I served them, one by one, from the left. I grated Parmesan and cracked pepper from the mill, and then I filled their wine glasses with bourbon, holding it from the base like we did in the restaurant, wiping the drips with a folded triangle of napkin. For Jack I grabbed a can of Coke from the bar and poured it with the glass angled to the side, managing the brown foam.

Nobody spoke. Everyone stared at me with agonized regard. They couldn’t figure out if I was more of a danger to myself or to them.

At last I sat. My heart beat overtime, the thump of it in my jaw, in my fingers. Washed through with nervousness, I could barely look at them.

“Um,” I said, twirling the wine stem in my fingers, the golden thick of the bourbon swirling in circles. “Whew! This is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.”

Jack leaned back in his chair defensively; Jes and Marlin grew stiff; and Tyler turned his body into mine.

“I don’t even know where to start. I guess, with gratitude. Thank you, for having me here. I know that I’m your guest. I know that you gave me access to the world that you made. And I don’t want to break that world. I want to help. But—I do know, now. I know what you did.”

Not a single one of them moved—they didn’t look at each other, they didn’t let their faces betray shock—nothing. I was on the right track. I took a huge bite of pasta. The sauce ran down my chin. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, then continued.

“You have explicitly refused to give Carey what she wanted. And I get it. I would not want to watch a film of anyone I know dying. I wouldn’t want anyone else to watch it either. I couldn’t bear it, probably. It’s horrible.”

Nobody responded. They were waiting me out.

“Maybe it’s not even that. Maybe there’s something else on the film? I don’t know. I’ve only seen part of it.”

“I thought you took care of it,” Jack said to Jes.

“Not quite.” She frowned.

Tyler shook his head at them, the tiniest bit. I used my fork to point at the canisters in the middle.