By the time the room begins to empty, it’s late. I’m standing by the front door about to go and check on Cricket when Caleb passes me on his way out. I reach for his arm, feel how stiffly he holds his body. His shoulders seem to be made of stone, but that makes sense. He must be holding back so many memories, so much pain. “I’m glad you came,” I tell him.

“I almost didn’t. Looks like you got drawn into the case after all, huh?”

“It seemed too important not to. Get in touch sometime soon, okay?”

“I’d like that,” he allows.

When he moves off, Tally appears. “My husband, Sam,” she says, her face warm and open.

The man beside her in the wheelchair is younger than she is, thirty-five or forty and Native American, with his long black hair in a neat ponytail, and warm dark eyes. When I visited her in Comptche that day, I assumed she was single, but now it seems obvious she wouldn’t be.

“This is the detective I was telling you about,” she explains to Sam.

“Thanks for the work you’re doing,” he says. “I can help by answering phones or whatever, but I was also thinking I could maybe make my yoga studio available for anyone who wants to come in and just be quiet for a while, and breathe. The kids from Cameron’s school. Anyone.”

“That’s so generous. Thank you.”

“I got into it after my accident, and it’s changed my life. Now I work with a lot of vets, spinal cord injuries, people who have trouble with the mind-body connection.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

He squints one eye at me, his look gently chiding. “Mind. Body. Connection. Which part’s confusing?”

“Sam.” Tally laughs. “Behave.”

“It’s okay. He’s funny.”

“That’s how he works his wiles,” she says. “He can be very persuasive.”

“Come to one of my classes,” Sam throws out.

“See?” Tally laughs again, a musical chime.

I say, “Is it that obvious I need some help?”

“I think you’d like the people I work with,” Sam answers. “They’ve been through some amazing things, and they’re so resilient. They just keep doing it.”

“What?”

“Trying.”

(forty-eight)