It was such a strange comment. Sexy, somehow—as if he were whispering the first of what might become an entire language of obscure, private remarks they would exchange only with each other. A secret code. She gazed over the safety bar of their ship at the shivering statue of a young girl in a light blue dress. “Does she?”

“I’m asking if you do.”

They rounded the final bend. The pulley suspending them rattled in its track and a treadmill of black rubber appeared beneath them. The mass of people waiting to get onto the ride stared at them like a bemused congregation. She realized what he’d asked her. Katherine, do you have Christ in your life?

“No,” she said. A young man dressed like a pixie took hold of the safety bar and pulled it back, warning them to be careful as they got out. Daniel—D.J.—knew almost nothing about her. His question alone revealed that, and it made her mind scramble as if it had come under fire. Did she have something even remotely resembling Christ? Was there anything that she really believed in, or could fall back on in a crisis greater than the perennial one that was her life? He took her arm to help her from the ship, his expression hovering somewhere between concern and disappointment.

As they were exiting the pavilion, she said, “I want to.” The foot traffic was heavy. He was still holding her arm, gently escorting her through the crowd, and because she liked it, because she couldn’t remember ever having been escorted before, she added, “I feel like I should.”

“It’s the greatest thing on earth,” he told her, squeezing her arm. “Honestly, Katherine. It’s the most amazing love you’ll ever know.”

“ ‘We are all part of creation,’ ” Todd tells them, “ ‘all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.’ ”

“Testify, brother,” Mr. Jessup says languidly. The side of his face is cradled in one hand, the elbow propped on the arm of the sofa.

“I’m quoting Henry Miller, in Sexus. All that stuff they don’t want us to know anymore, and that most of us don’t know, because they’ve castrated us.”

“Oh, they,” Mr. Jessup says. “They get on my nerves. Ms. Smith, can you imagine the burden of carrying around so much knowledge? And a backpack? In this heat?”

“No,” Karen says. The boy’s hand has remained in the vicinity of hers, and he occasionally taps her wrist as he makes his points. He’s serious about what he says; she can see that in his eyes. He’s also hitting on her. She can’t deny this obvious fact and so tries, instead, to consider the possibility that he might be dangerous, but to little effect.