“It’s okay, Di. We’re okay. Hey, we survived. We have a great tale to tell.”

“But it could so easily have ended badly. I mean, really badly.” She wiped her eyes and stared at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid.”

“I know.”

He held the flask to her. She shook her head.

The warmth of the liquor and fire had reached Derek’s bones. They seemed to melt into the stone, taking most of the pain with them. He smiled.

“We’re okay.”

Diane tried to return his smile. It was more of a grimace.

“Where do you think Faye and Clare are? Still at Heuningbos? Or would the rangers have taken them somewhere else?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to say whether they would’ve had rain on that side of the valley and how it might’ve affected the rivers. I mean, this is totally unseasonal.”

“So everyone says.”

“Either way,” he continued, “they’ll be fine. Better off than we are, given that they’ll have our supplies from last night if the rangers didn’t get to them in time.”

“Yes. There’s that. Though, strangely enough for me, I’m not hungry.”

“Me neither. I wonder if Clare will eat?” His tone was suddenly dreamy.

Diane raised her chin.

“What do you think about it?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Clare. And her, whatever’s wrong with her.”

“The migraine?”

“No. The other thing.”

“Anorexia nervosa. That’s what’s it’s called.” She folded her arms. “Why does it seem so difficult for people to say? It’s an illness. A mental illness.”

“Yeah, that’s what Mich says.” He swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “I mean, how does a perfectly wonderful, intelligent, beautiful girl go from being all of that to starving herself? How?” Derek’s voice was low, peeved.

“As I understand it, it’s often the wonderful, beautiful, clever girls who become anorexic,” said Diane. “They’re high achievers and when they decide, for whatever reason, that they need to control their diets or their bodies, they do it. The self-control thrills them. They become addicted to how good it feels.”

He shook his head and looked into the distance. “Nah. She’s smarter than that. That stuff happens to silly girls who worry about how they look and what boys will think.”

“No, Derek. That’s not how—”

“My girl would never fall for that.” His words were no longer distinct. They seemed to slide into one another. “Something must’ve happened to her. I think she was attacked. Something major happened and she has suffered some trauma. That’s what happened.”

“Who are you talking about? ‘My girl?’ What girl?”

“Ah, Di. You must’ve known? Had some idea?”

“Known what? What are you saying?”

“Clare. She’s my . . .” He turned his head and put a finger to his lips.

“What are you saying, Derek? Are you drunk? Stoned?”