Two hours—that was enough time to run home, pack some clothes, get the rest of my money. Lily insisted I stay, but I didn’t think I could. I knew that she was worried, that she’d thought I was in over my head ever since she saw the burn marks. But if what she wanted was to protect me, then she needed to let me go. I knew what she meant about going to the police. Maybe I could write down what I’d seen or maybe she could talk to them for me. There had to be a solution that didn’t involve me spending another minute here. I did feel guilty, though, and I wondered if everyone would simply forget about Julie and about the other women if I were to leave. Maybe I could stay just long enough for Lily and me to come up with a plan.

“Is there another one later?”

“Not today. Tomorrow. Same time.”

“Okay, I’ll come back soon, then.”

She shrugged. I wondered what she would think if she knew about the women. If she would still sit here in her little ticket window, snapping her gum, or if she would also want to get as far away as she could.

As I walked home I came up with a list of what I wanted to bring. There was a part of me that wondered if I could do this. I didn’t even have a suitcase. I had never tried to make a straight living. Never had a bank account, never finished high school. But I had told myself that in my new life I wouldn’t steal, and I sure as hell wouldn’t sleep with any men for money. But there was so much I didn’t know about where I would live or how. But still, it seemed better to run. To start clean. Maybe that’s what the Four of Pentacles meant—I could give up all of the bad things I did here, give up the money, once I was free.

When I got home there was a man leaning against the door of the shop, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Something about him felt familiar, but I couldn’t say what. My memories of anything before this summer felt impossible, like something I had seen in a movie or TV show. One of my teachers? Someone Des partied with? A client for a reading? I couldn’t remember. All I knew was that his calm gave me a bad feeling—the sense that there was something slippery and secretive underneath it.

“Can I help you?” I said, hoping my voice sounded mean. I was through with talking to everyone like they were the most exciting thing that had happened to me that day.