My car door stood open. I reached in the backseat, grabbed the box of tissues, wiped my hand, wiped the Maglite. Tossed both into the car.

I sunk into the driver’s seat, my neck itchy with sweat. “You OK?”

Desiree closed her door. It didn’t catch, so she opened and slammed it again. “Yeah,” she said, staring at the silver sedan. Her forehead wrinkled as if she were trying to solve a difficult math problem.

Ahead of my car, the sedan’s lights were off and its doors were closed.

I started my car, praying I could get it back on the road. The slope was shallow, only a foot, but I have gotten stuck in less than that.

How did I want to approach this? Slow and easy or gun it?

It hadn’t rained in days. The earth was hard and sturdy. I pushed the pedal down quickly, all the way. The Subaru jumped onto the road, and I almost drove right off the other shoulder. Another jolt of adrenaline before I swerved, straightened it out, slowed down. My breathing was heavy and wet in my ears. I smelled my panic, both dried and fresh.

My headlights caught the glare of copper ahead. The bridge was brown and rusty, the color of dried blood. I slowed the car to a roll on the bridge. With my window down, murmurs of the rushing river below drifted up.

Crooked River.

I was trying to process what the hell just happened when Desiree spoke.

“How’d you know?” she said quietly, staring out her window.

“What?”

“That I was arrested.”

“It showed up on my local news.” I sped up, leaving the bridge behind. “I saw your photo and read the story. I figured it had to be a misunderstanding.” I didn’t quite raise the end of my sentence into a question, but my cadence leaned that way.

“No, I meant to break in alright.” She laughed softly. Her body was stiff and leaning against the door as if she were mentally preparing herself to open it and let herself drop out. Her voice sounded reflective, not at all herself. “I checked the windows, found an open one, pushed out the screen, and started to climb in. It was easy until I heard that girl scream. She looked so scared of me.” She slipped back into her brash tone. “It’s kind of thrilling, seeing a look of terror on someone’s face. You ever see that on someone’s face?”

Yes. But I said nothing.

“Oh well, she’ll survive. She was a tween. A tweenie bopper,” she said, barking a laugh, turning to me with a huge grin. Back to carefree. She hung her elbow on the edge of her door and brushed her fingers against the soft ceiling of my car.

“You were robbing someone’s house?”

“Turn right here. I wasn’t robbing someone. I was trying to get something back for someone.”