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sir.
    DETECTIVE: Did you have any idea why the police would call Mr. Pavon’s house, looking for him?
    ND: No, sir, I did not.
    DETECITVE: Did you know why he would want to bring you with him?
    ND: No, sir.
    DETECTIVE: Do you know where Mr. Pavon is now?
    ND: No, sir, I really don’t.
    DETECTIVE: Well, thank you, Miss Dougherty, for your help and your cooperation. If we have any more questions, we’ll give you a call. And if you think of anything else—anything at all—about the night of the twenty-third or the day of the twenty-fourth, here’s my card. You can phone anytime. Anytime at all.

AFTER TALKING TO THE POLICE, THE ENTIRE BUS RIDE BACK to Bird’s, my phone was in my hands, desperate to press the numbers for Dee’s phone. Not being able to talk to him was starting to be almost physically painful. The only thing that kept me from it was the sense they could get your phone records and find out who had called when. Dee would be pissed if I got in touch the second I finished getting questioned by the cops. But I needed him now. Needed . I felt like my entire body was vibrating with fear, and it was hard to calm down. Sitting there in the station, talking to the detective, all I could think was whether or not I needed a lawyer. But I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to seem guilty. Or that I knew too much. Also it was too hard not to just freak out at every little thing, too hard to keep things straight. Like that businessabout the QT. And them asking me about Dee’s truck. How soon would it be before they were asking me more about Bird’s car? And what, exactly, had they asked her this morning? What had they seen at the house? Had they talked to Dee again, like they did me? And what I’d said about where we went to eat, or what movie theater—was that going to end him up in trouble too? How bad was it, them checking the video at the QT, finding out we’d made that part up? What other videos would they be checking? How would we remember all of what we’d said?
    I wanted Dee so bad. I wanted him telling me that it was going to be okay, telling me what to do next. Holding me, knowing he had put me through a lot. I wanted it back like it was on Friday night, before all this, both of us cheery and drunk, and then, after on Saturday—him so happy. And needing me as bad as I did him.

WHEN I FINALLY GOT HOME, KENYETTA WAS OVER AGAIN watching Bird do her cousin Teesha’s nails at the kitchen table. It seemed like they might stick around for dinner, which meant Bird and I wouldn’t get to talk at all. But maybe that was her intention. I couldn’t tell anything about her because she wouldn’t look at me.
    I tried going back into my room, to listen to some music or read a magazine, but I was antsy. After not too long I lifted her car keys from the hook by the door and asked Bird if it was okay if I went to get some Coke, since we were out. Did she want anything? Her mouth twitched a tiny amount. She didn’t look at me when she said we could use some diapers, too.
    I hadn’t meant it when I asked if she needed anything, andmaybe she knew it. I ran into the Kroger, quick, and almost grabbed the wrong kind in my hurry. After that I drove toward Dee’s house. I’d only been there a few times, and then only for him to run in and pick something up—I’d never even seen his parents—so I turned down a couple of wrong streets. Each time it was more frustrating. Like the longer it took me to get there, the less likely he’d answer any of my questions. About the police. About that awful letter.
    It was nearly eight o’clock when I finally got there. I was only sure it was his place because his truck was in the driveway and him, sitting on the front step, talking on the phone and smoking a cigarette. He was in a tank top, with shorts loose enough around his knees that if it hadn’t been almost dark, I could’ve seen