Hurt nods at her.

“I didn’t do it,” Shannon cries.

“I have to arrest you,” Kateri says.

“Fisher,” Hurt says suddenly. “Stop telling him and just do it.”

She begins, reads his rights, her own voice wavering. He sobs for a minute—“I have to call Bear,” he says—and the break in his voice hits her hard. But then he seems to suck it all in, tight, pale, shocked into silence. He won’t meet her eye anymore. He makes the phone call with his back to her, and she can’t make out any of the words, and then she has a deputy, a young dad in his thirties, walk Shannon down to booking. He never looks back.

NINETEEN: SHANNON

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 30

I’d cut all my hours down at the Hub. Bear wanted me available to begin work on the house, and I’d been working six days a week. I couldn’t keep spending so much time with Bear. Not working meant less money. I needed to stay on top of the bills. But I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“How much are you making at the diner?” Bear asked.

“Three hundred,” I said.

“For six days?” he said.

I blushed hard. It was unheard of to him. We sat at the kitchen island. The stone always felt cold, even when the house was warm.

“Are you going to pay me?” I asked, when he didn’t offer.

He laughed. “You can have whatever you want,” he said.

It was hard for me to understand. I didn’t know what I wanted. I needed to just rely on regular money in my pocket. Junior gave me cash every week.

“I don’t think you understand,” I started.

He tipped his head, listening.

“Anything … means nothing to me,” I said. “It’s not a thing.”

“Do you want cash?” he said.

“I guess,” I said. “I mean, I’ve always just been paid cash, and that’s how I pay the bills and buy groceries. So, yeah, that’s what makes sense to me.”

“I don’t have cash on me,” he said, patting his shirt pockets like it might be there. “But I’ll take some out tomorrow and I’ll give you five hundred dollars.”

“I haven’t even done any work yet.”

He got up and came around the back of me, his hands holding my shoulders in. He put his lips on the top of my head. “It’s part of the anything you want,” he said.

The next day, he sent me out to buy paint. I’d picked the color myself, a buttery warm beige called D’Anjou, and I used Bear’s credit card, even though I protested.

“I can’t use your credit card,” I’d said to him. He hadn’t given me the cash yet.

“Sure you can,” he said. “Sign my name.”

“I can’t sign your name,” I said.

“People commit worse crimes all the time. You’re spending seventy-five dollars on paint.” He handed me a black AmEx card and waved his hand. “Take the Land Rover,” he said. “Take the roadster if you want.”