“The question you’re asking me doesn’t have an answer, kid. You’re not going to find the good spots in any of the guidebooks or websites. You’ve gotta keep going until somewhere feels right. Trial and error. Lots of it. Trial and error.” She puts out the joint on a rock and hands it to me. “Don’t smoke it all at once.”

She goes in but I stay, sitting on the tavern steps, taking in the stars and the night sounds and even the fear of how big the sky is and how long life is going to be.

When I finally spot Rose she’s cuddled up in a booth by the stage sucking face with Suzie Q. I walk in and perch at the bar.

Johnny rocks up and knocks his hip against mine. “Come here often?”

“No”—I’m feeling kind of frisky now—“it’s my first time.”

“Lyall! Two brews, my man.”

Johnny and I clink our bottles and turn and lean our backs against the bar, checking out who’s still here. The blondes have gone. Frances looks keyed up, talking to Gretchen as much with her hands as with her voice. Gretchen is listening with a serious face on. Grover and Ernie are talking. One is explaining something to the other but it’s hard to tell who’s doing which. Lyall balances a curved tower of glasses as he goes from table to table clearing up. Helen and Nancy hold hands and look at each other like they’re trying to stop time.

And then the pain in my leg almost makes me jump. I’d forgotten all about it. It sobers me up and suddenly everything looks very clear. I control my body. I keep from making any noise. I breathe slowly.

It’s Johnny. Johnny’s hand on my thigh.

I look around swiftly. I don’t think anybody sees.

I try to make my face blank, even though I want to wince. I lean my mouth to his ear. “Harder.”

His fingertips press into my inner thigh and his thumb is almost where the knife went in. The pain sears; my thigh muscle is a slab of meat cooking. The hurt is so hot it’s almost numb. The only thought that comes clearly through the burning is the desire not to get a bloodstain on my grandmother’s dress. It’s probably bleeding again, seeping through the fabric and running down my leg.

As if reading my mind he pulls his hand away, making sure it brushes against my ass on its way to his pocket to pull out a pack of Marlboro reds.