“Well, I guess we will find out. Come on.”

They walked out together, with Dog, through the house, out the front door. Ever’s black Ram truck was parked near Plata. Even his truck is similar. Izzy thought of the missing persons flyers still in her bag. In the picture, Cyrus’s eyes looked pixilated, hundreds of tiny dark dots. Were those eyes watching her from inside the bag, watching her get into her truck and follow a stranger home? Part of her hoped Cyrus’s eyes were watching.

◆◆◆

Ever signaled for a long time, alerting her, before he turned off the highway. The two black trucks passed a handwritten sign that read, “Dark Road,” and Izzy wondered if the name bothered Ever. Probably not. She could see his smile in her mind like the distant lights at the end of the dirt road.

The road led to a gate with a metal sign of a crescent moon and the words “Rancho de la Rosa.” Behind a garden of rocks and succulents, a low porch ran the length of the ranch house. A metal peacock and an old-fashioned framed still life of overblown roses hung on the outer wall of the house above an outdoor couch covered in a woven blue and pink Mexican blanket like one Izzy and Cyrus had on their bed. Blue glass wind chimes spun and clinked. A pair of large desert boots slouched by the door.

Beyond, across the highway, lay the monument. Ever and Izzy parked on the pavers and then walked up to the door with Dog. The large room, lit fuzzily by candles and strands of white lights that gave everything a gauzy radiance, housed a home recording studio with a computer, microphones, monitors, cables, a large set of keyboards, a drum set, guitars, and bass. Also: two worn green velvet armchairs, a brown leather couch, an emerald green Moroccan rug covered with red and blue birds and flowers on brown branches, a wooden coffee table with mugs, ashtrays, incense burners, and candles oozing vanilla scent with each drip of wax. On the wall hung photos of famous musicians posed in front of the studio, stern as cacti and casting long shadows in stark desert sunlight.

Izzy collapsed onto the couch. Shifting shadows became a black cat with green eyes.

“Oh,” Izzy said, tugging on Dog’s leash, but he just lay on the carpet, and the cat stalked over, sniffed him a bit, then glided into her lap.

She closed her eyes, twirling the long, solid tail with her fingers. The cat purred and pressed his head to her stomach. “I’m so tired,” she said.

“Why don’t you rest?”

Suddenly, her head felt chasmal. Pain was there but at the periphery. The cat curled into a ball in her lap, reverberating against her full belly. She tried not to think of the kitten she’d had as a child.