The best years of my life.

Clark, jotting down the last date, pushing the voice of her dream away, asked Bethany, “You recorded when Dylan was out of town even though you didn’t pay the trips any mind?”

“So I’d know when I had the weekend to spend with my girls.” Bethany stared at her like the answer was obvious. “I’m a very organized person.”

“Did Dylan and KT travel separately when they left town over the summer?” Mayfield asked.

“No. They took Dylan’s truck. KT’s Tacoma’s barely safer than Jamal’s Explorer—it leaks oil like a motherfucker. They had to take extra last weekend to be safe.”

“Then why not all go together in Dylan’s truck?”

Bethany chuckled. “Because it doesn’t have a back seat. Can you imagine one of those guys riding bitch for three hours?”

“But, Bethany, why did Dylan make all these trips in the first place?” Clark said, waving this away. “You must have been curious.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She returned her phone to her bag, pushed back a strand of hair, regarded Clark and Mayfield with a piteous frown.

“Being quarterback is very stressful, you know.” The girl spoke as if she were explaining this to a child. “People around here worship Dylan—they stop him at the gas station and the Egg House, they always want something from him. After we made it to the semifinals it was batshit around here. He had to get away. To clear his head. He said he’d forget who he was otherwise.”

Clark opened her mouth, hesitated. Kimbra Lott had given her basically the same answer to the same question. And, unless Clark were much mistaken, her brother, Troy, had once told her the same thing about being a successful running back, long before the neck injury in his senior year had brought out an uglier side of the town’s devotion. She supposed, in some strange way, it was a blessing to Dylan that he’d died beloved.

Clark noticed, also, that Bethany was speaking about Dylan as if he were still alive.

“I think I understand,” Clark said. “But, Bethany—why wouldn’t Dylan take you with him?”

“My dad would never let me.”

“You must have missed your boy, though.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?”

The briefest glimpse of a scowl crossed Bethany’s face. “Dylan didn’t have anything to hide from me.”

Clark frowned. That wasn’t what she’d asked.

Mayfield cleared his throat. “Dylan never went alone?”

“No. He and KT are good friends.”

“But this was the first weekend all three of the boys went together,” Clark said. “Dylan, KT and Jamal?”

It was, Bethany said.

“And whose idea was it to bring Jamal?” Clark asked.

“It was Dylan’s. They’d always wanted to bring him but Jamal’s dad is real strict. It took some convincing him.”

“And what did Jamal do on those weekends over the summer when his friends left him here?”

Bethany shrugged. He spent the time with his family, she guessed. Jamal was single, Bethany said, and had been so since spring. Past that, she swore she didn’t know a great deal about him. “Dylan has his friends,” Bethany said. “And I have mine.”