“She’s asleep,” I said. Then I walked all the way back down the bus and sat next to Harvest again. He shifted in his seat, balling up his sweatshirt to use as a pillow and resting it against the window. As he did so, his thigh pressed against mine and he left it there. I didn’t move. I just felt the pressure of his leg against my own and watched the junked-up landscape flying by through the tinted windows. My heart beat hard and fast. After about an hour, I got up and checked E again. She was awake. I took her down from the bunk, brought her to the bathroom, and spoon-fed her lunch. She ate in her automatic, baby-bird fashion, opening her mouth directly after each mushy spoonful. I still had about twenty pouches of her food left. I would order more online once I had an address. When E had finished eating, I zipped up her sweater against the cool of the air-conditioning and buckled up her safety belt, my eyes trained on the back of Harvest’s head. He had woken up and was sitting alone in the front. Now Joy walked over to him and stood there, lurching with the movement of the bus, her legs spread wide. Harvest said something and she laughed. Joy was dressed entirely in fluorescent orange. Orange sweatshirt, orange sweatpants. Her brown face was a perfect oval inside the hoodie. She had a slouchy, predatory way of standing. I could never, ever be sexy like that, I thought. Never in my life.

Manfred parked in front of the venue, a place called the Zipper Lounge. I stayed behind with E as the band and Dougie trudged off, carrying their instruments. The plan was to unpack at the motel once they were done with sound check and then have dinner. Junkyard Palace went on at eight. They were opening for a band called Milk, whose songs I happened to love. I looked down through the window as the famous members of Milk emerged from an enormous bus. A girl with lank brown hair got out, followed by three tattooed women and a man with an Afro. None of them carried anything. A handful of roadies in black T-shirts with MILK printed on the back lugged instruments out from the bowels of the bus and, antlike, entered the venue in a line. I followed the lead singer with my eyes. She and the man with the Afro were in the news frequently. They were unrepentant junkies, even claiming that heroin, when managed properly and combined with a raw diet and exercise, actually slowed down the aging process. It was true they both looked amazing.

Over the past few days, having E out in public had become normal, and I wasn’t so careful anymore. That evening, E and I ate at a diner with the band. Manfred had taken Holly to a vegetarian restaurant. I found this funny, as Holly ate nothing but meat. E had her mush. The band ate burgers. I had tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.