“It’s all right,” Jack said, sitting beside him. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Ava stood in the open door under the white light. Snowflakes glittered on her hair and melted. Jack lay back on the bed and took her in. Her eyes, her cheeks aglow with hectic color. If he looked long enough, he could memorize it all, so no detail would be lost. He did not know how soon he slept.

She sorts through the first-aid supplies, but there isn’t much left. Two bandages and the disinfectant. Ibuprofen. The antibiotic: one capsule. She tips it into her hand and goes to the bed and looks down at Jack’s face, the bruises still blue and discolored. His lips are dry. She touches his forehead. He feels clammy. Hot. She fills a plastic cup with water and puts the capsule on his tongue and lifts his head to help him drink. She pulls off his boots. Matty lies beside him. She turns and sits on the opposite bed. You have to think, she says to herself. You have to be smart. So you can help them. No matter what.

And why does it matter to you? So much?

I don’t know, she thinks. I don’t know.

So quiet. She examines her hands, her dirty coat.

The voice of Bardem: You’re a good girl. Aren’t you?

Hours pass. She watches the brothers sleep. Matty, with his untamed hair and ears that stick out. The purple shadows beneath his eyes. Jack, curled up around him. His face, for once, so peaceful.

She reaches for his hand and holds it. She thinks: I don’t want to hurt you.

XXVII

Maybe it’s odd to you why I cared so much. It was odd to me too. All I can say is sometimes you live your whole life for a thing that reveals who you are.

There is no why.

When Jack woke, he hardly knew where he was. He pushed back the blanket and jerked up. Gray dusk. Ava was watching him.

“Hi,” she said.

He looked around. Beds, television, curtains. The motel room. Wind outside. Matty slept beside him. “Did I sleep?”

“Yes. How do you feel?”

“I feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Just weird. But I think I’m better.”

“Are you thirsty?”

He shifted his legs over the bedside and turned to face her. She sat on the opposite bed, biting her lip. Waiting to see what he would say. The sweat on his forehead was cool now. He felt less tired. All at once his mind was clear and urgent. “Do you want to leave here?”

“What?”

“Do you want to leave here? This place. With me.”

She hesitated. But she looked resolute. As if she were going to say yes.

“And go where?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Anywhere.”

She blinked at him. Her hair lit up in the twilight with tendrils of black walnut, of gold. She didn’t answer.