Still, I wasn’t quite finished. Before Shane had a chance to change the locks, I used my set of keys one more time. I walked back to the crime scene, took me two hours. The sun was setting as I rolled back the fence, slipped inside the trailer. I didn’t turn on any lights, just felt for the computer switch. I held my breath, but my password worked, the pipeline map flickered onto the screen, and I followed the red line with my finger. Construction had reached Muskingum County, only two counties north of our place. It stopped just outside of Zanesville. There, the red ended in a blinking purple icon, and when I checked the key at the bottom of the map, to see what that icon meant, I learned that a compressor station was being built there, ten acres with a turbine to pump fracked gas south.

I logged out, locked the door behind me. I threw the keys as far as I could into the scrub grass, past the snapping turtle shell bleached in the sun.

I figured I’d walked this far, I could make it another mile to the Walmart. It wasn’t busy that time of night, not even anyone at the door to greet me. I grabbed a basket. It took me a while to find the swimming pool cleaner, but when an employee asked if I needed help, I said, Just browsing. I hit the auto department next, found brake fluid no problem. In hardware, I added a crescent wrench. A flashlight in the camping section. My last stop was kitchen supplies. Turkey baster. I felt the cash in my pocket, carefully stored up all this time. Still not enough for a septic system. On the way to the register, I guess I got lost. I circled back past the protein bars, knelt behind the sunglasses display, and dumped the entire basket into my knapsack. Then I held my breath and walked out.

I thought for sure someone would come after me, but no one did. I kept along the road until I felt the straps of my pack digging into my shoulders. It was finally time to go home.

Now that I was headed there, I could find no reason to call. Anything I had to say to Lily, any news there was for me to hear about Perley, it could wait one more day. I couldn’t believe I’d stayed away so long. This time, I wouldn’t take the Greyhound. This time, like in my youth when I thought that knowing old songs and glorifying hoboes would free me of my high school self-hatred for wearing everything used, for wanting to marry a woman, I hit the on-ramp, and I stuck out my thumb.