No one had heard from Hank. Word was that he took care of the librarian all day and walked the streets and the river’s edge at night, looking for clues. No fingerprints had shown up near any bomb site except for Bull Wills’s prints all over the hospital crime scene.

Ketch shut off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and called Tuesday, even though it was early. If he woke her up, it would be fun to hear her complain.

“Morning, old man.” She sounded wide-awake.

“Morning, kid. It’s Friday, any chance we could have a date?”

“A date? What’s that?”

“Pizza and beer. Maybe talking face-to-face, if you don’t have to work.”

She laughed. “I quit the bar. I was only part-time anyway. One of the other girls needed more hours. And, thanks to you pushing me, I’ve decided to make this place mine.”

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I mailed a few of Eva’s ink sketches off to an address I found taped to her desk. The name on the card was a man who died twenty years ago, but his son still owns the small gallery. He said they might be worth something.”

Tuesday hesitated, then whispered like her words were a secret. “I also enrolled in the first summer semester, Ketch. I’m going after that nursing degree.” She laughed. “I figured with you as a friend I might need it.”

“Thanks for thinking of me. That’s great.” He’d be finishing up and she’d be starting. “I’m glad.”

“Me too. Thanks to you, I see that it’s time I start making a life and not just hiding from one.”

“Thanks for what? I didn’t do anything.”

“You saw me, Ketch. No one has done that in a long, long time. It’s my life; I better step into it. This house is my house, not Eva’s anymore. You’ll never know how much you did for me.”

“It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.” He fought to keep his voice calm.

She was silent for a moment. “I don’t want to hold you back. You are graduating. But don’t worry, we’ll keep in touch.”

Just friends, Ketch reminded himself. Keep it light and easy. “How about we talk more about this tonight on our date?”

“Sounds good. I’ll be ready when you come by.”

“Seven?”

“Seven.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

Now and then Ketch almost felt he had a memory of being adrift on the sea. Maybe it was a core memory of the day he was born. He could almost see two young people birthing him on a sailboat and then drifting up to civilization in the dark a week later and leaving him on the dock.

They’d written His name is Ketch Kincaid. Tell him his parents loved him but we weren’t born with roots.