“I have twenty of them in the kitchen. I wish you would have taken one.”

“I don’t want it. Not to talk to Zeke. I’d better go. I’ve got to get some gas at the next exit.”

“Sweetie?” she said. “Would it even matter to tell him? You haven’t seen him in forever. You don’t know him. Not really. Just tell the reporter that Zeke helped you and then things will happen naturally after that. Maybe it’s better if that lady talks to him. It might be better, honestly.”

“I already called him. He heard my voice. I just need to tell him.”

“I wish you wouldn’t, but okay. I really feel like I should come with you. If you waited at a rest stop, I—”

“I gotta go, Mom,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I’ll text you the address. I’ll text you when I’m done. It’s fine.”

I got out of the car once I pulled into a gas station, and bought some Pop-Tarts and a soda. The station was empty, just the cashier, who was watching TV, and so I walked to the car and got one of the posters, some tape, and I went back into the store and slipped into the women’s bathroom. I taped it to the mirror and stared at it for ten seconds, letting it wash over me. Why did it work every time? Why did I care so much? I didn’t question it. Or I didn’t question it more deeply. I let it do its thing to me, the world disappearing and then wrapping around me. And then I was gone.

IN MEMPHIS, THE ADDRESS LED ME TO THAT SAME HOUSE FROM the summer, the cottage in Central Gardens. I had been hoping that it wouldn’t be the same house, since the last time I was here, there had been some weird violence, a lot of chaos. I didn’t even consider driving away, but I thought about Zeke, that goofy teenage boy, and how those fits of anger would spark, and I was scared. I wished that I weren’t, but I was.