Dee said, “I have a question. Why not do your job?” Karen went red.

“Lulu wasn’t the first to disappear,” Dee said. “I’ve looked into it. You’ve got a real problem around that lake.” Maybe that was when it really went sour between them. Sour or not, Dee should call her right away.

She won’t. This is a particular gift, just for her. And she feels the silky-deep stirring of anger. If the police hadn’t kept her out of everything maybe she would have remembered the street name and made the connection years ago. Wasted, wasted time.

The photograph has one more secret to yield. Dee peers hard at the suspect’s shirt. Close to, it gets grainy and her eyes protest. But she can see writing there, embroidered across the breast pocket. They must have blurred it out for the newspaper. Dee can make out a name. Ed or maybe Ted, Banner something.

It feels like striking the last blow in a long, long fight. She has a name or part of one, and a street. Dee finds that she is crying, which doesn’t make sense, because she is filled with fierce certainty. Just for a moment, for one beat of her heart, Dee feels Lulu beside her. The car fills with the scent of warm skin, suntan lotion. A soft, plump cheek brushes against hers. Dee catches the clean smell of her sister’s hair, and the sugar on her breath.

“I’m coming,” Dee tells her.

TED

It’s the right day, so I go to see the bug man in the morning. I found him in the want ads online. He doesn’t cost as much as the regular ones, so I can afford one session every two weeks. My appointment is always very early, before anyone else is awake—when no one else wants to go, I guess. I enjoy my visits to him. I tell him about Olivia, and how much I love her, and about TV I’ve watched and candy I’ve eaten and the birds in the dawn. I even talk about Mommy and Daddy sometimes. Not too much. I don’t talk about the situation with Lauren or the gods, of course. Each time, I slip in real questions among the dumb stuff. I am slowly working my way up to the big one. I’ll ask it soon. Things with Lauren are getting worse.

Sometimes talking to him even seems to help. Anyway he prescribes the pills, which definitely help.

It is a forty-five-minute walk, which I manage OK. It is not quite raining but a warm rotten mist hangs in the air. Headlights throw a musty sheen on the wet road and earthworms writhe pink and gleaming on the sidewalk.