He had to do a nine-point turn to get them headed back for Spoon Hill. They were both quiet, and he drove even slower than before, so slow he had to use the brake in first gear. The air was warm and he could smell the heat of the engine. He wanted to tell her that he was going to Paris before he did anything else, that, honey, he saw it, saw himself on a train dressed in a soldier’s uniform, his harmonicas rolled up in their harness in his lap, that Eiffel Tower coming into view out the window in a late Friday sundown. But the picture in his head wouldn’t come out his mouth, almost as if telling it would risk killing it, killing it like everything else.

They rode into the clearing of Spoon Hill and Leo could see the lights of town across the river near the bridge. Allie had her legs crossed, bouncing the top leg against the bottom. He kept driving down the road, then through the covered bridge across the river. He didn’t know where they were going or what they were going to do once they got there. A pack of cars was parked out in front of Beatrice’s. The U of her neon sign looked like an L and he wanted to say something funny to Allie about it, but he knew his voice would come out as wrong as could be. He turned left and drove through Heywood past the stores and Esso station. It was a Friday night, not ten yet, but Paper Boulevard was an empty over-lit straightaway in front of them. “Want to drive to Texas?”

“Go down your hill, Leo.”

“No, my father’s got friends over.”

“Just for a second. We won’t go inside.”

Leo slowed the flatbed, shut off the headlights, then turned down Saunders Hill Road. A little over halfway down she told him to stop, and she got out of the truck and went into the woods that were partly lit from the light of the house. He watched the back of her white T-shirt until she squatted in the trees. He could hear Jim and Ryder playing something soft out in the parlor, a Broonzy number in half-time. He wondered what Allie would wipe herself with, and he kept his attention on the house through the branches. Helena walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to get three cans of beer. Allie slid back into the truck and pulled the door shut. “Found it.”

“What?”

“Let’s go.”

“Want to go down to the river?”

Allie didn’t say anything so he put the truck in neutral and didn’t start it up, just let it begin rolling down over dirt, past the house, and into the almost complete blackness of where the road met water. He could see the stars over the treetops. He flashed on the headlights and saw the muddy river water moving slow and indifferent six or eight feet in front of them. He pulled up the handbrake just as Allie dropped something into his lap.