Not understanding why he had been permitted to enter the house with wet, sandy paws, Leo decided to push his luck and crawl up onto the bed with Roxie. She allowed him to stay, wet sandy paws and all, and he nuzzled into her. He watched and listened to Roxie’s crying and felt simple and confusing emotions. Already, the encounter with the girl was gone from Leo’s memory.

Roxie was still nude in her bed, wet dog at her side, when a sudden panic jolted her upright as she happened to glance at the clock on the wall of their bedroom. It was 4:45.

The run . . . Poppy . . .

Roxie had promised to meet Poppy outside her house at the same time this morning, which was around 5:30. Dare she not go? No, unexpectedly breaking plans with Poppy could eventually cast suspicion in her direction. In fact, it occurred to Roxie, showing up was the only way to definitively exonerate herself if anything should happen to put her in the purview of the police. If she upheld her plan to meet up with Poppy, both she and Keats, still on his house call, would have perfect alibis.

Poppy was wearing a green baseball cap and doing a deep quad stretch against the mailbox when Roxie approached. A misty rain swirled around them. No actual drops, although there had been some on Roxie’s way over. Roxie was wearing a hat as well; she had blow-dried her hair before leaving the house, to avoid the appearance of having recently showered or been in the water, but had done so in a rush, and her hair was not entirely dry.

Roxie offered a meek wave and said, “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Nup,” Poppy said. She smelled of coffee, and her eyes in the shadow of the hat were haggard and red. “I’m quite hung over,” Poppy confessed immediately.

Roxie said, “No pressure to join. I’ll be fine on my own if you wanna crawl back into bed.”

Poppy said, “I think I can make it to the magnolias again. I’ll probably just walk the whole way back.”

The run was a blur. Roxie’s mind cycled wildly over images and terrors, dream-like and indistinct. She did her best to respond appropriately as Poppy chattered on about how much fun last night had been. Pictionary, movies, frozen cocktails . . .

They parted ways at the magnolia grove.

Roxie felt ill. Her heart was a hummingbird thrashing against her ribs.

She said, “I’ll be back at work tomorrow, stop in for breakfast if you want. Tomorrow’s your last morning here, right?”

Poppy nodded. “I just may,” she said. “Drag the whole crew down to Gram’s, I think that’d be nice. So, this isn’t goodbye.”

“Exactly,” Roxie said. “See you tomorrow, then.”

When Poppy had made it nearly back to the house, she was surprised to see Lisa out front on the porch in her pink silk pajamas, her chin high in the air and wagging up and down the street. Poppy waved at her, impressed that Lisa had also gotten up so early after their late and boozy night.