Then he’d stumbled on down the hall. I lay in bed and vowed again what I’d been vowing since the accident—that I’d study hard and get a college scholarship so I could make a life far beyond Tamassee.

“Do you have any of her singing ability?” Allen asked, when Aunt Margaret finished.

“No. She’s the only one in our family with that kind of gift.”

Randall and Jeff started a slow song and several couples got up to dance. I stood and reached for Allen’s hand.

“Come on.”

Allen stood up reluctantly. “I grew up Southern Baptist. We have an eleventh commandment: Thou shalt not dance.”

I took his hand. “No excuses,” I said.

I led Allen to the open area that served as a dance floor. I placed his arms around me and pulled him closer, my head against his chest. I felt him tense as my right hand pressed the small of his back. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of soap and lime aftershave.

We didn’t move much, just swayed in each other’s arms. Allen’s right hand did not urge me closer. He still wanted some distance between us.

We danced one more time, then got in the car and headed toward the motel, but Allen did not turn in. He drove on toward the river, pulling off at the parking lot on the South Carolina side. We walked out to the middle of the bridge and leaned against the concrete railing.

After a couple of minutes he spoke. “Did the Moseleys say anything about the recovery?”

“We talked mainly about who’s gotten married, who’s divorced, that kind of thing. We didn’t talk about the other until we were in the parking lot and the kids out of hearing range.”

A pickup with Georgia plates drove slowly across the bridge, its truck bed filled with fertilizer bags. The bridge trembled from its weight.

“They didn’t have a lot to say, just that Kowalsky didn’t understand they were doing everything possible. The twins take a lot of pride in being professionals. It bothers them that Kowalsky thinks they’re incompetent.”

“Phillips probably feels the same way,” Allen said. “I couldn’t get him to say much, especially with Brennon and Kowalsky nearby, but you can tell the poor guy would love to wake up and realize this is all a bad dream. He’s getting pressure from all sides.”

A fisherman’s lantern flickered downstream near the bend of the river.

“Are we still planning to leave in the morning, or do you need to talk to some more people?”

“No, I’ve got enough,” Allen said. “Now it’s just a matter of writing the thing.”

“So what time do you want to leave?”