And – Walter thinks, as he pulls the parking ticket out from under his windshield wipers – if he can’t figure that out, how is he supposed to keep her safe?

THIRTY-ONE

When Finn and Nicki were kids, their parents would take them to Duluth every year at the end of summer vacation to buy them new clothes and school supplies, just like every other family in Thunder Bay. They would stay at the hotel with the indoor waterslides, and in the evenings they would sometimes walk down to Canal Park to watch the lift bridge go up and down, eating ice cream sandwiches or drinking pop while sitting on the breakwater, feeling as though they were in the most exotic place on Earth even though they were less than three hours away from home. Finn loved those trips, but she hated the drive: three hours of trying not to get carsick on a curvy single-lane highway through tiny northern Minnesota towns, just trees and lake and more trees. If only she had remembered this before following Nicki out to the driveway in her bare feet, stepping lightly across the gravel.

“Come on, Nicki. You probably don’t even have any music! What are you going to do, listen to NPR the entire way to Duluth?” Nicki got into the car, ignoring her. Finn jumped into the passenger seat next to her, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “I have eight hours of songs on here,” she said.

Nicki raised two fingers to her temple and pretended to pull the trigger. “You better at least have some classic rock.”

They have been on the road for an hour now, listening to nothing but Guns N’ Roses while Finn, shoeless and hungry and regretting all her life decisions, counts the number of near accidents they’ve had as Nicki almost rear-ends an RV towing a boat slowing down to pull into Judge Magney State Park. Finn just stares out the window and tries not to get sick, watching the trees fly by and wondering if she will ever see her house again, or if she will die here on Highway 61 before she even has a chance to get some lunch.