seen so far – holding asmallbottleoforangejuice.

Theyoungwomantipsherhead, like a dog hearing anoiseitcan’tunderstand.‘Teddy Thacker.No, can’t

say as I do. He supposed tolivehere?’‘Yeah, he lives here. He

hasafriendnamedLinda.’‘LindaLitnipski?’‘I…Idon’tknowher last

name.’‘I know Linda Litnipski.

But I didn’t think she was

seeing anybody.’ She cranesher neck to yell to a guy intheproduceaisle.‘Hey,Kurt.Is Linda Litnipski seeingsomebodythesedays?’‘I heard she was, yeah.

Somebody told me a monthor two ago she had a newboyfriend. But I haven’t methim.’‘WashisnameTeddy?’‘Ineverknewhisname.’

‘Sorry,kid,’theclerksays.‘Say,how’dyour faceget soscratchedup?AreyouOK?’Carly doesn’t answer. Just

slides the bottle of orangejuice closer to the woman,whotakesthehintandringsitup.Carlypaysherinquarters.It feels good to get rid ofsomeof thosequarters.Theyfeel like lead weights in herpockets.

On her way out the door,shefeelsahandslapdownonher shoulder. She spinsdefensively.It’stheguyfromproduce.‘If you’re looking for

Linda and her boyfriend, goby the Whale Tail Loungetonight.’‘Howdoyouknow they’ll

betheretonight?’‘Well … Linda’s there

every other night of her life.

Can’t seewhy tonightwouldbeanydifferent.’

CarlywalkstotheWhaleTailLounge. Even though it isn’tnearly night. It’s out onPatrick’s Point Road, a longpaved road lined with giantredwood trees. She can heartheoceanbreathingofftoherleft.First it seems there’s

nothingoutonthisroadatall,

except trees. But now andthen she passes hiddendriveways, usually withclosed gates. And there aretrailer parks here and there,and cottages and inns. Theysurprise her a little everytime. Because her eyes keepconvincing her there’snothingherebutforest.She walks nearly a mile

before realizing it’s a longwalktothisplace.Shewishes

she’d waited in town until itwas later. They probablywon’tevenletherin,ifit’sabar. She’ll have to walk allthe way back to town to getsomething toeat.Thenshe’llhave to walk back to theWhaleTailagaintonight.Butshe has no idea what hourconstitutes ‘tonight’. Shedoesn’tevenknowwhattimeitis.

In another half amile, shefinds it. The Whale TailCottages,withtheWhaleTailLoungeattached.She looks at the menu

posted in the window, andrealizes two things. Thatshe’s very hungry. And thatit’s a restaurant that servesdrinks, not just a bar.So shecanprobablygoin.Actually,threethings.

Shelooksatthepricesandrealizes she can’t justifyeatinghere.Shewalksallthewayback

totown.

‘Is it always this windyaround here?’ she asks herwaiter.He’s about twenty, with a

face so gentle she wants tosink into his eyes and never

come out into the worldagain.‘Does this seem windy to

you?’‘No,notnow. Imeant last

night. Well, this morning,early.’‘Itwasn’t anymorewindy

thanusuallastnight.’‘Wow. So that’s, like, an

everyday thing? It felt like ahurricanetome.’‘Righthereintown?’

‘Well. No. I was walkingup from Arcata last night.AndthewindwassostrongIcouldhardlywalkinit.’‘Hmm. We didn’t really

get it so much up here. Imean, that Iknowof.MaybeIsleptrightthroughit.’Thenhemovesoffwithher

order. A bowl of clamchowder and a glass of icedtea.Shepromisedherselfshewouldn’tspendmorethanthe

quarters in her pocket wouldcover.Whilehe’sgone,shelooks

outattheocean.Thebay.Shecanseeitfromhere.Thecaféisn’t exactly poised on theedge of the cliff, but if shelooks across the street at theright angle, she can see asliver of water between thecliff and the horizon. It feelsgoodtobeindoors.Toseetheocean without the wind and

the fog and the coldpunishing her while shewatches.What do people do when

they’re homeless? shewonders. Do they ever getused to that? Could she evergetused tohavingnoway toget indoors, out of theelements?Her stomach ices over in

fear, bordering on panic, andatfirstshedoesn’tknowwhy.

Thenitbreaksthrough.She’sabout to find out if she’shomeless or not.Not even ifsheandJenarehomeless.Jenseemstohavefoundahome.Carlyseemstobetheoneoutintheworldalone.The waiter comes back

withhersoup.‘Iaskedthecook,’hesays.

‘Because he drives up fromEureka every morning early.He said there was sort of a

microburst. This little windevent, and then a couplemiles later it was gone.Weather is like thatsometimes. You can havetheselittlemicroclimates.Tenmiles away it’s all still. Oh.And by the way. He doesn’tknowTeddy,either.Butsincehe lives in Eureka … youknow…’‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Well …

thanks for asking him,

anyway. I never heard of amicroburst. Or amicroclimate. But anyway,I’m glad that’s not what it’slike here usually. BecauseI’mhopingI’llbelivingheresoon.’‘I hope that works out for

you,’ he says, and fills herglasswithicedtea.Her stomach clamps tight

andthenfreezesupagain.

She thinks, Yeah. I hopethatworksoutforme,too.She sits for hours, staring

at theoceanandnursingicedteaaftericedtea.Becauseshehas no place else to go. Thewaiter keeps coming by andfillingupherglass,andwhenshe apologizes for taking upthe table, he assures her thatit’s fine, because they’re notbusyatall.

It means a great deal toCarly to have someplace shefeels welcome. The fact thatit’s just a cheap, touristyseafood café is not the bestpartofthatfeeling.

Carly doesn’t know exactlywhat timeit iswhenshegetsback to the Whale Tail, butshe figures it’s too early. Ifshehadtoguess,she’dsayitwas seven or seven thirty.

WhatifthisLinda–shecan’tbringherselftothink‘Teddy’somehow – doesn’t come totheloungeuntilnine?Orten?Orlater?Or…atall.She doesn’t think she can

go in, because she doesn’twant to waste moneyordering anything. She’llhavetofindaplaceoutsidetositwhereshecanseethefrontdoor.

But first, she sticks herheadinside.Then she takes two steps

in.Thebararea ison the left,

but the angle of the line ofpatrons sitting at the barblocks her view of most ofthe faces. So shewalks rightinto the bar area for a betterlook.She’sbustedimmediately.

A waiter taps her on theshoulder and says, ‘Excuseme, miss. You have to betwenty-onetobeinthebar.’But she doesn’t answer

him. Because there, in themirror behind the bartender,is the perfect reflection ofTeddy’s face. She squeezesher eyes closed, theway shedid when she first sawTrinidad Bay. When she

opens them, Teddy’sreflectionisstillthere.She opens her mouth to

callout tohim.Shewants tosay, ‘Oh, my God, do youhave any idea how far I’vecome to find you? Do youhave any idea how manytimes I’ve watched thismoment play out in myhead?’The waiter taps her

shoulder again, but she

ignoresit.ShecallsouttoTeddy.But

all thatcomesout is just thatoneword.‘Teddy!’It’s much too loud. Every

diner,everybarpatron,stopstalking and turns to look ather.‘Miss,I’mgoingtohaveto

ask you to leave,’ the waitersays.‘IjusthavetoseeTeddy.’

And then, Teddy is there.Toweringoverher.‘Carly?’ he asks. Like it

might or might not be her.Like shemight be some sortof cunning Carly imposter,senttotrickhim.She throws her arms

around his chest and holdshim so tightly he makes awheezingnoise.‘Carly, what’re you doing

here?’

But she can’t make wordshappen. She can’t even openhermouth.‘Ted,whatthehellisthis?’

awoman’svoicesays.Carlydoesn’thave to look

up to know she’s about tomeetLindaLitnipski.The waiter is getting less

patient. Carly can hear it inhisvoice.‘Takethisoutside,Ted,’he

says,‘whateveritis.’

Teddy peels Carly off andleads her outside. Back outinto the misty cold air. Howcan anyplace be cold in lateMay? It’s a thought out ofcontext, but it’s what shethinks.Linda Litnipski follows.

She’sblonde,maybeastallasTeddy, or taller. Built solid.With a long, horsey, notparticularlyattractiveface.

‘You better startexplaining,Ted,’shesays.‘It’snothing,’Teddysays.The two words hit Carly

likeatorpedo.It makes her think of

Delores Watakobie, tellingthose little Wakapi girls thesame thing about Carly. ‘It’snothing.’ Or … maybeDeloressaid‘Itdon’tmatter.’But the feeling is the same.She can even see a flash of

the old woman’s face. Tooclearly. Like Alvin on thefreeway.Like Jenplayingonthe monkey bars at theTrinidadElementarySchool.‘What kind of nothing,

exactly?’Lindademands.‘Just the daughter of a

woman I used to know. It’snot what you’re thinking,Linda.Iswear.’‘Well, what’s she doing

here,then?’

‘Here’s a thought,’ Teddysays. ‘Let’s ask her. Carly,what are you doing here?Where’syourmom?’‘She’sgone,Teddy.’‘She took off and left you

guys?’‘Shedied.’A long silence. One even

Linda Litnipski doesn’t darefill.‘Shedied?’

‘She went out for a drivewith that idiot. Wade. Andnowshe’sdead.’Anotherlongsilence.Carly

canfeelthefogcreepingintoherjointsandbonemarrow.‘God,I’msorry,Carly.’‘But…’Lindasays.‘But …’ Teddy says. ‘…

whatareyoudoinghere?’‘Icametofindyou.’‘Me?Whyme?’

‘Whyyou?Teddy.Ihadtofind somebody. Who elsecould I find?Who else do Ievenhavetofind?’Carly hearswaves land on

the rocks in the silence thatfollows. Something isforming in her gut, againsther will. A clear sensationthat this is not how themomentwassupposedtoplayout.

Linda Litnipski is the oneto break the silence. ‘If youthink for oneminute this kidiscomingintomyhouse,TedThacker, you got anotherthing coming. Tell me youknow better than to think athinglikethat.’‘Would you just chill a

minute? We’ll get hersomeplacetostay.’‘Yeah? With whose

money? I don’t see you

bringinganythingin.’Carly watches them, and

listens to them, and thinks,Why would Teddy be withsomebody like that? Then ithits her. Carly’s mother wassomebody like that. Carly’smother treated Teddy justabout like this. Not quite asharsh. But somewhere in thesameneighborhood.‘Ihavemoney,’Carlysays.

‘Icangetaroomfortonight.

Ihaveeightydollars.’‘Eighty dollars?’ Linda

says. Like she’s sneezing onsomething that belongs toCarly. Like she’s sayingtwenty cents. ‘You’re on theocean, kiddo. You can’t getmuchforeightydollars.’‘Now, wait,’ Teddy says.

‘Wait. Let’s just go to thecheapest place we can findandseewhattheycharge.’

‘And who makes up thedifference?’‘Stop!’Carlyshouts.Everybody does.

Everything stops. It makesher feel braver. So she goeson.‘Stoptalkingaboutmelike

I’m not here. Stop arguingover me. Fuck it. Fuck this.I’ll be fine on my own. Juststay out of it. But I need totalktoTeddy.I’mnotleaving

town without talking toTeddy.’Carly waits for something

to happen. Nothing happens.Shereallystoppedthewomancold.SheneverdroppedanF-bomb before. It felt prettygood.‘Teddy,’ Carly says.

‘WhencanItalktoyou?’‘Come on, get in the car,’

he says. ‘We’ll find you aplacetostay.’

‘Mycar?’Lindaasks.Teddy sighs deeply. ‘Fine.

Notyourcar.Fine.Carly,canyou just sit tight and waitrighthere?I’mgoingtowalkhome and get my car. Andthenwe’llfindyouaplacetostay.’‘Takemycar,’Lindasays.

‘Who cares? I was justsaying.Iwasjustpointingoutthat you might want to askmypermissionfirst.’

Teddy sighs again. ‘Linda,mindifIuseyourcar?’She fishes around in her

purseandthentosseshimthekeys. It’s a wild, drunkenthrow.Theylandinthedirtafewfeetaway.Thensheturnson one high-heeled redcowboybootandteetersbackintothelounge.Carly looks at Teddy and

Teddy looks at her. She seesthe beginnings of a smile

form around his mouth, andin the crinkly places at thecorners of his eyes. But it’sanunbearablysadsmile.‘Thisisreallyoffthewall,’

hesays.‘Thisisreallyoutofnowhere.’What she thinks is, It

wouldn’t be. If you had toldme where you landed. Likeyoupromisedyouwould.What she says is, ‘Sorry. I

didn’t know where else to

go.’Teddyretrievesthekeys.‘Jocelyndied?’‘I wouldn’t make a thing

likethatup.’‘I know. I didn’t mean it

likethat.It’sjusthardtotakein.’‘Tell me about it. I think

thatassholekilledher.’‘Youtellthepolicethis?’‘No.What’s thepoint?He

killed himself, too. Too late

toputhimin jaileven if I’mright. Drove them both off acliff. Only question iswhetherhediditonpurpose.Iguesswe’llneverknow.Butshe was leaving him. So Ithink he did it on purpose. Ican’tproveit.Butthat’swhatIthink.’‘Jesus,’Teddysays.Heputsanarmaroundher

shoulderandleadsherovertoLinda’s car. It’s an old

vintage Jaguar XKE,perfectly restored. She hasmoney.Lindahasmoney.Heopens thedoor forher,

andsheplunksintothedeep,lowbucketseat.‘Ow,’shesays,asherthigh

muscleshavetotrytosupportherweight.Teddy walks around and

gets in. But he doesn’t starttheengine.He justsits there,

both hands on the steeringwheel.‘Jocelynalwaysdidhavea

broken picker. Everybodysaidso.’‘Shepickedyou.’‘I rest my case.’ A long

pause.Thenhe looks over atCarly. Studies her. ‘Whathappenedtoyourface?’‘Whichpartofit?’‘I don’t know. Start

anywhere.’

‘Well. The scrape on mychinwas fromwhen I tookaheader into some graveljumping off a freight train.The sunburn blister scars arefromwalking halfway acrossArizona without a hat afterweranoutofsunscreen.Andthe scratches are from someberry vines where I sleptlast.’Teddy sits anotherminute,

thenstartstheengine.Ithasa

beefysound,asortofgrowlyrumble.Hedoesnotappeartowant

to address anything she justsaid.‘IapologizeforLinda.She

has this thing about thehouse.She’svery…private.Doesn’t like anybody in thehouse. Or even near thehouse.And she’s a little gunshyonthesubjectofmyexes.

But she’s not as bad as shecameoffbackthere.’‘Didn’t figure she could

be,’Carlysays.She’s gone beyond the

needtobepolite.It’sarelief.Hepullsoutoftheparking

lot and heads out Patrick’sPointRoad,awayfromtown.‘There’saplacedownhere

that has good rates. If it’smore than what you’ve got,I’ll cover the difference.Not

thatit’sreallymymoney,butI’ll take the heat for that.She’s going out of towntomorrow morning. So I’llcome by where you’restayingandwe’lltalk.OK?’‘Yeah.Iguess.’She’s just too tired now.

As if she’s been hanging onto one skinny vine to keepfrom plummeting off a cliff.But she’s been hanging ontoo long. It’s worth the fall

justtoletgo.Itfeelsgoodtolet go. She really couldn’thave held on even a minutelonger. Everybody has abreaking point. Especially ifyou’regoingtofallsoonerorlateranyway.‘Ifitwasmyhouse,it’dbe

a whole different story. I’mreally sorry,Carly. If itwerejust me, what’s mine wouldbeyours.Hell,what’smineisyours. Only trouble is, that’s

pretty much nothing. Butwe’ll talk tomorrow, Ipromise. I’ll come by firstthing. I don’t know what Icandotohelp,but if Ican,Iwill.OK?’‘Why can’t we talk

tonight?’‘Please,Carly.Waittillshe

goes out of town. If I don’tget right back there, I won’tgetamoment’speacetonight.I’llcomebyinthemorning.’

He pulls into the gravelparking lot of the RedwoodInn.Thesignsays,‘Bestratesin town.’ It also says,‘Vacancy.’Teddywalkswith her into

theoffice.An old man with just a

fringeofhairlooksupfromaloudTVshow.‘Hey,Ted,’hesays.‘What’s thecheapest room

youcangivemyyoungfriend

here?’‘Well,seeingasit’syou…

that’ll only be forty dollarsextra. No, I’m kidding.Eighty-five,andthat’salittlebetter than ten per centdiscount.’‘She’lltakeit.’Carly tries to go into her

pocket for the cash, butTeddy grabs her wrist andholdsitstill.

‘You hang on to that,’ hesays.‘Incaseyouneeditlateron.’He pulls a credit card out

ofhiswalletandpaysfortheroom.Carly’s heart goes in two

distinct directions at once.Teddy is taking over, takingcareofthings.Likesheknewhe would. That’s onedirection.Butthenthere’stheother direction. The one

wherehe’s tellingher all herproblems won’t be solvedafter tonight.Which shewasprettyclearonalready.Hepullsher intohisarms,

and she buries her face inhim.Wraps her arms aroundhim and holds on tight, hereyespressedclosed.Breathesin that warmth. It’s beenawayforsolong.Orshehas.Orboth.

‘I’ll comeby first thing inthe morning. I promise. Ihavetogetbacknow.Butassoonassheleavestomorrow,I’llcomestraighthere.’He kisses the top of her

head. Pressing his lips downhard and leaving them for alongmoment.Carly can feel the imprint

of them long after he walksoutthedoor.

Carly takes a long, hot bathand washes out her dirtyclothesinthesink.Herroomissmall,butnice

enough. She can’t see theocean, but she can hear it.Even with the doors and thewindows closed.But she canhear itmuchbetter ifshesitsoutonherlittlescrapofpatio.So she wraps herself up inbothblankets– theone fromthebedandtheoneshefinds

foldedinthecloset–andsitsoutsideformostofthenight.It’s too foggy to see the

moon,but she can seewhereit is in the sky, because thefogisbrighterrightthere.She doesn’t sleep much,

and she doesn’t think much.Nomorethanshecanhelp.She does have two clear

thoughts, though. At about 3a.m. it occurs to her that

TeddyneveraskedwhereJenis.That kicks off another

thought. It’s not completelynew. It flitted through hermindwhenshechosetokeephangingontothebackofthatfreight train and not go backto Jen. But it’s been held atbay for sucha long time thatit almost strikes her assomethingunfamiliar.

The original plan was towalk off the Wakapireservation, down that pavedroadfromDelores’sdirtroadallthewaytotheI-40.Andtomake a careful note of thatintersection. So she couldfind the road back again.Instead she jumped a freighttraininthepitchdark.NowCarly’snotevensure

she knows where Jen isherself.

Trinidad,CA,21May

Carlyliesdownonthebedatabout seven in the morning,and falls asleep withoutmeaningto.At ten after eight, the

phoneblastsheroutofsleep.

She sits bolt upright, herheartpounding.Ittakesheraminute to remember what aphone is. What she’ssupposedtodowithit.Whileshe’ssortingthisout, it ringsagain, making her jump asecond time. It’s a loud ring.Loud noises spell trouble inCarly’s mind. Like sirens.Likethewaythepoliceknockon somebody’s door whennobody’s going to like what

happensnext.She picks it up. Doesn’t

even speak into it, becauseshe’sthatunsure.She hears an unsteady,

‘Hello?’‘Oh.Teddy.It’syou.’‘DidIwakeyouup?’‘Maybe.Idon’tknow.’‘Look. Curveball, kiddo.

Just as she’swalking out thedoor, she tells me we’reexpecting a very important

deliveryandIhavetobehereto take it. It’s reallyimportant. If I miss it, shewon’t justkillme.She’llkillme, skin the corpse, and setmyentrailson fire.And let’sjust hope it would be in thatorder.’Carly rubs her eyes. As if

thatwillhelp.‘You’renotcoming?’Before she can even say,

‘You promised,’ Teddy

intervenes.But shedefinitelywouldhavesaidthat.Givenalittlemoretime.‘I know, I know. I

promised.Sohere’swhatI’mgoingtodo.I’mgoingtotakemylifeintomyhandsandletyou come here to the house.But don’t ever tell her. Anddon’t drop anything or leavefingerprints or look aroundtoomuch,or…’‘CanIbreathe?’

Silence.‘Iknowthisishard,Carly,

butworkwithmehere.Helpusgetthroughthis.’‘Why do you always end

upwithwomenwhopushyouaround?’The silence feels prickly.

Butshe’snotsorryshesaidit.Notatall.‘You’re not supposed to

askquestionslikethat.’‘Whynot?’

‘Because grown-ups don’tknowtheanswers.Look.Canyou walk down here? It’saboutathirdofamile.’‘Gosh. I don’t know. A

third of a mile. That’s anawfullongwalk.’‘OK,fine,butstandouton

theroad—’‘Teddy.Iwaskidding.’‘Oh. Right. I forgot. You

walked halfway acrossArizona. I guesswe’ll get to

that part when we talk. So,just … gather up your stuff—’‘Thatshouldn’ttakelong.’‘… and walk out to the

road and make a left, awayfrom town. I’ll stand out inthe road. You’ll see me. Ifanybodyfromtownisoutandaround we might have toabort themissionandtrythislater.’‘OK.’

Shestaresat thephonefora moment, wondering if sheshouldsaygoodbye.Thensheputsitbacktoherear.Teddyisalreadygone.

It’s likeadream.A little toomuchlikeone.In a dream, she’d see

Teddystandinginthemiddleof the road in an impossiblygreen forest of perfect, gianttrees.Andofcourseshe’dbe

walking. Because when youwalkfifteenortwentymilesaday, you dream aboutwalking. And he’d seem toofar away for too long, likeCarly just couldn’t makeenoughprogresstoreachhim.In a dream, something

would happen before she gottohim.He’ddisappear,orthescene would changesuddenly.

Apparently, this is not adream. Because Carly walksright up to him, and looksinto his face. He averts hiseyes. Then he looks allaround and rushes herthrough the gate, locking itbehindthem.Carly takes in the

surroundings.It’son theoceanside. Just

like shewashoping itwouldbe.Butthenshewonderswhy

it matters. Since apparentlyshe doesn’t get to live hereanyway.It was a nice house, once

upon a time. Natural brownwood shingles to blend inwith the redwoods. Perchedright on the cliff. But it’s inbad repair. And there’s junkeverywhere. Old mattressesand a couch rotting outside,and bed frames andsomething under a blue tarp.

And a tractor. Why wouldanyoneneeda tractoron thislittle lot? And old fencing.Why don’t people just throwawaytheirfencingwhentheytearitdown?TheclassicJaguarissitting

in front of the garage, alongwith a newer Mercedes andTeddy’sFirebird.‘This could be a nice

house,’ Carly says. ‘Whydoesn’tshecleanitup?’

‘You’d have to ask her.But don’t.Becauseyouwereneverhere.’‘Why don’t you clean it

up?’‘She would not appreciate

that. She doesn’t like peopletouchingherstuff.’‘It’strash.’‘She doesn’t like people

touchinghertrash.Nowcomeon inside. We can still be

seenfromthegateifwestandhere.’Heopensthefrontdoor.It’s a little better inside.

The furniture is a bit run-down.Acoffeetableinfrontofthesaggycouchiscoveredwith eleven beer bottles.Carlywondersbrieflywhyhedidn’t just sweep them offinto the recycling bin beforeshegothere.

Then her eyes are drawnout through the big picturewindow.It’sspottedwithseaspray,soshewalkscloser,asif that will help her seethrough. Below her is anocean not unlike the one shesawwhenshefirstcame intotown. Except without theboats anchored. Rocks thesizeofbuildings,withwavesfoaming around their bases.Onerockissobigithastrees

onitscrown,likeanisland.Carly can’t take her eyes

offthescene.Then she sees an old car

fender on the cliff, marringher view. And she wondersagain how people live likethat,andwhy.Ifthiswasherhouse,she’dcleanitupright.Andwashthewindows.Shereachesoutandalmost

touchesthetipsofherfingersto the glass. Then she

remembers Teddy telling hernot to leave fingerprints.Maybe he was kidding. Orhalf-kidding. Then again,maybenot.Sheshovesherhandsdeep

intoherpockets.‘What did she go out of

town in?’ she asks, stilllookingatthesea.Stilltryingnottolookatthejunkfender.‘Hercarishere.’‘Shehasthreecars.’

‘Why doesn’t she keepthem in the garage? They’resoexpensive.’‘Because…thereareother

valuablethingsinthegarage.Look,thisiswhyshedoesn’tlike people around. I’ll levelwith you. She has somethings in this house that areworth money. That’s whyshe’s so weird about havingpeoplearound.’

‘She thinks I’ll steal fromher?’‘No. I mean, she doesn’t

know.Shedoesn’tknowyou.But she doesn’t thinkeverybody’llsteal.Shethinkseverybody’ll talk. And then,sooner or later, somebody’llsteal.’Carlylistenstothesurf, in

the pause, when there’snothing else to listen to. Shelooks around at Teddy. He’s

sitting on the saggy couch,facedawayfromher.Shecanseethetopofthebackofhishead. That bald spot looks alotbigger.Ormaybe it’s justthat he’s keeping his hairshorternow.‘Wheredidshegetahouse

likethis?Wheredoesshegetallhermoney?Whatdoesshedo?’‘That’s an awful lot of

questions,Carly.’

‘Justthree.’‘That’sanawfullot.’‘Pickone,then.’‘Her father left it to her

whenhedied.’Maybe that explains why

she doesn’t take care of it.Maybe people only take careof things they had to workhard for. Maybe they don’ttakecareofthingsthatlandedintheirlifeforfree.

She looks over hershoulder atTeddy, just as hetakes a long swallow from ahalf-emptybottleofbeer.‘If you had a house like

this,wouldyouleaveittoJenandmewhenyoudied?’‘You’reforgettingIhavea

daughter.’‘Oh. Right. I did forget

that.Butyouneverseeher.’‘But she’s still my

daughter. Linda’s father

hadn’tseenhersinceshewassix. But she was still hisdaughter. There’s somethingaboutblood.Itlastsforever.’Carly watches out the

windowinsilence,feelingthetrajectory of those sentencesas they settle into a place inher gut. Like bad food.Something that will need tocomeupandoutlater.Soshecan keep moving. Keepliving.

‘That’s a pretty clearmessage,’shesays.Nothing is what she

thought it was. Carly waswrong about everything.Clearly. Everything. She’sactually known that for awhile. But up until thismoment she thought it waseverything except howmuchTeddy loved them. But shewaswrong.Itwaseverything.

Now Teddy is standingshouldertoshoulderwithheratthewindow,exceptforthefactthathisshoulderismuchhigher.‘If there was something I

coulddo,Iwould,’hesays.Butthat’snottrue.Because

she just asked him if hewould leave them a house ifhe could. And he said hewouldn’t.

‘WhatamIsupposedtodonow,Teddy?’‘Well. I don’t know.Oh. I

know.The statehasagenciesto help kids like you. Youknow.Fostercareandstuff.’‘Gosh, if only I’d thought

ofthat.’A long silence. The sound

ofthewavesistheonlygoodthingaboutit.Then Teddy says, ‘I don’t

know what you want from

me,Carly.’She doesn’t know, either,

any more. Until she hearsherselfsayit.‘Iwantyoutotellmewhat

happened that night.When Iwasawayupatthelake.AndI want you to tell me thetruth.’‘Yeah. Of course.

Absolutely, Iwill.Comeandsitdown.’

He sits back down on thecouch.Carly sits across fromhim in a stuffed wing chairwith the fabric worn smoothonitsarms.Shewants toseehis face.To judge forherselfifhe’stellingthetruth.Hepicksuphisbeerbefore

talking,anddrainsthelastofit. Half the bottle, from thelookofit.‘I’m just sick about that

whole thing,’ he says. ‘But I

appreciate that you want tohear my side. That youhaven’t made up your mindagainst me. It was a totalmisunderstanding, but I’mnotblamingJen.Jen’sagreatkid.It’snotherfault.Butshewas having a dream. That’sall. You were up at the lakeandyourmomwasatthebar,and it was just me and Jen.And she was asleep in herroom. But then I heard her

make these noises, like shewashavingabaddream.SoIwent in and sat on her bedandtriedtowakeherup.Iputmy hand on her cheek – Ithought I could wake her upgentle, you know? But sheopened her eyes and lookedright at me and screamed.Like she didn’t even knowme. The only thing I canfigure is that she was still

dreaming.Thenshewentoutthewindow.’Carly’s watching him the

whole time. To help herjudge.And it looks and feelslike the truth. She alreadyknew it, she realizes. Sheknewitallalong.Teddyisn’tlike that. He might beunfocused. And soft. But hewould never do a thing likethat.

‘I thought that was whathappened. I told Jen it wasprobablyadream.’‘I tried to tell your mom

my side of the story. But Ithink she wanted to believeJen,soshecouldleavemeforthatguy.’‘Why didn’t you tell me

whereyouwerewhenyougotsettled?’Teddygetsupandwanders

intothekitchen.Asthoughhe

didn’t hear the question. Oras though he’s chosen not toanswer.He comes back out with

another open bottle of beerandflopsdownhard.‘I thought you’d be better

offwithoutme,’hesays.BeforeCarly can open her

mouthtospeak,adistantbellrings. Something that soundslikeit’scomingfromtheroadoutfront.

‘That’s that delivery,’Teddy says. ‘Please don’tmove. Please just sit here.Don’t do anything. This isimportant.I’llberightback.’The minute he’s out the

front door, Carly walksthrough the house in thedirection of the garage.Looking to see if there’s adoor that opens into thegaragefromthehouse.Yeah,he told her not to. But now

shealmosthas to.Shehas tosee for herself what’s sovaluable that no one cancome near the place. Shepromises herself she won’ttalk about it. Whatever it is,shewon’t tell. If she doesn’tsteal, and she doesn’t tell,there’snoharmdone.She opens the door into a

linen closet, closes it again.Opens the door into a dirty

bathroom, with the toiletrunning.Closesthat,too.The third door opens into

thegarage.Carly squints at the

unexpectedbrightness.Strungfromtheceilingare

fixture after fixture of long,bright, full-spectrum growlights, gleaming down onabout two hundred youngmarijuanaplants.

Carly closes the dooragain. Leans her foreheadagainstit.Thatexplainssomuch,she

thinks.She leans there, eyes

pressedclosed,untilsuddenlyTeddy is back.Much soonerthansheexpected.She turns around and

absorbs the look on his face.Abjectpanic.

‘Carly,’ he hisses, barelyover a whisper. ‘You lookedinthegarage?’‘Don’tworry.Iwon’ttell.’‘We have a full-scale

disaster on our hands,’ hewhispers.‘I’m not going to tell,

Teddy.’‘There’sacopherelooking

foryou.’Thewordsareacattleprod

to her lower abdomen,

lightingherupwithapainfuljoltofelectricity.Leavingherunabletobreatheproperly.‘A cop? What’s a cop

doing here? How didanybodyknowIwashere?’‘Ihavenoidea,Carly.’‘Did you tell him I was

here?’‘No. I told him you

weren’t. But he flashed abadgeandinsistedoncomingin. He wants to look around

for you. So I decided you’rehereafterall.’‘I’llgoouttheback.’‘No!’ he says. Too loud.

Hewincesathisownvolume.‘No. Then he’ll search theplace. Get out there and seewhathewants.’‘Youknowwhathewants,

Teddy.He’sgoing toputmeinfostercare.’Teddy grabs her hard by

both shoulders. Looks

straightintohereyes.‘Honey,I’msorry.Butyou

weregoingthereanyway.’Just for a moment, Carly

hates him. It’s a strangefeeling.Athingtoofaroutofplacetobepossible.She yanks her shoulders

outofhisgrasp.Shetakesadeepbreathand

walks into the living room,her heart pounding so hard

shecanhearandfeelitinherears.There,inthemiddleofthe

room, is Alvin. Holding hishatinonehand.‘Alvin?’shesays.Alvin looks at Carly, then

at Teddy, over Carly’sshoulder.‘Thought you said she

wasn’there.’‘Yeah,’ Teddy says.

‘Funny story about that.

Turns out I just temporarilymisplacedher.’It’s clear by the look on

Alvin’s face that he doesn’tfind that story funny. HeturnshissearinggazebackonCarly.‘You look like you been

through a war. Thought Icouldtrustyoutostayput.’‘Iknow.I’msorry.’‘You have no idea how

worried I was about you.

Especially after I saw this.’He pulls a folded sheet ofpaper out of his shirt pocket.Waves it inherdirection.Asif she’ll instinctively knowwhat it is. ‘I was makinginquiriesallalong,youknow.To help you. Not to maketroubleforanybody.ToseeifIcouldfindthisguyforyou.Then Igo into theofficeonemorning and get this on myfax machine.’ He waves the

paperagain.‘AndIgotearingover to Delores’s to tell younottogonearhimeveragain.AndIfindoutyou’realreadygone. Took off in the nightlike a thief, after lying andsayingyouwouldn’t.Canyouimagine how worried we allwereaboutyou?’Carly is so struck by his

worry that it bumps hercuriosity about the paper outofitsrightfulplaceinline.

‘Youdroveallthewayouthere because you wereworriedaboutme?’Teddy says, ‘Wait a

minute. You two know eachother?’Nobodyanswershim.‘Don’tknowwhythat’sso

hard to believe,’ Alvin says.Toher.NottoTeddy.Carlydoesn’tknowhowto

answer. It’s in there.But notinwords.

‘What is that? That paperyou’rewaving?’‘It’s his arrest record. Or,

actually, this is thereport thepolice took from the victimandher family last time theyarrestedhim.’‘For…’‘Childmolestation.’‘Wait.Mymotherhadhim

arrested?’‘No.Shedidnot.Thiswas

someone else’s mother had

him arrested for childmolestation. He did twenty-twomonthsinthestateprisonatChino for it.And I’m stillhavinga little troublegettingalltheparticulars…but…itdoesn’t appear to be a firstoffense.’The room goes silent

except for an irritatingbuzzing Carly can’t identify.A second later she realizes

it’s the sound of bloodrushinginsideherownears.‘I can’t believe that,’ she

says.‘Trythisonforsize,then.’

Alvinshakesthepaperbythetopedgeuntilitunfolds,thenreads aloud to her. ‘“Victimsays the suspect appeared inher bed in the middle of thenight, and woke her up withonehandoverhermouth.Hetoldherhewouldn’thurther,

butshehadtobequiet.”Thatsoundfamiliaratall?’Carlysitsdownhardinthe

wing chair. She looks acrossthecoffeetable,anditsseaofbeerbottles, toTeddy’s face.He’s slumped back on thecouch now, the fresh openbeer in his hand again. Shetriestolookintohisface,buthe averts his gaze. Then hesets thebeerbottledownanddropshisheadintohishands.

‘Teddy.Youliedtome?’Noanswer.Hejustrubshis

facewithbothhands.‘You looked me right in

theeyeandliedtome?’‘Ididn’twantyou to think

that about me.’ His voice isfaint.Teddyisgettingsmallerand weaker. Carly is gettingbigger and stronger. She canfeel it. ‘I didn’t want you tothink I was somebody whowoulddoathinglikethat.’

‘But you are!’ she shouts,half-risingtoherfeetwiththeunexpectedforceandvolume.Even Alvin jumps. ‘Howcouldyoudothat?’‘I was drunk, Carly. Can

you understand that? I’d justfound out Jocelyn wasactually sleeping with thatguy I was hoping she wasonlyflirtingwith.Iwasupsetand I got too drunk. I didn’tknowwhatIwasdoing.’

Carly looks down at thefull bottle of beer sitting infront of him on the coffeetable.‘Then stop drinking!’ she

bellows.On the word ‘drinking’,

shedrawsher rightarmbackand then slaps the bottle offthetablewiththebackofherhand. It hurts. A lot. Thebottle bounces off the wall,butdoesn’tbreak.Itlandson

thecarpet,beerfoamingas itsoaksintothedirtygraypile.‘How can you sit there

drinkingatnineo’clockinthemorning while you’re tellingmeyou’renotresponsibleforwhat you do when youdrink?’Teddy never answers. He

justgoestotendtothespilledbeer, picking up the bottleand carrying it into the

kitchen. When he emergesagain,he’sholdingatowel.‘Am I under arrest for

something here?’ he asksAlvin.‘Ididmytimeforthatthing you’ve got in yourhand. There’s nothing new,right? You came here to getCarly because you think it’snot even safe for her to bearoundme.So,couldyoujusttakehernowandgo?Ifthereare no specific charges, I’d

justliketobeleftalonenow.Please.’Carly looks at Alvin and

Alvinlooksback.‘Ready to go home now?’

heasks.Carly nods. Though she

thinks it’s an odd use of theword‘home’.AsifCarlyhasone.Sometimeshe’llhavetoask him about that. But forthe moment she just followshimtothedoor.

Before it closes behindthem, Teddy says, ‘I lovedyou,Carly.’She sticks her head back

in.‘What?’Sheheard,though.‘I loved you. And I loved

Jen.’Carlynoticeshisuseofthe

past tense. But she doesn’tmentionthat.

Allshesaysis,‘Thenhowcome you didn’t ask mewheresheis?’No answer.Which doesn’t

feelallthatsurprising.

Carly follows Alvin throughthe yard like a puppy who’sjust been punished with arolled-up newspaper. Thegateishangingpartwayopen,and she follows him to theroad, expecting to see his

bluepickup.Insteadhewalkstoacar,silver,andtwo-door,with a convertible top. Heunlocks the passenger doorandholdsitopenforher.‘Whydoeseverybodyhave

so many cars?’ she asks,knowing it probably won’tmakemuchsensetoAlvin.‘This is Pam’s car. I think

it’simpracticalasallhell,butshe loves it. And she has along drive to work, so who

am I to say? Pickup truckbenchseatsweren’tmadeforlongrides.Havetoadmitthisisalittlemorecomfortable.’‘Is Jen …?’ But then she

can’tbringherselftofinish.Alvinisstillstandingthere

withthedooropenwide.AndCarlyisstillnotgettingin.‘IsJenwhat?’‘Youknow.’‘Idon’t.Actually.’‘OK?IssheOK?’

‘Just the same as she waswhenyoulefther.LooksOKtome.’Carlyplunksstifflyintothe

softbucketseat,andheclosesthedoorbehindher.Justforaminute she’s flooded withrelief. Because Jen is rightwhere Carly left her. Andbecauseit’salongdrivebackto Delores’s. Maybe twodays. Maybe more. Andsomebody else is in charge

now.Carlydoesn’thavetobethe one to figure out whatcomesnext.

South of Eureka, on one ofthe many bridges where theEel River snakes under thehighway timeafter timeaftertime, Carly breaks a longsilence.‘HowcouldIhavebeenso

stupid?’sheasksAlvin.

‘Reallywantmetoanswerthat?’‘Probably not. But go

ahead.’‘WayIseeit,you’reoneof

those people with setopinionsonhowyouwanttheworld to behave. Alwaystryingtobendtheworldtofityour liking instead of theother way around. So then,onceyoumakeupyourmindhow you want something to

be, you start losing the eyestoseewhatitreallyis.’‘I believe what I want to

believe.’‘That would be the short

version.Yeah.’‘Jen always tells me I

believe what I want tobelieve.’‘It’s not stupidity. In my

opinion. I think you’ve got agood mind. Your trouble is,you think you know the

difference between a goodthingandabadone.Butyoudon’t.’They’re over the bridge

and moving into a forestedareanow.Carlystaresoutthewindowforaminute,waitingfor what he said to makesense.Itneverdoes.‘Everybody knows the

difference between a goodthingandabadthing.’

‘Wrong. Hardly anybodydoes.YouthoughtTeddywasagoodthing.’‘Well. Yeah. I was wrong

aboutthat,but—’‘Andyouthoughtthenight

you stumbled on to Wakapiterritory and ran afoul ofDelores Watakobie was oneof the worst nights of yourlife.Youmaynotevenknowyet how wrong you were

about that. But you will. Intime.’ShewaitsfortheoldCarly,

the old indignation. Thatnaturalsenseofsomethinginhergutrisinguptochampionher world view. Whennothinghappens,shesearchesfor it. And finds onlyemptiness. That old Carly iseither dead, or just toowounded and tired to defenditself.

‘It was good for Jen,’ shesays.‘BecauseJenletitbe.’They don’t talk for a long

time.Then Alvin says, ‘You

musthaveatleasttriedontheideathatitwastrue.’‘Notreally,’Carlysays.‘Notevenonce?’‘Notreally.’‘Can you explain to me

howathinglikethatworks?’

‘Notreally,’Carlysays.All she knows is that it

probably won’t ever workagain.

Carly wakes up in thepassenger seat and looksaround.The highway is two-lane here, and twisty. Alvinhas to slow down for thecurves.‘Welcome back, sleeping

beauty,’hesays.

‘Ihavemydaysandnightsall turned around.Where arewe?’‘We seem to be … just

aboutexactlyinthemiddleofnowhere.’She’s struck again with

disbelief that Alvin wouldcare enough about whethershe lived or died to drivetwelvehundredmilestofetchher back. But she still can’tgetwordsaroundthat.

So she says, ‘I’m sorry Ilied and said you could trustmetostayput.’‘Didyouknowitwasalie

whenyousaidit?’‘Yeah.I’msorry.’‘Would you be sorry even

ifyounevergotcaughtat it?Even if you never had toanswerforit?’‘Yeah. I would. I know I

would.BecauseIalreadyfeltbad about it. This woman

who gave me a ride in hermotor home had a big roadatlasjustlikeyours.Itoldhermyfriendhadonejustlikeit.And then I felt really bad.When I said you were myfriend. Because I wasn’t averygoodfriendtoyou.’Silence. Maybe he’s just

pausingtoseeifthere’smore.Then he says, ‘If you’re

waiting for me to argue that

point, I hope you broughtsomethingtoread.’It’s a glimpse into how

angry he is with her, and itfeels lumpy in her stomach,an icky sensation. One shecan’tquiteshake.‘So you got a ride,’ he

says. ‘I was wondering howyou got there so fast. Youmust’ve been awful luckywith rides to get there soquick.IthoughtIhadagood

dayortwobeforeyou’dshowup. If I’d thought you couldbeatmethere,I’dhavecalledtheTrinidadPolicesofast…’‘I’m surprised you didn’t

anyway.Just tosaveyourselfthelongtrip.’‘They’d have turned you

over to child protectiveservices.’‘Iknowit.’‘I’vebeentryingtogetyou

a better ending to your story

than all that. In case youhadn’t noticed. Because Iknow you’re scared theymight not keep you and Jentogether, and I know howmuch that means to you.Tried to tell you so.But youdidn’tbelieveme.Youdidn’ttrustmetogiveadamnaboutyou.’‘No,’shesays.‘Whynot?’

‘Because nobody else everdid.’‘And because you always

think you know better thaneverybodyabouteverything.’‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t.

Any more. Used to, I guess.But I couldn’t think so aftereverything that happened.That would be impossible.Now I think I don’t knowanythingaboutanything.’‘That’sgood,’Alvinsays.

Carly snorts. ‘How is itgoodtoknownothing?’‘It’s good to know you

know nothing. You don’tknow any less than you didbefore. But now you knowwhat youdon’t know.That’sanimprovement.’She chews that over for a

minute. Then she says,‘Maybe.Yeah.’Theydrive in silence fora

few minutes. Now and then

Carly sees yellow warningsignsthatshowtheoutlineofatrucktippingoveronatightcurve. It reminds her of theoverturnedloggingtruck.Just as she thinks that, she

sees a loaded-up loggingtruck sweep by in theopposite direction. North-bound.The trailer is just twosteel brackets on wheels, toholdthegianttrunksoftrees.Maybe eight trunks on this

load. Carly wonders howmany they can cut before allthisbeautyisgoneforever.‘Youevergoingtoforgive

me for that?’ she asks,surprisingbothofthem.Alvin doesn’t answer right

away.Finally he says, ‘Not just

like that.Not like throwingaswitch. Words don’t costmuch. But if you keepstanding behind some of the

thingsyou’vesaid so far thistrip,Iexpectwecangetfromheretothere.’

Going through Sacramento,Carlywakesupagain.‘Howmuchlongercanyou

drive?’sheaskshim.‘I’ll have to stop over at

leastonenight.’‘Icandrive.’‘Nicetry.’

‘What am I going to donow,Alvin?’Alvinsighs.‘Yougotacoupleoptions,

itseemstome.’‘Likewhat?’‘You could be an

emancipatedminor.Sixteen’sold enough for that. You’dhave to prove you can put aroofoveryourownheadandfeedyourownself.Thing is,you got nobody to argue

against it. So I’m not sureanybody’s trying to get inyour way on that anyhow.What you’re not old enoughto do is be a legal guardianfor your sister. But in a yearandahalfyoucan.Andshe’sdoingfinewheresheisnow.’‘Think Delores would let

mestay?’‘You’dhavetoaskDelores

aboutthat.’

‘She’ll say no. She hatesme.’‘No. She doesn’t. Not at

all.’‘Sheactslikeshedoes.’‘Youactlikeyouhateher,

too.Doyou?’‘I sort of thought I did at

first.Butno.Idon’thateher.’‘Trouble with you and

Delores is you’re too muchalike.’

‘Is that a joke? We’renothingalike.’‘You’resoalikeit’sfunny.

That’swhyyoutwogetalongworse than a cat and a dog.Both so headstrong. Twostubbornwomen, both tryingto out-stubborn each other.Now don’t you ever tellanybody I said that, becauseshe’s an elder and I’msupposed to lookonherwithnothing but respect. And I

respect her plenty, but I stillgot eyes.And it doesn’t helpyou acting like you knoweverything. Oh, but that’sright. You don’t knowanything about anything anymore. Maybe that’ll makethings a little better betweenthe twoofyou.They sureashell couldn’t get muchworse.’Carly chews on the inside

of her lip a little. She pulls

thefeathernecklaceoutfromunder her shirt. Examines itagain for damage. It looks alittle worse for wear.Maybeless so than Carly. But theybothsurvived.She looks up to see Alvin

watchingher.‘Where’dyougetthat?’‘Jengaveittome.’‘And where’d Jen get it?

No, never mind. Stupidquestion. When we get back

on Wakapi land, don’t letanybodyseeyouwiththat.Atraditional Wakapi wouldtakethatawayfromyou.’‘Why? It was a present.

What’swrongwiththat?’‘It’sWakapimedicine. It’s

not for just anybody. Nooffense. There’s a system inplace for bringing somebodyinto the circle, and then theycan be privy to the oldwisdom.But thatDelores…

Well, she’s one of a kind.You know herWakapi namemeans something along thelines of “Stubborn”? Well.It’s kind of hard to translate.BestIcantellyouisitmeans,“She who relies on her owncounsel.” The unwrittensecond half of that thoughtbeing, “and pretty muchignores everybody else’s.”Now you seewhy I say youtwoarebirdsofafeather?’

When she wakes up again,it’s nearly dark. They’re notmoving. They’re parked at ahighway rest area, andAlvinis standing outside the car,stretchinghisback.The outside of Carly’s

right hand aches. Where shehit that beer bottle. It’sstrangetohavethepainbreakthrough, suddenly like that.Sheknowsitdidn’tjuststart.It’s been aching all day. But

shejustnowtookthatin.It’sstrange not to feel what youfeel.Or maybe it’s that other

partsofherhavebeenhurtingworse.She turns on the overhead

light and looks at it closely.It’s deeply bruised, andswollenenoughtoworryher.She looks up to see Alvin

droppingintothedriver’sseatagain.

‘Thathanddoesn’t looksogood,’hesays.Sheholds itout tohim,so

hecantakeacloserlook.‘Might be some little

fractures in there. Couldn’tsay. When we get home wemightneedtogetthatlookedat.’There he goes again with

the word home. But Carlyneeds a home so badly shechoosesnottoquestionit.

‘Youtired?’sheaskshim.‘Very. Trying to decide

whethertolookforamotelorjust put this seat back andtakeanap.Think I’lldo thatsecondoneforrightnow.Seehow far that takes me. Andmaybe … just maybe …when daylight rolls around,you can spell me for a bit.Yougotalicense?’‘No, but I’ve got a

learner’spermit.’

‘California?’‘Yeah.California.’‘Well, we’ll do it early,

then. Beforewe get over thestateline.’He levers his seat back

withasigh.Setshishatoverhisface.Carly holds and rubs her

righthandaminutelonger.Then she asks, ‘Why did

hepickher?’

‘Teddy?’ From behind thehat.‘Yeah,Teddy.’‘WhydidTeddypickJen?’‘Yeah.’‘Asopposedto…?’‘Me.’She doesn’t even bother

with the shame. She’s tootired. It feels like too muchtrouble.Hetipsthehatupwithone

hand.

‘I know you must meanthat in a general sense. Likemaybe referring to whateverliking-her-better sort of thingyou think must’ve beenbehind his picking her andnotyou.BecauseIknowyoudidn’tmean youwanted himto try somestunt like thatonyou.’‘Right. No. I didn’t mean

that. Thanks for knowing Ididn’tmeanthat.’

‘Kind of stings anyway,though,huh?’‘Kindof.Isthatthesickest

thingintheworld?’‘More or less human, I

suppose.’Then he lets the hat down

again.Carly watches him.

Thoughthere’snothingreallytowatch.He’sjustlyingtherewith his hat over his face.Apparently he’s not going to

answer thequestion.But thatshouldn’t surprise her, shethinks. Probably it’s anunanswerablequestion.Then he tips the hat up

again and says, ‘Teddy is achildmolester.’‘That’s not answering my

question,Alvin.’‘Yes, it is. You just don’t

get what I’m saying yet.Teddy is a child molester.AndJenisachild.’

Carly says nothing.Because nothing more needstobesaid.

California,22May

‘Thatwas anice little town,’Alvinsays.‘Pretty.’The waitress is setting

breakfast in front of them.Carly’s bacon and scrambledeggs. Alvin’s omelet withvegetablesinsideandsalsaon

top.HepicksupthebottleofTabasco, unscrews the lid,and shakes about twelvedropsofsauceontothesalsa.‘Who puts Tabasco sauce

onsalsa?’‘Peoplewholiketheirsalsa

hot.’‘Whattownwasnice?’‘What town? That’s a

weirdquestion.’‘Well,we’vebeen through

somany.’

‘I don’tmean the oneswewentthrough.Imeantheonewewentto.’‘Oh.Trinidad.’‘Yeah. Trinidad. It was

nice up there. Didn’t youthink?’Carly takes a bite of

scrambled egg. It tastes fine.There’s nothing wrong withit.Itjusttasteslikescrambledegg.Butshewants it to tastelike more. So she opens the

ketchupbottleandtipsitoverher plate. Waits. Nothingcomesout.‘Iguess,’shesays.‘Iliked

it a lot when I first saw it.Didn’t look as nice on theway out, though. Besides, Icouldn’tgetwarm.Thewindandthefogjustcutrightintomy bones, and I could nevergetwarm.’‘And when you were on

theWakapi,youwerealways

complaining how you couldnevergetcool.’‘Oh. That’s true. I guess

that’saproblem,huh?’Carly hits the end of the

bottle with the heel of herhand, and about three timesmore ketchup than shewanted lands right on thebacon.Rightwhereshedidn’twantany.‘Yeah, for you,’ Alvin

says.

They eat in silence forseveralminutes.Carly watches people

through the window as theygetoutoftheircarsandmaketheir way into this roadsidediner. An old couple whostoptobuyanewspaperfromadispenserontheirwayin.Afamily with three little kidswho have to fold up twostrollersandleavetheminthe

entryway. Trade them forboosterseats.Seems like they all have

routines.WhichCarlyfiguresis another way of sayinglives. She can’t helpwondering how that wouldfeel.‘I appreciate how you’ve

beenbuyingmy food,’Carlysays.‘Can’tletyoustarve.’

‘But I’ve got to tell yousomething about that. I’veactually got eighty dollars.This nice old ladywho gavemearideloanedittome.Butshe was very specific aboutwhatitwasfor.ShegavemethemoneyincaseIneededaroom. You know, if it wasnight and I didn’t have anyplace to stay. But I didn’tneed touse it for that.And Ididn’t feel right using it for

anything else. Because itwasn’t for anything else. Itwasforaroom.SothereasonI didn’t tell you I had thatmoney is because I think Iought to send it back to hernow.’‘OK,’Alvinsays.She waits, still half-

expectinghimtosaymore.‘Maybewecouldevenstop

inFresno and I could give itbacktoher.’

‘We’repastFresno.’‘Weare?Ididn’tseeusgo

throughFresno.’‘Wedidn’t.WetooktheI-

5.It’sfaster.’‘Oh,’ Carly says. ‘OK.’

She eats a few more bites.‘Only thing … I sort ofwantedtotellheritmeanttheworldtomehowshedidthat.But I guess I canwriteher anote andwrap themoney upinitandmailit.’

She waits to see if he hasanything to add to that.Apparentlynot.‘AndIwantedtotellyouit

meant the world to me howyou drove all the way uptheretogetme.ButIhaven’tfigured out the right wordsjustyet.’‘Those’ll do,’ he says.

Without looking up from hisplate.

‘But I don’t just want tokeep eating on your dime. Iwantyoutowritedownwhatyouspendonmyfood.Inmylittlenotebook.AndI’llpayitback.WhenIcan.WhenI’vefiguredouthowtoearnsomemoney.’‘Shouldn’t be hard,’Alvin

says. ‘You’reagoodworker.Seem tobe. Ifyou’rewillingto work, you can alwaysmake a little here and there.

Speakingofwhich, I need toputsomenewfenceinoveratmy place. You show up andhelpme,we’llgetherdoneinadayandwe’llcallitevenonthefood.’‘Yeah, OK. Thanks. I’ll

still owe her for the busticket, though. Even after Igive her back her eightydollars.’‘Ah. More details coming

out about how you managed

to beatme there.And here Ithoughtyouweremagic.Justflewthroughtheairorclosedyour eyes and beamedyourselffromoneplacetotheother.Justallneatlikethat.’‘Thatwould’vebeennice,’

Carlysays.‘Don’targue.Youran into

some unexpected kindness.That’sa typeofmagicall itsown. That’s like magicwearing a disguise, like a

falsenoseandglasses,soyouthink it’s something moreeverydaythanallthat.’

Shewaitsforhimtoopenthecardoor forher.Thewayhealways seems to want to do.Insteadhe’sholding thekeysinherdirection.‘You want to drive from

heretothestateline?’‘Hell,yeah!’

Sheclimbsintothedriver’sseat. Buckles up. Alvinclimbsinbesideher.‘Think we could put the

topdown?’sheasks.Alvin pushes a button on

the dashboard.A littlemotorwhirrs somewhere, and thetop goes back. All by itself.Justlikethat.‘Everything changes,’ he

says. ‘Huh? When I wasgoing off to college I had a

convertible.Notanewoneoranything.Youwantedthetopdown,youhadtoputitdown.Youknow.Withyourhands.’Carly shifts into drive and

then checks all around thecar.Inbothsidemirrors.Andin the rearview mirror, eventhough she plans to goforward. She does it toimpress Alvin with howcarefulshecanbe.

‘Onlyproblem is, you stilldon’t have a hat,’ he says asshe pulls out of the lot.‘You’ll get all sunburnedagain.’‘Mightbeworthit.’Alvinjustshakeshishead.A fewminutes later,when

they’re doing sixty-five onthe I-40 East, the wind inCarly’s hair, he says, ‘We’llhave to stop and get you a

proper hat. That floppy old-ladythingisjustnotyou.’Carlygruntsherdisgust.‘I think she did that on

purpose. Just because sheknewI’dhateit.’He doesn’t say anything

foramoment,sosheglancesover at him. Catches a wryhalf-smile.‘Answer number one, I’m

surethatwastheonlyhatshehad to give you. Answer

number two, I have to allowfor the possibility that youmight be right about that allthesame.’‘If you buyme a hat, you

have to write it down in mynotebook.’‘Tell you what. I was

gonna stop tonight at a reallive motel. Get us each aroom. Which would yourather?Sleep ina real room?

Orsleep in thecaragainandhavethehat?’‘I’d rather have the hat.

But you still have towrite itdown.’‘Carly. It’s a gift. I’m

offering you a gift. Whensomebody offers you a gift,youjusttakeitandsaythankyou.See,thisiswhatImean.About how you and Deloresaresoalikeit’sfunny.Ifyoutwoaskforsomehelp,oract

like you could use some, orlikeyou’regratefulforsome,Iguessyoufeellikeitmeansyou’re admitting you neededit.Whydoyouthinkshe’ssohappy having Jen around thehouse? She’s going blind, incase you didn’t notice. Butshecan’tbringherself to saysheshouldn’tbelivingonherown anymore.But just lookhow happy she is now thatshe doesn’t have to.

Somebodywants togiveyouwhatyouneed,justsaythankyou. Especially if you didn’thavetoask.’‘Right,’ Carly says. ‘OK.

Thankyou.’‘You just keep practicing

that,’ Alvin says. ‘I expectit’ll get easier as time goesby.’

WakapiLand,23May

Just as Alvin turns intoDeloresWatakobie’slongdirtdriveway,Carlysays,‘Maybewe should’ve called. Youknow. Let somebody knowyou found me and you werebringing me back. And then

somebody could’ve toldDelores.’Alvin is wearing that

knowinghalf-smilethatCarlysees on so many faces andnever quite understands. Hebrakes in front of thehenhouse, shifts into park.Pullsonthehandbrake.‘Wish I’d thought of that,’

hesays.‘Meaning … you thought

ofthat?’

‘I called Pam that firstmorningandtoldherwewereonourwayback,andtodriveover and tell Delores so shecouldstopworrying.’‘WherewasI?’‘Sleeping.’‘Oh.Yeah. I hadmy days

andnightsturnedaround.’‘You might’ve mentioned

thatatimeortwo.Orten.’‘Wasshereallyworried?’‘Askheryourself.’

He flips his head in thedirection of the house.Delores is standing in theopendoorway.Asiftryingtodecide whether to go to allthe trouble of meeting themhalfway.Carlystepsoutintothedry

oven of the desert. Sets herwonderful new hat on herhead. Saves Delores thetrouble by walking to whereshestands.

‘Well,well,’Delores says.‘Theprodigalloudmouth.’Carly doesn’t know what

tosay.Soshesaysnothingatall. In the silence, she hearsand feels Alvin step upbehindher.‘What’s that?’ Delores

asks,andreachesuptotouchCarly’s new hat. ‘Mind if Itakealookclose-up?’Carlytakesitoffandhands

it to theoldwoman.Shestill

hasn’t saidaword.Shecan’thelpbeingpainfullyawareofthat.Delores holds the hat up

close to her face. Runs herhandsover the felt.Feels theshape of the crown, theweaveoftheband.‘This’s a nice piece of

goods. Couldn’t of beencheap. Where’d you get anicehatlikethis?’

‘Itwas a gift fromAlvin,’Carlysays.Delores hands it back to

Carly, who snugs it back ontoherhead.Itfeelsgood.Shelikeswhosheiswhenit’supthere.‘Damn,’ Delores says.

‘Now I got to wear that oldfloppythingmyself.Hatethathat. Pretty fancy present,Alvin. Don’t remember youever gettin’ me anythin’ that

nice, and how long’ve weknown each other? All yourdamnlife,isn’tit?’Alvin speaks, and Carly

notices how much his voicehasbecomeacomfort toher.She feels that, deep in hergut. Like a hot-water bottle,or the first sipof ahot drinkgoing down when you’recold. When the fog and thewind has gotten into your

bones and you just can’t getwarm.‘You want a better hat,

Delores? I’ll be happy to getyouone.’‘Don’t you dare, young

man,’ she says, pointing onespotted finger in his generaldirection.‘YouknowIcandofor myself. Always done formyself, an’ if I want a newhat,I’llweavemyown.Icanstillweave,youknow.Don’t

need to see good to weave.Daysomebodygot togimmea new hat’s the day I letmycreatorputmesixfeetunder.’Sheturnsandshufflesback

intothehouse.Carly looks atAlvin.He’s

smiling that same little wryhalf-smileheusesonher.‘SeewhatImean?Birdsof

afeather.’‘Except Ishutupand took

thehat.’

‘That you did. Say, dayafter tomorrow for that fencework,OK?I’llcomeby,pickyouup.’‘OK.’He tips his hat to her.

Whichmeanshe’sleaving.She rushes in and throws

her arms around him,knockinghernewhatintothedirt.Holdshimtight,thewayshe grabbed Teddy in theWhale Tail Lounge. But

Alvin doesn’t make awheezing noise. He doesn’tmake any noise at all. Heseemstobeabletotakeit.Hehugs her in return.Which, ifshe’s remembering right,Teddyneverdid.Then she steps back,

embarrassed.Picksupherhatand brushes red dirt off itscrown.Alvin tips his hat again.

Climbs into Pam’s car and

backs all the way down thedriveway. Carly stands infront of the house andwatches him go. She raisesherhandinawave,butAlvinneverlooksback.Carly stands and looks

around.Breathesdeeply,asifsmelling the Wakapilandscape.As if allowing thedry air to fill more than justher lungs.Justforamoment,she notices the way the sun

lightsupthebigmesabehindthehouse.Something is different in

justthesefewdays.Delores’soldtruckisparkedoutbehindthehenhouse, coveredwithagiantblue tarp. It’snot in itsusual spot under the carport.And there’s some newfencing, a semicircle at theopenendofthecarport.Thinmetalpostswiththreestrandsofplainwirestrungbetween.

Andtherearethreestrandsofwire stapled to the posts ofthecarport, too,sothewholething is like a partly-coveredpaddock. So now youcouldn’t drive the truck inthere if youwanted to.Carlynotes this, but doesn’tunderstand it. In fact, shedoesn’ttry.Instead, she joins Delores

inside the house. It’s nice inthere. Cooler. Not cold, like

air conditioning. But a lotnicer than outside. The oldwoman is standing in thekitchen, pouring a glass ofcoldwaterfromthefridge.Itdoesn’t occur to Carly thatDelores might be pouring itforCarly,notforherself.Carlytakesoffherhatand

holdsitinherhand.Roscoe thumps his tail

againsttherugbutdoesn’tgetup.

‘Have a sit,’ Delores says,and sets the glass of coldwateronthetable.InfrontofthechairCarlyalwaysusedatmealtimes.Backwhensheatehermeals here. Seems like alongtimeagonow.‘Thanks,’ she says. She

sits.Andsips.Hatonherlap.‘It’sniceinhere.Cool.’‘Got the swamp cooler

goin’.’

Sothat’swhatthatnoiseis,shethinks.‘Where’sJen?’‘Stillatschool.’‘School?’‘Don’t tell me you forgot

whatthatis.’‘I didn’t think Jen would

be going, though. I mean…this soon. I just can’t believeyou even got her signed upforschoolsofast.’

‘Signedup…well,maybenot exactly. But she’s goin’.Andtheteacherdon’tmindifshe sits in for now. We alltried to tell ’er wait for nextyear. This year’s good asgone. But she wanted to go.No talkin’ ’er out of it. Saidshewanted to catch upwhatshe missed. Really I thinkshe’s wantin’ to make somefriends ’er own age.Tide ’eroverthesummer,youknow?’

‘Oh. Yeah. That’s good.That’s nice, if she can makesomefriends.’Delores says nothing.

She’s still at the kitchencounter, but she’s not doinganything special there. Justleaning. As though thinking.As though she’s puttingCarly’s words on a scale toseehowmuchtheyweigh.When Carly gets tired of

waitingfor theoldwomanto

speak, she says, ‘Were youreallyworriedaboutme?’‘Youcouldofgotyourself

deadadozendiff’rentways,youknow.’‘Iknow.Ialmostdid.’‘Well, you’re OK now.

Guessthat’swhatmatters.’Delores waddles off into

thelivingroomandsitsdownonthecouch,emittinganoisethat’sacrossbetweenagruntand a sigh. Roscoe lifts his

head briefly, looks over hisshoulderatDelores, thensetshis chin down on the rugagain.‘Mind if I take my water

into the trailer? I’ll bring theglassback.Itwassuchalongdrive and I’m tired, and itwouldbenicetoliedown.’‘Swamp cooler’s fixed in

therenow.Chestercameover’nfixedit.Gotachainhangsdown in the middle of the

room. Just give that chain agood hard pull. Noisy, but itshould cooloff in there rightquick.’She wants to question the

idea that Chester would dosuch a thing. But it seemspointless. Since he alreadydid.

Carlywakesfroma longnaptofindthatthetraileriscool.

Coolerthanthehouse.Maybebecauseit’ssomuchsmaller.Shesitsup.The window that used to

have no glass has beenmendedwithwhat looks likeascrapofPlexiglas,cuttofitjustrightandsealedwithducttapearoundtheedges.Soyoucan still see through it. Butthecoldcan’tgetin.Orout.Just for a minute, Carly

thinks she hears a distant

sound like the slow, gentlecloppingofhooves.Thenshedecides it was only in herhead.Shegetsupandwashesher

face in a bucket of waterthat’s sitting near the sink,behind the partition in thebackof the trailer.Whenshecomesbackout, the sound islouder now. And definitelyreal.

She looks out the windowto see Jen riding up the roadon Virginia’s old mostly-brown paint horse. Carlysinksintoasitonthebedandwatches. Jen is ridingbareback. Nothing but awoven blanket between herandthehorse.Herreinsarealoop of rope tied to a ropehalter. Her legs swing free.She’s stillwearing that strawcowboyhatDeloresgaveher.

Itstillsuitsher.Carlyalwaysknewitdid.Shejustwouldn’tadmitthatatthetime.It’sasight.Really.Asight.Carly grabs her hat up off

thecounterandstepsoutintotheheat.Thebigcreakofthedoordoesn’tsurpriseher,nordoes it feel like a problem.It’s just something sheremembers.Shestandsatthetopofthe

driveway.

At first Jen is looking offin the direction of the mesa.Butthensheturnsherheadtothehouse.Carlycanspot themoment when Jen sees her.Even though they’re too faraparttoseeeachother’sface.Butshecanstilltell.Jendrumsherheelslightly

on the paint’s sides. She’sstill wearing those cross-trainers Carly took …borrowed… for her in New

Mexico.Thepaintbreaksintoaroughtrot,andJenholdsonwithonehandwovenintohismane.Thenshepullsbackonthe

rope reins and just sits herhorse for a second or two,maybe twenty feet fromwhere Carly is standing. Allin one motion, she throws alegbackoverthepaint’sbuttanddropstotheground.Runsup toCarly.And shedoesn’t

stopwhenshegetsthere.ShehitsCarlylikeamovingtrain,nearlybowlingherrightoverinto the dirt. Her arms wraparound Carly’s ribs. Squeezetight.Jenknowshowto turnher

headjustrightsothatherhat,which curls up tight at thesides, doesn’t get knockedoff. Carly wonders if thatmeansshe’sbeengivingalot

of hugs since she startedwearingit.Carly wraps her arms

aroundJeninreturn, thestiffstrawoftheroper’shatroughagainstherscarredchin.Afterawhileshethinksitmightbetime to let go. But Jendoesn’t. So neither doesCarly.After a few more seconds

ofthis,Carlysays,‘Shouldn’tyoutieupthathorse?’

‘Anoaki won’t goanywhere. He’s real good.’But she straightens up andletsCarlygo.‘Nicehat!’‘Thanks. Alvin gave it to

me.’‘Looks good! You look

likeyoubelonghere.’Jen waits to see if Carly

has anything to say aboutthat.ButCarlychoosestoletitgoby.Well,notchoosessomuch. It just goes by. And

shedoesn’t knowwhat todowith it. So that’s the waythingsstay.Jen walks back to her

horse, who hasn’t moved.Takes him by the reins andleads him to the new fencebuilt on to the carport. Peelsback a section of wire thatCarly didn’t even notice hasbeen set up as a gate. ThenJen slides the blanket off hisback and drapes it over the

fence. Unties the rope halterandletsitfall.Itswingsfromthe reins still clutched in herhand. Jen steps back, andAnoaki walks through thegateandintotheshadeofthecarport. Jen hangs the halterona fencepostandhooks thegate closed. Walks aroundbehind the carport, emergingamomentlaterwithaflakeofhay. She throws it over thefencetothehorse,thenwalks

back to where Carly isstandingintheafternoonsun.‘SoVirginiagaveyou that

horse?’‘Not exactly. She called it

a loan. But I don’t reallythinkshe’sgonnaaskforhimback.’Causehe’sretired.Shedoesn’t use him much anymore.But he can takeme toschool and back. That’s nottoo much for hardly anyhorse. I’m so glad you got

back, Carly. I was scared todeath. I thought you mightdie.’‘Well,Ididn’t,’shesays.She decides she can – and

should–keepher close callstoherself.‘Stay, Carly. Please. Just

foracoupleofmonths.Doitfor me. So I can show youhow good it is here. Then ifyoustillwanttogo,youcan.Please?’

‘I don’t know if Deloreswillletmestay.’‘Willyouaskher?’‘Yeah,’ Carly says. ‘I’ll

askher.’

Carly ducks her head downgoing through the door intothe house. And she stilldoesn’tknowwhy.Delores is sitting on the

couch, weaving strong, stifftangrassesaroundaframeof

thicker straw. She’s notlookingatherwork.Hereyesaretrainedoffinthedistance.Asiflookingoutthewindow.ButCarlydoesn’tthinkthat’sthe case. The old womanprobably can’t see that far.She’s probably staring intospace.Carlysitsintheonlychair,

across from her. Roscoethumpshistail.‘Makingabasket?’

‘Makin’myselfanewhat.’Thenneithersaysanything

for a time. This is thatmoment Alvin told Carly topractice.Admittingsheneedssomething. And wouldappreciategettingit.So shepushesharder.Puts

a figurative shoulder behindthewords.‘Jen wants me to stay a

couplemonths.ShethinksI’llget to like ithere.She thinks

if I give her amonth or twoshe can show me why shelovesthisplacesomuch.’Nothing happens at first.

The silence makes Carly’sheartfall.Herpoorheart,shethinks. Not really in a self-pitying way. More like shefinallyhassomeempathyforthe poor abused organ. Howmanymorefallscanittake?‘’N what do you want to

do?’Deloresasks,finally.

‘I’d like to stay. If you’llhaveme.God’s honest truth,I need to stay. I don’t haveanyplaceelsetogo.’‘Surprised,’ Delores says.

Her hands still moving. Stillbuildingthathat.‘Wethoughtyou’d pick the live-on-your-ownplan.’‘Scarybeingonyourown,’

Carly says. Seems like onceshe opens up that faucet ofhonesty, it flows without

much effort. ‘Turns out I’mnot so big and strong as Ithought. Maybe I really amtooyoung.’‘Got news for you,’

Delores says. ‘I’m ninety-two, and I’m not so big ’nstrongasIthought,neither.’Alongsilence.Carly’sgut

can’t quite relax. BecauseDelores hasn’t exactly saidyes.

Whenshecan’tstanditanymore,Carlysays,‘So…’‘I can always use another

handaroundtheplace.’Carlyemptiesher lungsof

breath she didn’t even knowshewas holding. ‘I’ll help. Iwill. I’ll work hard. And I’llbe nicer and morecooperative.’‘Nah, you’ll still be what

you are,’ Delores says. ‘Butit’s OK. I won’t be nicer ’n

more cooperative, neither.Just got to put up with eachother. Somethin’ you coulddowould be a real big help.You could learn to drivestick. If you could drive myoldtruck,wouldn’talwaysbeat the mercy of peoplebringin’ stuffouthere tome.We need somethin’, youcouldjustdriveout’ngetit.’‘I could do that. I’ll go

easyonyourclutch,too.’

‘Was gonna try to talkAlvinintoteachin’youonhistruck.’Shepauses,butbeforeCarly can open hermouth toanswer, Delores says, ‘No,scratchthat.Learnonmyoldtruck. Ain’t no earthly goodtomeunlessyoucandriveit.I got no business gettin’behind thatwheel ever againandwebothknowit.’Carly rises to her feet.

With effort. Her body still

feelspoundedandoverused.‘Thankyou,’shesays.Deloresonlynods.But anyway, Carly said it.

And it went down a littleeasier the second time. JustlikeAlvinsaiditwould.

Afterdinner,Carlysitsonthebed in the cool trailer,looking out the window.Watchingthelightchangeon

the mesa. Lighting it upredderasthesunslants.Shetriesontheideaofthis

place as home, and it stilldoesn’t fit. But it makes herremember sitting in thattourist restaurant inTrinidad,drinking ice tea andwondering how itwould feelto never get in out of theelements.Nomatterhowbadthose elements got. Nowshe’s indoors, and it’s cool.

And there’s electricity. Andwater,evenifyoudohavetowalkouttothewellandfetchit.Andabed.Andaplacetostore what few belongingssheowns.That strikesher asthe most fundamentalelements of a home. Maybe,shethinks,youhavetodotherestonyourown.She sits another hour or

more, wondering when Jenwill come in, so they can go

to bed. Jen is in the housewithDelores. ItmakesCarlyfeel a little left out. Thoughsheknowsshecouldbeinthehouse,too,ifshewanted.Allshe’d have to do is walk inandjointhem.Shemakes up hermind to

trythattomorrow.

It’s after dark when Jenbouncesin.

‘Just wanted to come saygoodnight,’shesays.‘You’renotsleepinghere?’‘No,Isleeponthecouchin

thehouse.ThatwayI’mthereif Delores needs anything inthenight.’‘Oh.OK.’‘Well…goodnight.’‘Goodnight,’Carlysays.But Jen doesn’t leave

straightaway.Carlyfeelslike

notenoughhasbeensaid.ShewondersifJenfeelsthesame.Carlydecides it’sher turn.

Thatshe’stheonewhoneversaysenough.‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe

you.’‘Oh. That. Did you really,

like…notever thinkmaybeithappened?’‘Notevenonce.Notevena

little bit. It’s kind of hard toexplain.’

‘Oh,’Jensays.‘That’sOK.You don’t have to explain. Imean,notOK.Ithurtme.Butit’s OK because… I sort ofknew why. And I know itwasn’t really about me. Icould tell. I knowhowmuchyoulovedhim.’‘Thanks,’ Carly says.

Thinkingshe’sgottengoodatthat word in a short time.‘Here’sthething,though.I’msorry I didn’t believe Mom,

too.Andit’salittletoolatetomakeituptoMom.’A long silence. Carly

realizes she’s been hopingJenhadsomekindofanswerforthat.Itfeelsfunny,tolookup to your kid sister like shehas the missing piece tosomethingyoucan’tmakefittogetheryourself.‘Maybe she sort of knew

why,too.’‘Hopeso,’Carlysays.

‘It was partly my fault.You thought she was lyingbecause I was afraid to sayshewasn’t.It’smyfault,too.Ifeelbad,too.’‘I can forgive you easier

thanme.’‘Samehere.’Carly doesn’t know what

tosay.Soshesaysnothingatall.‘See you in the morning.

Unlessyousleepin.Inwhich

caseI’llbeatschool.’‘You makin’ friends?’

Carlydoesn’trealizeuntilit’soutofhermouththatshejustdropped a ‘g’. Like Delores.It’s almost funny, after thefact.‘Tons,’Jensays.‘Good. That’s good.’ She

reaches under the collar ofhershirt.Pullsoutthefeatherpendant. ‘Here, Ishouldgive

this back to you now. It diditsjob,youknow?’‘No, it’s OK,’ Jen says.

‘Youkeepit.I’mdoingfine.’Then she slips out the

noisydooragain.And Carly is left alone

withjustthis.Justalittlepinkmetaltrailerwithbareutilitiesand a view of the moonrising, more of a crescentnow,overalongmesa.

It’s not much. But it’smore than she’s had for alongtime.Shesleepslongandwell.

WakapiLand,25May

‘Can I use that fencepostpounder thingy?’ Carly asksAlvin.‘Bemyguest.’Shenearly fallsoverwhen

she takes it from him. It’sheavy.

She’s at Alvin’s place,where she’s never beenbefore. It’s about two milesfartherdownthesameroadasChester’s. In fact, Chester’sdogsbarkedat themasCarlydroveby.Yes, Carly got to drive

Alvin’struck.Onceshegotitinto first and then secondgear,withabitof instructionand a lot of practise, it wasprettyeasy.

Sheliftsthefencetoolwithgreateffortandpositionsit.It has a handle on each

side.You slip it over the topof the t-post. And then youlift it up and slam it down,andtheweightofitdrivesthepost into the ground.A littledeeper each time. At least,that’s how it worked whenAlvindidit.Hemadeit lookeasy. He said it has a bigspring in it, so it doesn’t jar

you right down to your toesoneveryhit.Carly is determined to

make itwork, thoughpart ofher knows she’s clearly inoverherhead.She slams it down a few

times,hard.Carefulnottocryout each time it hurts herrighthand.Thet-postdoesn’tmovemuch.Despite the factthat Alvin soaked the dirt in

thisspotfora longtimewithahose.Then she stops. Because

sheneedsto.She’s breathing like she’s

justrunamarathon.Shetakesoffherhatwithonehandandwipes the sweat off her facewithhersleeve.Alvin sets the hose down

and walks over to whereCarly is standing. Grabs onehandleoftheheavytool.

‘Tradeyou,’hesays.‘Yeah,OK.’‘Thathurtyourhand?’‘Yeah.Some.’‘Surewedon’tneed toget

thatlookedat?’‘But the swelling’s going

down.’‘Well,giveitabreak,then.

Least you can do for it. Ishould’vethoughtofthat.I’msorry.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ shesays.‘I just forgot, is the thing.

OrIneverwould’vehadyoutryit.’Shepicksupthehose,and

Alvin’s tape measure.Measuresoffsixfeetfromthepost he’s working on. Soaksthenextspot.‘Hotter than itwaswhen I

left,’shesaystohim.

‘Yup. Summer’s comingon, all right. Nothing you oranybody else can do tochangeitsmind.’‘Ifeelreallybadaboutmy

mom. I can’t stop thinkingaboutthat.’Alvin stops pounding.

Carly just keeps looking atthedirt,refusingtomakeeyecontact. In her peripheralvision, she can feel himwatchingher.

‘Comeon,’he says. ‘Let’stakeourselvesabreak.’

Theysitontheporchtogetherin the shade. In two straight-backedwooden chairs. Carlytakesoffherhatandsetsitonherknee.Whereshecanlookatit.A Wakapi woman Carly

never met goes by on abicycle down the dirt road, athin cloud of red dust

following.Thewoman raisesone hand in a wave, andAlvinreturnsthegesture.‘Hey, Alvin,’ the woman

calls.‘Hey,Carly.’Thensherideson.‘How does she know my

name?’‘Oh,yougottobequitethe

legendaroundherewhileyouwere away. Now what’s thisaboutyourmom?’

Carly lets out a long,unhappysigh.‘I thought she was lying

about Teddy. So she couldleave him for this guy.Whoshe was already sleepingwith.Iwouldn’tspeaktoher.IsaidIhatedherandIcalledheraliar.ItoldherI’dneverforgiveher.AndthenIdidn’tspeak to her for months.Literally. Like, four or fivemonths. And then she went

off with that guy, and gotherself killed. And now Icome to find out she wasn’tlying. She did a lot that waswrong,mymom,butnotthat.Not that one thing. And Ididn’tknow thatwas the lastchanceI’deverhavetospeakto her. And now I feel likeI’mgoingtohavetolivewiththatfortherestofmylife.’‘Youare,’Alvinsays.

‘Gee, thanks. You weresupposed to say somethingcomforting.’‘Wantmetolietoyou?’‘No.’Theysitquietlyforatime.

Carly puts one hand on herhat,whereitsitsonherknee.Itlooksjustrightthere.Whenit’snotonherhead.‘We took off out of there

so fast, I don’t even knowwheretheyburiedher.’

‘Want me to see if I canfindout?’‘Yeah. That would be

good.Thankyou.’‘See? You’re getting good

at that. Told you a littlepractise’sallittakes.’Alvingetsupandwanders

into the house. Comes backout with two pottery cups ofice water about the size ofsmall buckets. Hands one toher.

‘Thanks,’ she says, andtakesalongdraw.‘OK. I’ll try to say

something comforting. Wegotadifferent relationship toourancestors than thepeopleyou grew up with. We stillget some help and guidancefromthosewho’regone.Likethey’re gone in oneway, butnot in every way.We’re nottaught tobecutoff fromour

ancestors, like they’re justdead,andthat’sthat.’‘Wish I’d been taught like

that.’‘Never too old to learn,’

Alvin says. ‘Question iswhether you’ll stay aroundhere with us long enough topickupsomethingnew.’Carly never answers that

question.She just looks off at the

line of lowmountains in the

distance, liking the way thesunhitsthem.Likingthewaythe breeze blows patterns inthe dry grasses between hereandthere.Likingthewaythehorsesgraze ina fieldacrossthe road. And the way theclouds scud across the navy-blueedgesofthesky.It’sagoodsky.The reason she doesn’t

answer the question isbecause she still wants to

reserve more time to think.Before she makes any bigcommitments.But she’s pretty sure she

alreadyknows.

Author’sNote

There is no such thing as aNative American tribe calledthe Wakapi. They arefictional.The land on which I have

depicted them living is veryreal. It’s in Arizona, justwhereitappearsinthisnovel.ItcontainsthePaintedDesert,

and some of the mostimpressive landscapes Iknow. It is haunting andsimple,pure,and,inmyeyes,achingly beautiful. It neverceasestomakemefeelawed,insignificant, and inspired,usuallyallatthesametime.Ihavebeenthroughandtothisarea on a number ofoccasions.In the real world, these

lands belong to the Navajo,

Hopi,andApachetribes.My initial vision for this

book was to depict a fewfictional members of a realtribe,andIsetofftoresearchthistribewithmuchthesamezeal as I set off to researchtransplant surgeries when IwroteSecondHandHeart.Here’swhatIlearned:A surgery is a finite thing.

And, when all is said anddone,itisonlythat:athing.It

is not a human being, a richhistory, or a culture. It haslimits. It follows the samebasic guidelines each time itoccurs. Its complexity isnothing compared to apeople.As a result of this

realization, I created thefictional Wakapi tribe as away to show my immenserespect for the NativeAmericancultureandwayof

life. Because I ultimatelydecided it was far morerespectful to openly admitthatIdonotknowanyNativeAmerican tribe well enoughtotakeontheirstory,oreventhe story of one or more oftheir people. A great deal ofharmhasbeendonetoNativeAmerican culture byoutsiders. My hope is not tocontributetothatharminanyway. Ultimately, I decided

my goal would be bestaccomplished by remainingontheoutside.I do realize I am still

depictingaversionofNativeAmerican life in a verygeneralway. I don’t supposeI can have done so perfectlyfrom my outsider position,but I hope I have done itreasonablywell, and thatmyrespectshinesthrough.

AbouttheAuthor

Catherine Ryan Hyde is theauthor of several highlyacclaimed novels includingthe award-winning Pay itForward (which was madeinto a feature film starringKevin Spacey and HelenHunt), Love in the PresentTense (a Richard & JudyBook Club bestseller),

Chasing Windmills, When IFound You, Second HandHeart,Don’t LetMeGo andWhenYouWereOlder.

AlsobyCatherineRyanHydeandpublishedbyBlack

Swan

WHENYOUWEREOLDER

DON’TLETMEGOSECONDHANDHEARTWHENIFOUNDYOUTHEHARDESTPART

OFLOVE

(previouslypublishedasElectricGod)

CHASINGWINDMILLSPAYITFORWARD

LOVEINTHEPRESENTTENSE

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JUMPSTARTTHEWORLD

DIARYOFAWITNESSTHEDAYIKILLED

JAMESTHEYEAROFMYMIRACULOUS

REAPPEARANCEBECOMINGCHLOE

WALTER’SPURPLEHEART

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