I immediately regretted telling her where I was.

After I used the restroom, I walked on crushed peanut shells to a barstool. Same place we’d sat before. Same dim lighting and lacquered wood bartop. I’d barely eaten today, and I was hungry. My stomach seemed to have no recollection of yesterday’s sickness. I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a coke.

I texted Visha.

-How are the girls treating you?

-They are sweet. Glad you texted. A friend needs me to work for her in the morning. Can you or Trevor be here by 9 a.m.?

I hadn’t thought of Trevor grabbing Emily. That would make sense since he was already in Chicago with Sawyer.

Did I trust him with Emily after seeing him with Brandon? C’mon, Heather. It’s Trevor.

Asher Moss’s words echoed in my head. He was one of the boys who found her body. Those two, they were a thing.

-I can be there early, Visha. I’ll text before I leave, like at 6:30 a.m.

The bartender, who was washing glasses, gazed over my shoulder with a hungry look in his eye.

A beat later, “Hey, bitch.” The words rolled of her tongue loosely and with joy.

She wore a tank top and frayed jean shorts, and had a strappy purse diagonal on her chest, dramatically separating her breasts. Heavy, smudged eyeliner. Of course.

She plopped down on the bench beside me. “Two whiskeys in shot glasses, a tall coke. Thanks, baby.” She drummed the bar with her fingertips.

“I’ll pass.”

“Come on. Live a little,” she said, loud and animated, as if she were talking to a big group of us gals, trying to get us all riled up for a girls’ night out.

The bartender slid the shots and her coke in front of us, a smile aimed at Desiree.

“I’ll pay,” she said, turning toward me. “God knows I owe you.” As if a shot canceled out what I’d spent for her bail.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Cliff Paulson?” I said, hoping to catch her off guard.

“Drink first,” she said, bossy.

“I’m not a drinker.”

“What’s gonna happen? You gonna turn into a pumpkin?”

I put the glass to my lips, got them wet with whiskey, put the glass down. “There.”

“It’s not lip gloss, Heather. It’s not a dirty dick.” She tipped her shot back, emptied it.

The image of that little girl, me, holding her sticker to her nose, crept into my mind and my heart. The shame was jagged.

I relaxed my throat and tossed it back. My throat burned, my skin prickled. My brain flexed, pissed and horrified. My lungs threw a fit.

She smacked me on the back, laughing. “You’d think that was your first shot of whiskey ever.”

Something like that.

“So where’s my baby? Where’s Emmy?” She really did love Emily.

“With a friend.”