He pulled out his phone. Linda and Sharon were in the small doorway to the hall, making eyes at me, wanting us to get rolling. I guessed they were going to be my ride to the airport, whether I liked it or not. Kevin took out his phone and flipped through it, showed me a picture of a young girl. I winced, thinking it was Claire. But it was another pale blond creature on the edge of teenage-hood, one of the ghostly beings who flittered through my nightmares on the roadside at the bus stop, the dust rising from my car tires. She was wearing a maroon and blue school uniform. The picture was embellished at the bottom with a school crest.

“This is my Penny,” he said.

“Your daughter?” I frowned.

“No, no. My, uh … my sister.”

“She’s beautiful,” I said, taking a step back toward the door. I was experiencing a strong urge to retreat. “Nice to meet you. I’ve gotta go.”

I turned and left him there in the empty room with the empty chairs, clutching his phone and looking down at the screen, the picture of his Penny. Afternoon sun was catching dust motes swirling all around him, microscopic fairies dancing off his shoulders, tumbling down his arms.

In the car on the way to the airport, I realized I was sweating only when it dripped off the edge of my jaw. Through the CBD, up William Street, into the Eastern Distributor, nothing. Then it hit. Fever heavy. Sharon was frowning at me in the rearview mirror.

“Bro, you all right back there?”

“I don’t know.” I wiped my face. I felt cold, shaken.

“Don’t throw up in the fucking car.” Linda turned in his seat, glared at me. “It’s just been detailed.”

“Pull over,” I said.

Sharon turned the enormous black vehicle onto the grassy strip of land before the Sydney Airport sign, causing a row of cars behind us to grind to a halt, honking. I got out and bent over at the waist, my hands on my knees, struggling to breathe. Linda came around and stood watching me, hands on hips.

“What did you eat?”

My mind was spinning. Frantic, electric thoughts zapping and zinging. Linda stood beside me, his face twisted, terrified that I might be sick on or near him.

“I think I just…” I said. I couldn’t catch my breath. I straightened, thumped my chest. “I was just … The dog … He said…”

“Talk straight, you fucking idiot!” Sharon yelled from the front of the car.

“He said the dog would be ‘fixed up,’” I explained. “The guy at the bar, Kevin. He said the dog would be fine, the RSPCA would take it in, fix it up, and adopt it out. What did he mean, fix it up? How did he know the dog needed fixing?”