He smiled and let go of her hand, and Josie ran it through her hair and pressed her temples. The wine and the caffeine had made her head pound, and she wished she could sink to the ground and be absorbed into the carpet.

“Midnight then?” Devesh leaned in close, and Josie could feel his breath tickle the hairs on her neck. She shivered, and he laughed softly. “It’s only a walk.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he stayed his ground. “Don’t make me ring the doorbell.”

And then it was done. He said his goodbyes, walked slowly toward the door, and any resilience Josie clung to dissolved with that final threat.

At eleven fifty-five, Josie crept from her room. She carried her shoes in one hand and opened the front door with the other. It was colder than earlier, and she wished she had brought a sweater, but she was afraid to go back. She sat on the porch step and slipped on her shoes.

If Mary looked out the window, she was sure to see them. The thought pinched at Josie, and she wrapped her arms around herself and wished he would hurry. Who did he think he was, anyway? She had heard Mary and her friends joking about surgeons and their arrogance, and now Josie understood why. But here she was, still waiting. She would go on this one walk, and then no more. No one would ever find out, and Mary could have him if she wanted. She looked down at her watch and followed the second hand circle after circle.

Finally, at twelve-ten she heard his steps on the concrete. She stood, and he smiled at her. “Ready for your evening constitutional?” he asked.

“Sh,” she said. “We have to be quiet.”

“Well, come on then.”

He had his hands in his pockets, and she wished she had changed into jeans, that she had somewhere to put her hands or something to do with them. She walked along next to him, determined to stay quiet. He could talk if he wanted. She would stay focused on all the reasons this was a very bad idea. They walked to the end of the block, then down on Grove Street, and when they reached Elm, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said, and smiled at her.

She looked at him, saw the soft lines around his eyes, the thin scar above his eyebrow, and for the first time felt at ease, and yet behind this feeling was the sting of something else. She looked down, and he took her hand in his. It was warm and broad, and she focused on his thumb, the way it stroked her fingers slowly and firmly, back and forth, back and forth, and felt safe.

“Okay?” he asked.

She took a breath. “Okay,” she said.