I clench my teeth to keep the sarcastic remarks from slipping out. I put on the clothes. Then we both look down at Ethan.

“I told him to stay in the Jeep,” I say, looking at his curled form, his hair lying in damp strands across his face. His mouth twitches in a dream. I hate leaving him, but I don’t want him where I’m going. I brush a strand of hair from his face. “Let’s get this over with,” I say to Clay.

He nods. “Follow me and try to act like you belong.”

In the twilight, little gas lamps flicker on either side of the street, a few more in the windows. The noises of the day have quieted. A few drunken calls spill out from the brothel. A woman cackles from an upper window. Besides a handful of stragglers, the streets are mostly empty. All respectable persons have gone home. Down the road lamps glow in the windows of the well-to-do. Right about now, my family would be cleaning up from supper. Auntie’d be knitting in her rocking chair on the porch. Ethan and I would dig out the molding deck of cards and invent a few games until the light grew too dim. My mama would rub the kinks out of Arn’s shoulders. I blink the painful image from my mind and turn my eyes to the task at hand.

We stroll down the road, the same one I traveled not more than a few days ago. Clay saunters, smiles, stops to chat. The men lift their hats to Clay. I stand stiffly at each exchange, hoping no one notices me. Hoping I don’t run into the Warden.

A toothless old man crosses the street and makes a beeline for us. He extends his wrinkled hand and for a moment I think he’ll snatch me. I flinch, but he limps past and starts pumping Clay’s hand like a dying man at a water well.

“I jest want ta thankee again fer the help, son,” he says, through the few teeth left in his mouth. “Thought I was up a crick with that charge. Not a dime in me pocket when I got pinched.”

Clay lifts his reassuring smile. “Don’t mention it, Hawk. Glad to help.”

The withered man’s face glows with gratitude. What did Clay do for him? Probably something like he did for me at the jailhouse. It eases my frayed nerves a little to remember how he put himself on the line.

Hawk finally lets go and we continue past the brothel. My stomach knots as I peer in the open doorway. A few weary men hunch over the bar. One unfortunate old woman in ratty underwear and too much makeup slings drinks. Her eyes are like dull hunks of coal. Clay puts a hand on my shoulder and shakes his head. Thank God. I couldn’t stand seeing a townie with his hands on my mother. I’d do something we’d both regret.

We stride past the darkened doctor’s office, the general store, the armory. Clay never slows. My stomach flip-flops as we come up to the jail, but Clay doesn’t turn. I glance in as we walk by and see Darrel’s dirty boots up on the desk, his head back. The Warden is nowhere to be seen.