“It’s dangerous to leave that out here. A kid could find it,” Emma said, answering the question Carly hadn’t asked.

Emma started the car and turned it around in the open field.

“What happened to him?”

She steered onto the road. The engine whined high as they sped up. “He killed himself.”

“Are you sure?”

Emma ran her tongue over her teeth under her pursed lips, pulling her scar tight and pale. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Do we need to call the police? I mean, because they brought him out here? I mean, my mom . . .” Carly’s throat collapsed on her voice.

“I don’t think so. Not now. Maybe not at all. Don’t worry.” She looked over at Carly. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Okay?”

“But what do you think we need to do?” Carly couldn’t keep the hope out of her question. There was the simple kind of hope that Emma would say the whole thing should be left alone. That done is done.

But there was also the hot, silvery thread of a different type of hope that wanted this whole thing blown up for parts. Carly wanted to know what the hell was going on, to see the machine broken down, harmless and safe to examine piece by piece. She wanted to understand what it was—but without it being what it was anymore.

Emma watched the road, lost in thought and driving. “So you felt sure they thought you were okay this morning?”

“I think so.”

“Can you keep it up? Acting like you’re all right?”

“I think so.”

Emma looked away from the road again, back to Carly.

Carly didn’t feel sleepy anymore. “Yeah, I can.”

Emma looked down at her gauges and back to the road. “Okay, good. I can, too. We’ll both be fine as far as they know. I’ll drive you home. I think I’d like to meet your stepfather.”

As they rode on, Carly watched out the window as the wild green nowhere morphed into a woolly green zone dotted with islands of old, crumbling concrete. Then the balance shifted to fresher sidewalks and pavement with only strategic squares of manicured green as they rolled into the places she started to recognize.

A dark sheet of cloud that had been lurking in the distance overtook them. The rain came suddenly, in loud, uneven plonking that smoothed quickly into a solid roar against the roof and hood.

They’d been silent for some time, each deep in her own thoughts. Emma adjusted in her seat and rolled her shoulders. She turned up the speed of the windshield wipers. Then she spoke for the first time in miles. “Well, the rain will be useful. A good excuse for driving you home.”

She twisted again, stretching the muscles in her back. She flexed her fingers off the wheel, one hand at a time. Getting ready.

“My name is Marcelline.”

•  •  •