He gathers his and Edgar’s belongings and shoves them into their suitcases. He has one grip, Edgar two, the second for his toys and other junk. Jesse can only carry two bags, so he leaves most of the toys behind, fitting what he can—Matchbox cars, a few picture books, a deck of cards—into the case with Edgar’s clothes. Then there’s Abby to deal with.

The cat hisses and recoils when he reaches for her. He considers leaving her, but Edgar will already be upset about the other missing items. He strips the case off one of the pillows and, after a battle that leaves him bitten and scratched, manages to shove the animal inside it.

The sunglasses Johona bought him are on the table. All the strength goes out of him again when he sees them, and he sits on the bed while he pulls himself together. He’s got to be tougher. If he’s going to get revenge for the girl, he’s got to ball up his grief and bury it, can’t have it blindsiding him. So he should leave the glasses. But he can’t. He slips them into his pocket and peeks out the door.

Nobody’s waiting, nobody raises an alarm. Carrying the suitcases and cat, he makes his way back to the truck by a different route. Sanders is there like he said he’d be. Jesse stows the grips in the camper and hands the pillowcase to Edgar when he returns to the cab.

“Keep her in there,” he says.

Edgar reaches inside to stroke Abby.

Sanders drives to his motel, parks, and gives Jesse the keys.

“Take Edgar inside,” Jesse says and goes to the camper for the grips. He leans in and bangs on the crate that Beaumont’s locked up in. “It’s gonna be a hundred and ten today,” he says. “I hope you fucking roast in there.”

He locks the camper and carries the grips to the room.

“Where’s the other?” Edgar says when Jesse hands him the single suitcase.

“You’ve only got one now,” Jesse says.

Edgar sits on a bed and opens the case. He unpacks it and separates his clothes from his other things, then turns on Jesse in a fury.

“Where’s my seashells? Where’s my sword?”

“I couldn’t bring that and Abby too.”

“I need my stuff!”

“And I need you to be a help and not a burden.”

“It’s your fault I got shot. It’s your fault that man near cut my ear off.”

“And it’s your fault Johona’s dead,” Jesse says.