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some at the yard sale. Have you got your money?”
    From his pocket he pulled the money she’d given him for mowing their grass. “Fifteen dollars.”
    â€œThen we’re ready.” She walked toward the house. “Where shall we go for lunch?”
    He thought a moment. “McDonald’s. They’ve got robots in the Happy Meals.”

    The rainy morning turned sunny as they ate in the far corner of McDonald’s parking lot, Grace ordering two Happy Meals for Zack and a salad for herself. As Zack played with his robots, Grace wondered if she could distract him away from the Salola Street yard sale. Though it might be a good place to find tapes, Salola Street was the last place she wanted to go. They’d lived there when Teresa Ewing was murdered. Her death had cast a shadow on their lives that lingered to this day.
    â€œHey, Zack,” she said, starting the car as he grew bored with his toys. “How about we drive over to Sarge’s Flea Market? I hear they’ve got a lot of videotapes there.”
    â€œI want to go to Salola Street.”
    â€œBut that’ll be mostly clothes and furniture, Zack. Those people are moving out. Sarge’s has a whole section for videotapes.”
    â€œWe went to Sarge’s last week,” he replied. “I want to go to Salola Street.”
    â€œBut if you want videos, Sarge’s might … ”
    â€œSalola Street, Mama!” he cried. “I want to see our old house.”
    â€œThey tore our old house down, Zack. It’s not there anymore.”
    â€œBut I want to see where it was. Adam might be there.”
    â€œAdam won’t be there, Zack. Adam lives far away.” Zack’s one and only friend Adam Shaw had been sent away years ago, just after they found Teresa’s body. Now he was 39, some kind of special photographer working in New York. His parents, though, had remained on Salola Street, resolute in their stand against police harassment, steadfast in their hatred of her and Zack.
    â€œI-want-to-go-to-Salola-Street!” With every word he hit the side of the door with his fist. Next he might turn his rage on the window, or worse, her right arm.
    â€œOkay, Zack.” She caved in, as usual. “If you can calm down, we can go.”
    He sat back in the seat, his hands limp in his lap. He sat like that for a few minutes, then he said, “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m calm now.”
    Grace backed out of the parking spot, dreading the prospect of seeing either Leslie Shaw or Janet Russell. Leslie, she’d heard, had become such a bad alcoholic that Richard had sold her car. And Janet had become some sort of priestess in a cult that believed everything from caterpillars to coconuts emitted vibes that controlled the destiny of the world. At least I haven’t gone that crazy, she told herself, trying to pluck up her courage. At least not yet.
    They left McDonald’s and drove to the neighborhood where Zack had grown up. A trendy new green development was going up, and most of the old ranch houses had been razed to make way for the new construction. To Grace’s dismay, tables of yard sale merchandise stretched across the front lawns of the Shaws and the Russells—the two homes she wanted most to avoid. Nonetheless, she pulled to the shoulder of the road a little way down the street and reminded her son of his manners.
    â€œI know how excited you get, Zack. But you can’t push people out of the way. And remember to say excuse me if you bump into anybody.”
    â€œExcuse me,” Zack repeated, fumbling with the latch of his seat belt. “Excuse me, excuse me.”
    He bounded out the door before she got the car parked, running to Adam Shaw’s house as fast as he could. She hurried after him, thinking this was like letting a big, rambunctious dog run loose. Like most dogs, Zack was not truly mean or vicious. He just lived in his own world, obeying urges that