He shrugged. “Opening the door for you.”

“Why?” I said. His gesture made me feel awkward.

“Just get in.”

I climbed inside, hugging myself to keep warm while Tyler slammed the passenger door and jogged around to the other side. He was brooding, unhappy about something.

He drove us down to the magazine so I could drop off my flash drive to Jojo. She greeted me with a smile, eager to upload the pictures to her computer.

“Daddy is loving these,” she said.

“Yeah? Does that mean I’m done?” I asked.

“Maybe. I need you to write up what you’ve learned so far, and I’ll clean it up for you. We might need some pork.”

“Um … pork?”

Her finger tapped the computer mouse. “You know … material we might use later.” She scanned me from head to toe. “Go home and get some rest, Ellison. You look like hell.”

“On my way,” I said, taking back my chip and heading for the door.

Tyler’s truck was still running, the exhaust fumes billowing into the night sky. The moment he saw me walking toward him, he leaned over the console and pushed open my door. I climbed up again, and he rubbed my leg quickly.

“We need to get you home. You’re exhausted.”

“You’ve been working a lot harder than me.”

“But I’m used to it. Jojo should give you a few days off. You’re going to get sick.”

“I feel better than I have in a long time, actually.”

Tyler put the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb, heading toward my house. He lit a cigarette and handed it to me without me asking, and then lit his own. We didn’t talk much. Instead, I left Tyler to the seemingly millions of thoughts in his head.

Tyler pulled his truck into my drive and slowed to a stop at the gate. I leaned over him to press in the code, and the gate whined, beginning its slow journey open. Tyler pulled forward and drove the mile-long path to the house.

It was dark, and I assumed Maricela and José had gone home for the night.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, gathering my things and climbing down to the concrete below. I walked around the front of the truck, took a few more steps, and then froze.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Ellison, she knows,” Sterling said. He stepped out from the shadows, looking thin, his whiskers a few days past a five o’clock shadow. He stumbled down the steps, his tie loose and his shirt stained.

Tyler’s door opened and closed, and his footsteps crunched against the snow and rock until he stopped just behind me.

“Hey, Sterling,” Tyler said. “Good to see you.”

Sterling’s eyes were wet. I could smell the whiskey from ten feet away. “She fucking knows, Ellie. She won’t answer my calls.”