“Mrs. Pappageorge. I went over to her house when I came home and saw the kitchen and couldn’t find Mom—” Cate hates that he saw the kitchen. Also hates that Mrs. Pappageorge, Neale’s next-door neighbor, was his designated driver. She is well into her nineties. She drives a huge, ancient sedan, sits on a phone book to peer over the steering wheel, has wood blocks glued to the accelerator and brake pedals. She wears thick black plastic wraparound elder shades. A few months ago, Cate saw her run a red on Ashland, totally blow it and keep right on going.

“They’re going to have to pry her license from her cold, dead hands.”

“Yeah. It’s like being on a ride. You know, like at Great America.”

When he’s gone, Cate bends down to Neale and kisses her softly on the mouth, something she has never done before, but anything else seems too little to convey the amount of emotion she’s holding about life and death and love and friendship. Neale’s eyes open a little. She nods slightly, toward Cate’s bloody clothes. “Nice hoodie.”

Cate takes her free hand, the one without the IV needle punched into the back of it. Neale sees Cate’s bandaged palm. She looks at Cate.

“Yeah, I cut it up a bit with the extinguisher handle.” She pulls three pill bottles from her pocket. “He might’ve been a junkie, so I have to take these until his HIV test comes back. Apparently they’re horrible. You get gas and the runs for days. They promised the lab results will come back fast, though, and hopefully he won’t be infected, and then I can stop taking them.”

She sees she is talking to someone who has fallen asleep. But when Cate moves to get up, Neale says, “Hey, you know. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Neale lifts her head as far as she can to say something in a low voice. Cate puts her ear to Neale’s mouth.

“He didn’t get in. I’m telling you so you don’t have to wonder. There was a problem. He was too big.”

“Yeah. I saw it. Well, thank God for that, I guess.”

Neale says, “So much smell.”

“I know. It was like a zoo. They were like hyenas. I couldn’t bash him hard enough. And then I couldn’t stop.”

“The woman—?”

“She kicked you in the side of the head, maybe you don’t remember. Anyway, that’s the first thing I saw and I didn’t care for that. From there I can only remember pieces. I don’t think I was scared at all while everything was happening. I was in too much of a rage.”

“Joe.” She’s tired now, drifting off.

“We’re going to my place for tonight. For as long as you’re in here.”