She heads unerringly through an arched doorway toward a gleaming white kitchen. “I’ll be in the garage,” she calls over her shoulder.

“She knows the person who lived here,” Trey observes quietly, staring after her.

“She hates the person who lived here.”

“You know something weird?” Trey says.

“What?”

“I don’t think we saw a single dead body while driving through this neighborhood.”

He’s right. Not even a car accident. “Rich people lead weird lives. They probably got out as soon as the trouble started. They died in fancy places like Europe or the country club or whatever.”

“Or maybe there was literally no place fancier than home, and they all died inside, without making a single fuss.”

Something in his face makes me ask, “Others made a fuss, though?”

“God, yes. Thousands of people got trampled in a stampede in Hyderabad. A shooter walked into the Mall of America and gunned down a bunch of kids. A Paris AirWays pilot flew his jet full of passengers into the Eiffel Tower. Some billionaire tech guy threw a party on the rooftop deck of a Manhattan hotel; a bunch of people got drunk and jumped . . .” He runs a hand over his hair, and his jaw goes tight.

It finally occurs to me that I had it easy, getting sick. I didn’t have to watch the trauma unfold.

“That sounds awful.”

“I can’t unsee any of it.”

“We’ve got to get to Sandusky.” I punch out the words. “We don’t have time for Tanq’s drama.”

“Let’s listen to that broadcast first,” he says. “Do you think Tanq would come with us?”

“Maybe. If we let her do . . .” I make a vague hand gesture as I echo his words, “Whatever this ‘business’ is.”

“Is that why you shut me up when we were in the car?” He raises an eyebrow at me, as if in challenge.

“Sorry about that. Tanq had this look on her face, like my little brother used to get when he was scared, and then he would go into these panic-rages. . . .”

“Ah. Figured you had a good reason.” He fingers one of the bright green leaves of the tree. It’s waxy and thick, though it’s showing a bit of wilt, maybe from lack of water. “I think it’s an orange tree,” he says.

“It’s going to die without someone to take care of it.”

“And it’s too big to take outside.” We both stare at it a moment, then he says, “If Tanq doesn’t want to come with us, then what?”

“Then we go together. The two of us.”

His smile is one of relief.

“But you’re right; we should listen to that broadcast tonight,” I add. “Just to make sure.”

He nods. “In the meantime, let’s see if there’s anything to eat.”