Eventualy, every scrap would be cataloged and subjected to a range of tests, then reassembled around a wood-and-wire frame. Over time an aircraft would take shape, like a slow-motion reverse, with a milion fragments drawing together to form a recognizable object.

I'd visited reassembly sites on other crashes, and could picture the tedious scene. In this case the process would move more quickly since Air TransSouth 228 had not been driven into the ground. The plane had come apart in midair and plummeted to earth in large pieces.

But I would not see it. I was exiled. My face must have registered my despondency.

'I can put off the meeting.' Ryan laid a hand on my shoulder.

'I'm O.K.'

'What are you going to do this afternoon?'

'I'm going to sit here and finish my lunch with Boyd. Then I'm going to drive into town and buy dog food, razors, and shampoo.'

'Wil you be al right?'

'I may have trouble finding the ones with double blades. But I'l persevere.

'You can be a pain in the ass, Brennan.'

'See. I'm fine.'

I managed a weak smile.

'Go to your meeting.'

When he'd gone, I gave Boyd the last of the fries.

'Any preferred brands?' I asked.

He didn't answer.

I suspected Boyd would eat just about anything but boiled eggs.

I was stuffing wrappers into the carry-out bag when Ruby shot out the front door and grabbed my arm.

'Quick! Come quick!'

'What is—'

She dragged me off the swing and into the house. Boyd danced along, nipping at my jeans. I wasn't sure if it was Ruby's urgency that excited him or his entry onto forbidden turf.

Ruby puled me straight to the kitchen, where an ironing board stood with a pair of Levi's draped across it. A wicker basket rested below, heaped to the rim with crumpled laundry. Neatly pressed garments hung from cabinet knobs around the room.

Ruby pointed to a twelve-inch black-and-white TV on a counter opposite the board. A ribbon at the bottom of the screen announced fast-breaking news. A newscaster spoke above the graphic, his face grim, his voice serene. Though reception was poor, I had no trouble identifying the figure over his left shoulder.

The room receded around me. I was aware of nothing but the voice and the snowy picture.

'… an inside source revealed that the anthropologist has been dismissed, and that an investigation is under way. Charges have not yet been filed, and it is unclear if the crash investigation has been compromised, or if victim identifications have been affected. When contacted, Dr. Larke Tyrel, North Carolina's chief medical examiner, had no comment. In other news ...'

'That's you, isn't it?'

Ruby brought me back.

'Yes,' I said.

Boyd had stopped racing around the kitchen and was sniffing the floor below the sink. His head came up when I spoke.