He’s reluctant. His weakness for her has already led to this, to them running for their lives, and the last thing he needs is something to happen that’ll complicate things even further. He has a plan, and he’s sticking to it: Drop her at the bus station in Denver and forget her. But then she puts her lips to his ear and whispers, “Please,” and his resolve sways and topples.

He checks on Edgar, who’s snoring quietly, Abby between his legs, checks the door for the fifth time to make sure it’s locked, and climbs onto the bed. He means to keep some space between them, but Johona pulls his arm around her and rests her head on his chest. The weight of her, the smell of her, the warmth triggers so many memories, he’s not sure he can bear it.

“You’re not lying, are you, about this rover jazz?” she says.

“You saw that man turn to dust,” he replies.

“Maybe it was a trick.”

A thin strip of sunlight blazes between the curtain and the window frame. “Look here,” Jesse says, and Johona lifts her head to watch him stick his finger into the beam. Her body stiffens, and she wrinkles her nose at the stink of burning flesh. Jesse shows her the charred finger, and she stares wide-eyed as it heals. When it’s good as new, she takes hold of it and examines it closely.

“That’s so fucking weird,” she says, reaching for her cigarettes. “So how old are you, really?”

“I was born August 30, 1876,” Jesse says. “Edgar was born on the eighth of December, 1883.”

“You’ve lived through so much stuff.”

“I’ve been too busy looking after Edgar to pay much attention.”

“It’s been a hundred years. Everything’s changed. There’s cars, airplanes, TV.”

“Yeah, but people are the same. Still lying, still thieving, still killing each other.”

Johona strikes a match and puts it to a smoke. “There’s a preacher who says the world is ending next year,” she says.

“There’s always a preacher saying that,” Jesse says. “Don’t listen.”

“You’re cynical. It’s because you’re a Virgo.”

“Don’t listen to that crap either.”

Two men walk past the window, arguing about whether the liquor store is open yet and how much beer to buy. Edgar rolls over, and Abby climbs onto his back and licks a paw.

“What about Claudine?” Johona says.

Jesse tenses. “What about her?”

“Was she a rover too?”

“She was.”

“And it’s been how long since you last saw her?”

“Seventy-two years,” Jesse says.

Someone flushes the toilet in the next room and falls back into bed. The headboard bangs the wall. Johona crosses her legs and balances an ashtray on her knee, sits there smoking and thinking things over.

“Do you know where she is now?” she says.

“She’s dead,” Jesse says.