“Will you tell Monty I came by?” Suddenly I just need to get out of here. A hundred Montys grin at me from a hundred different pasts: a hundred idiot smiles, blissfully unaware of what comes next. “Have him call me, if he feels like it. Here.”

She lifts my card by its edges, as if she’s afraid to smudge it. When she glances up, I see a look of uncertainty travel all the way from forehead to chin. “Why did you come by, then, if not about what happened to Tatum?”

“No reason.” I stand up, alarmed by a cloud of black that temporarily darkens my vision. I steady myself against the wall. “To say hi, that’s all.”

She nods. But I can tell she isn’t convinced.

I’m already in the car when she pokes her head out again to shout, “You say hi to your daddy for me, okay?”

It looks like she says something else, too, but the engine swallows whatever it is.

Girls, games, poisons—the past is repeating itself, rippling outward like the surface of the reservoir.

—

I’ve missed another call—not a local number, this time. I pull over onto one of the nameless dirt roads, so narrow that the fields slap my side mirrors. I cut the engine and listen to a faint wind sift the leaves. From here the road does nothing but disappear into cornstalks, and I imagine if I keep driving, I’ll disappear too, just blink out of the world. Like Kaycee did.

The first voicemail is from Shariah, sounding uncertain. In the background, a baby cries.

Hello, Ms. Williams. I got your note. I…well, I’m calling you back, like you told me to. You can give me a call anytime at this number. Or if I don’t pick up, I’m probably putting Grayson down. Okay. Bye.

The next message is a man I don’t recognize: he explains he’s calling for Abby Williams in a creepy-calm voice.

This is Dr. Chun, calling from Lincoln Memorial in Indianapolis.

Unconsciously, I straighten up a bit, check my rearview mirror, as if something might be coming from behind.

Dr. Aster sent me the results of a recent MRI for your father, and indicated you were the point of contact. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.

It’s funny how quickly the whole world shrivels up to the inside of a car, to the space between ringtones. I watch birds streak across a washed-blue sky. Six of them. Then a seventh one, late.

I squeeze my phone until it turns warm beneath my fingers.

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret, never to be told.

I reach a receptionist. Possibly, it’s the same receptionist at every doctor’s office, rental car agency, and health insurance claim office I’ve ever called. Possibly, there is only one in the whole world, and she rotates her bored inflection from desk to desk, like a Santa Claus who brings nothing but not giving a shit. She informs me Dr. Chun will call me back when he can, in a way that suggests I will be very lucky if this occurs before Christmas.