I was parked out back, which I only remembered when I nearly tripped over my car. Good. I didn’t want to talk to the police either. They’d probably come for me later, when they found out what Malachi had been up to, but I wasn’t ready for them yet. I needed some time to pull myself together. My hands clenched the steering wheel to keep from shaking. I hate being scared. I hate it. And even worse, I hate feeling guilty . . . especially when I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. Or so I told myself.

I took my time getting home. On my way back up the mountain I stopped in north Chattanooga, halfheartedly poking around to see if I could stumble across Pine Breeze. I didn’t find it; I didn’t even find the cemetery with a duck pond that was supposed to mark the turnoff. I was thinking harder than I was looking.

Avery.

Dave said he thought my father’s name was Allen, or Andrew, or something like that. Was it Avery, instead? Once I’d gone through Lu’s high school yearbooks seeking out a likely candidate. My mother had been sent to Pine Breeze by the time school pictures were taken, so I didn’t find anything of her—but in her class I thought perhaps I’d find the mysterious Allen or Andrew. Naturally, I found more than a couple Allens or Andrews. I painstakingly searched each black-and-white photograph for some hint of my own features, but I did this without reward. Not one of them was any more likely than another to have been my sire.

But had there been any Averys? I couldn’t recall. Perhaps I should look again.

Finally feeling a little more centered—or at least less rattled—I gave up wandering the rabbit warren of roads that comprise the north-side neighborhoods and returned home.

Lulu was waiting for me at the door. Her body was haloed by the television light flickering in the living room. She was not happy.

“Jamie called to see if you made it home okay. He told me what happened at the slam.”

“Oh.” Well, at least I didn’t have to tell her about it. I wasn’t sure how I would have explained it anyway.

Lulu and I faced off on the porch. “You could have at least called to say you were all right,” she said.

I shrugged. “I didn’t know Jamie would call. I didn’t know that dumbass would tell you about it. I didn’t see any reason to worry you.”

“Where you been? You left there an hour and a half ago. What’ve you been doing all this time?”

I shrugged again, like I always do when I don’t know what to say. I do it when the truth isn’t likely to be enough. “Driving around.”