It’s almost 10:00 a.m. and we’re on our way. All of Chase’s drunken confidence from last night seems to have faded. He’s nervous and twitchy on the drive over. His voice is high and squeaky. Chase parks the car at the bus depot but doesn’t switch off the engine. He sits bouncing his knee so that the coins in his pocket jangle.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“We have no other choice.” I grip my bag, pressing its hard contents into the sponge of my belly. The whole front of my pelvis is heavy and aching today, like the sucking pull of a tide, a pain that’s new and unrecognizable. I shouldn’t have come here; I’m supposed to be on bed rest. But if I can just get through the next half hour, then go home and lie down, maybe every-thing will be okay. All I want to do is get to my due date and meet my little boy or girl. I feel a kick. My baby wants to meet me, too.

Chase turns to me. “So … you’ll stay in the car, like we said, and I’ll bring Eli to you. You figure out your business. Then we get the hell out of here.”

I nod. I’m actually grateful Chase is here with me. I check the bag, see the tin, the torn shreds of duct tape like a fringe around the lid. The digital clock on his dashboard is blinking toward ten. My pelvis tweaks and twinges. I stare at the bus depot windows that glint impenetrably, but the only people outside the building are two haggard-looking women smoking cigarettes, their inhalations the most luxury they know.

“He’s not here,” I say.

“What? He has to be.”

“He’s not, Chase.” I look around at the small-town slowness. “It’s not like Eli to be late, either.”

“Maybe he’s waiting inside. I should go in there and check, right?” He hesitates, one hand on the door lever. “I’ll bring him out to the car, and you’ll give him the tin. He’s skinny, blond hair, baggy clothes, right?”

“Maybe I should be the one to go in.”

“No.” He pushes his shoulders back. “You need to stay here. If this goes sideways, Ruth, I’m calling the police.” Chase opens his door and gets out, pats the side of his chino shorts to make sure he has his phone. Pungent, hard heat sweeps around his body into the car. “I don’t care whose side you think Sully is on.”