“Don’t worry,” Lou had said the night before, washing her hands in my bathroom sink. She worked up a lather with pale green soap, eucalyptus wafting from her wrists, then flicked the drops off and made handprints on her black silk dress to dry them. Lou stared at herself in the mirror for one long moment before she caught my eye and said, “None of this happened, not at all.”

So it hadn’t happened. Not the events of the canyon, or the return to Ellen’s apartment, after, where we’d finished cleaning anything that might have had my prints on it and picked up my car. If none of that had happened, that meant there was nothing to worry about. And if it hadn’t happened, then I was still me this morning. Still human.

I sat and stared at the ocean until I couldn’t bear thinking my own thoughts any longer, and then I got up and walked along the beach until I found a 24/7 convenience store near the water. I told myself: no drinks or maybe just the one.

I grabbed some rotgut gin and a glass bottle of apple juice, wanting something punishing, and slapped down a twenty-dollar bill in front of the bored and sleepy cashier, who barely even twitched her ponytail in response. I left before she could give me my change. I didn’t want to stare at her face, wondering what it would look like after six long minutes noosed by a seat belt. Her eyes popping out, her tongue lolling.

Be human, Jo.

I parked it on the beach, dropping down on the slightly damp sand and kicking back a swish of gin topped with a mouthful of apple juice. I made myself do it three times in a row, the sugary juice hurting my teeth while the gin fogged my brain. In the distance, I watched a woman march back and forth on the bike path, her arms behind her, touching an ankle to a wrist with each step. She moved slowly but with purpose, concentrating hard. Like, if she could get each step right, nothing else mattered.

I’d asked Lou to stay the night but she’d said no and I couldn’t help myself, I’d said: “I didn’t mean like that.”

Lou sighed—in my kitchen by then, my fingers already opening a bottle of something clear and not very cold—and then she shook her head and said, “Oh, Jo.”

“But if someone comes asking us about . . . about Ellen. Maybe someone saw something at her apartment. It was stupid of me to move the body.” My fingers scrabbled against the plastic protector on the vodka and I gave up, put it to my mouth and tugged with my teeth.