Polly, however iffy her driving, was the person nominated to take Graham home from the hospital at the end of the day. While they waited for the doctor to show up and sign the release, Polly looked at Graham sidelong, which was easy because he had a patch on one eye. She’d remembered him as a shy teenager who liked to draw, a soulful boy who’d somehow grown into one of those kids who shone, almost obnoxiously, with good health and power. Rude health, Polly thought, and his good cheer felt forced to her now, a depressive’s response. He was beautiful, but she was immune—maybe it was her age but she’d never found perfection inspiring, and cleaning that much blood off the bar floor after the Burt incident wasn’t her kind of flaw. Now Graham had new bruises overlaying an older one on his temple, where Ned had dropped him with a chair in an attempt to prevent Burt’s death, and scrapes everywhere else, stitches in his knees and on his scalp. The scratches on his throat were angry gouges, and river water in his stomach and lungs meant that he’d need to watch for both pneumonia and giardia.

Polly patted Graham’s hunched shoulder and he stiffened. She turned away and piled up medical handouts, hoping and failing to find a get-well card. She wanted to ask how long he’d been seeing Ariel, how and why they’d kept it a secret.

“Can I grab anything at the store for you? Help you in the apartment?”

He shook his head and stared out the window. She tried again. Did Graham want to talk to someone? Help with the search? Visit Ariel’s family?

“I can’t face people,” said Graham. “And anyway, they won’t want to see me.”

“I think they might,” said Polly.

Graham stared at the floor. Polly, shaky from the sheer effort of the conversation, grabbed the release papers and went looking for the doctor, who happened to be her own doctor. She knew he was appraising her as he signed off on Graham’s release.

“Is he on something?” asked Polly.

“Not a thing,” said her doctor. “How are you feeling?”

“Great!” she said. Sanity was tenuous and life was burning by.

They climbed into the car. Polly pulled out onto Geyser a little abruptly and Graham flinched. “Should you be driving?”

“Of course I should,” said Polly. “Would you prefer to walk?”

He didn’t reply or apologize or speak again until she pulled up by his apartment, across from Peake’s on the third floor of the old Masonic temple.

“No one expects you at work again for a bit. Maybe help with prep during the parade?” said Polly. “But Harry says he could use you, when he gets back to the excavation.”

“Okay,” said Graham.

“Can I help with anything?” asked Polly.

“Nothing to be done,” said Graham.