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Four. Eat in restaurants. Five. Have friends. Six. Go to a movie in a theater.”
    I pictured these things, savored them in my mind, and for the first time almost believed they could happen. The thrill of this thought shot me through with adrenaline, which made me want to run down the road past our house—­my house, now—­but I wasn’t quite ready for that. I read on instead, anticipation and excitement making my voice sound higher.
    The next item on my list made my face hot just seeing it, but I soldiered on. “Seven. Fall in love. Eight. Go to New York City.” Number eight also embarrassed me, because I knew Detective Deirdre Walsh and the 51st Precinct weren’t real. But I wanted to go to the place where I’d spent much of my life on TV.
    â€œNine. Eat junk food.” I took a big breath and let it out. “Ten. Learn to be normal.”

 
    Chapter 5
    Friday
    O N THE FIFTEEN-­MILE drive to Saw Pole after the funeral, I kept my eyes down or aimed at the window because I didn’t want Randy to think I was interested in conversation. I was feeling as charged as a frayed electrical wire, edgy and nervous. I scratched at the bump on my left shoulder and couldn’t stop thinking about Dad being lowered into the ground and dirt thrown on top of his coffin.
    Randy spat tobacco juice into a brushed-­metal container at regular intervals. The sloppy sound of it, the moist ptoo, unraveled my nerves further. After another endless night in the dark, empty house, during which the dogs had started at every little noise, and the strain of the funeral and now the will reading, I imagined opening my mouth and screaming until I passed out.
    The Dodge came to a stop in front of a limestone building on the corner that housed Mr. Keith Dooley’s law office. Saw Pole’s main street was soupy with mud because the town didn’t have the money for asphalt. Dad told me that back during its heyday the town had paved streets. But when family farms went into foreclosure and the oil wells dried up, so had town funds. The streets were never repaved.
    I saw a few other cars parked on Main Street, which is a slow-­down point on the two-­lane state highway that cuts through town. There are signs pointing every direction, but it’s as if an invisible electric fence encircles the town, and the only way out is to die. There’s a little post office, a grocery store, the Farmers National Bank, a beauty parlor called Clips and Curls for Guys and Girls, and a restaurant with the name The Cozy Corner Café. I’d never been inside of any of these businesses, only seen them through car windows. To me they were just facades on the set of a not-­very-­interesting small-­town soap opera.
    Randy switched off the truck, but I needed to sit for a moment to psych myself up to get out. So I did what I normally did when I was afraid, and that was to recite the opening to Offender NYC , which is actually the title on a black screen with several voices saying the NYCPD’s oath: “I do solemnly swear to uphold the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution of the State of New York, and that I will faithfully discharge my duties as a police officer with the New York City Police Department to the best of my ability, so help me God.”
    I recited very quietly with my face to the window, but Randy heard me.
    â€œAre you praying or something?” he asked me.
    I didn’t answer, but got out of the truck and strode toward the office building, with Randy jogging to catch up. I knew the only way I’d get through the will reading would be to pretend Deirdre was at my elbow, my personal bodyguard, along with Detective Mandy Quirke, as if we’d just attended Captain Barrigan’s funeral after he was killed in the first episode of season nine.
    I opened the door and Randy tried to take it from me, tried to get me to go in first. But I held on until he got