He was gone for an hour, but when he finally came through the door, dripping with sweat, he looked a little less explosive than he had before. Still, even sweaty and ornery, he was impressive to look at. Shayna tried not to stare as she informed him of the clean towels in the bathroom and invited him to help himself to the shower. It had been a while since there had been a man in the house, obviously, and Shayna looked at me apologetically, as if she were having lascivious thoughts and felt guilty about them. She bit her lip and turned away, and I felt bad for her once again. Shayna Harris was juggling a lot of crap. And shit is incredibly difficult to juggle. No matter how hard you try, it still falls apart and slips through your fingers, and even when you’re managing to keep it aloft, it still stinks.

After dinner, with Finn’s permission, I lightly sanded his old guitar, and Katy and I drew little flowers all over it, intertwining the blossoms with curling long green vines. We painted the blossoms in different shades of pink, using some of the little tole paints on Katy’s dresser. When we were done, Katy and I both signed our names on the back, and Shayna applied a clear overcoat to seal our efforts. I could tell she was one of those crafty ladies that was good at making tin cans and weeds look pretty.

Finn told Katy she could keep it, that it would be a collector’s item someday. I don’t think Katy knew what he meant, but I hoped Shayna did, and told her if she needed the money she shouldn’t be afraid to sell it. I would send Katy a new one to replace it. I also left three thousand dollars in her cookie jar. I was frustrated that I couldn’t leave more because I had so much more. I just couldn’t access more at the moment, and I needed to make sure I still had some cash to get myself and Finn to Vegas.

I didn’t know why I needed to get to Vegas so badly. There was nothing there for me. But I was focused on it like it was the ribbon strung across a finish line, as if the journey itself held the answers to my questions. And I believed if I could just have until Vegas—just a few days is all—I would figure out how to live again.

COULD YOU FALL in love with a voice? Finn shut his eyes and listened from the little room, lying in the little bed, covered in a little pink spread, surrounded by life-size pictures of Bonnie Rae Shelby wearing skimpy outfits and long, blonde curls, making love to a microphone. Katy was requesting one song after another, and Bonnie Rae was giving the sweet ten-year-old a private concert . . . in her pajamas. Talk about Make-A-Wish.

You would think he would stare at those pictures while he listened to her sing. But Finn didn’t stare at the images. He didn’t need to. The real thing was a room away. So he had turned off the lights, climbed into bed, and now lay with his eyes closed, just listening.

He heard giggles—childish and adult—and he wondered how Bonnie was still going strong at ten o’clock at night. He was exhausted, and she hadn’t had any more sleep than he had in the last twenty-four hours. And she still hadn’t showered or had a minute to herself. He wondered if this time with Katy was good for her, healing maybe. It was the only reason he hadn’t insisted they leave. He’d wanted to get on the road. He’d needed to press his foot to the gas and leave Portsmouth behind, to get back on track.

What had happened to his road trip, the road trip he’d been so eager to make that he hadn’t even waited until morning to leave home as originally planned? He hadn’t been able to sleep that last night in Boston, the night he’d found Bonnie on the bridge. He’d gone to bed and lain there for an hour and then thought, “Why wait?” So he’d folded up his bedding—the only thing left in his basement apartment—and pulled on his clothes. Then he’d headed out. His mom worked the swing shift at the hospital, so she would be getting home about midnight too. He planned to catch her right as she got home, say goodbye, and be on his way. That was the plan. That was Saturday. And that plan, and every other one since then, had been shot to hell.

Now it was Tuesday. Only three nights later. And he was in a strange house, in a child’s bed, in southern Ohio.

He almost laughed then, so damn bewildered and incredulous that laughing was all he really could do. He rubbed his face, too tired to give in to the urge to howl, and just sighed instead, noting wearily that Bonnie Rae had closed her concert and was saying goodnight to Katy, promising she’d be back after she showered, telling the little girl to try to go to sleep.

Bonnie Rae had called Katy Minnie. It had happened only once, but he’d seen the stricken look on Bonnie’s face before she’d corrected herself and patted Katy’s cheek. It was the same look she’d worn when she’d been watching them in the convenience store, before she’d befriended them.

The bathroom was right next to Katy’s bedroom. He saw the light pool in the hallway as Bonnie entered, and then watched it narrow to a long thin line as she closed the door, and the light seeped out beneath. The shower came on next, the sound soothing the way rushing water always was. Someone had told him in prison that God’s voice sounded like rushing water. That’s why babies love to be shushed. That’s why the sound lulls people to sleep. He wondered how anyone would know what God’s voice sounded like. Especially someone convicted of homicide.

He felt himself drifting off when he heard Bonnie crying. He was pretty sure that this time it had nothing to do with short hair and a resemblance to her homely brother, Hank. She cried like she’d been holding it in all day. Maybe she had. Maybe spending time with Katy had been a very bad idea. He sat up immediately, wondering if they should go, if he needed to get her out of here.