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help? I think I can handle the truth. ‘The truth shall set you free,’ isn’t that what the Bible says? Heard that somewhere, way back when.”
    “Wouldn’t know. Sorry. You ask me, it’s better to free your mind. Little somethin’ to take the edge off, if you hear what I’m sayin’. Less pain that way.”
    “That’s it, just tune out altogether? That can’t be the answer.”
    “Comes highly recommended.”
    “Not gonna happen. I’d rather feel pain and at least know I’m alive. Aren’t you even a little curious about things? There are so many unknowns, things that just don’t add up. Maybe it’s a part of being adopted … looking for, I don’t know … identity.”
    “Least you’ve got this link with your mom. Today’s the big day, right?” Josee rolled her neck. “One get-together’s not going to erase twenty-two years of separation. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
    “Hey, don’t think like that. I know what this means to you. We didn’tthumb it a coupla hundred miles to see you skip the big event. This is connection at a root level.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “Good stuff, think about it. Kara’s your blood, your family. From what you’ve told me, she sounded nice enough on the phone. If she’s even a little bit like you, she’ll be good by me.”
    “Now you’re getting sappy on me, Scoot.”
    “What, who me? Must’ve been in a daze. Scratch every word. Lies, all lies.”
    “That’s more like it.” She smiled and reached to squeeze his hand.
    “Okay, Josee, so what about that?” He indicated the canister. “You got me curious. See any buttons or latches, see a way to open the thing up?”
    “Nothing obvious.” She looked down to find the skull’s same chilling stare from last night. And what was that smell? Sweet but spicy, with a bite to it. “Maybe you were right,” she confided. “Maybe we should leave it alone.”
    He brushed it with his hand. “C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’.”
    “Forget it. Don’t mess with this thing, okay?”
    “If you say so.”
    “I mean it.”
    “Sure, babe. Hands off.” Yet his fingers tarried, and Josee would’ve sworn that his moonstone ring surged with a pallid gray glow.

    After generic cornflakes and powdered milk, Josee took hold of Scooter’s bike. “That little market’s just up the road, right? I’m gonna ride over and give my mother a call, make sure everything’s still a go.”
    “Got change for the phone? I’m all out.”
    “I’ll figure a way. It’s this feeling, I guess, like I need to see what’s going on.”
    “Worried she’ll cancel, huh?”
    “No.” Josee disengaged the kickstand. “Just wanna touch base.”
    “You are worried.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Be careful, babe. Road’s narrow out there.”
    The bike was a symphony of squeaks and sighs. Two days earlier Scooter had haggled for it at a local garage sale. Josee’s feet just touched the pedals, and by the time she reached the market, the sun was winking hello through trees thick as lush lashes. A scene worth drawing. She wiped the sweat from her chin and thought how good it was to be back in Oregon—her birthplace.
    Inside the market, by a rattling ice machine, she saw a flier tacked to a corkboard. Some institute, the House of Ubelhaar, advertised art lessons and supplies as the pathway to fulfillment. Probably where Scooter got her case.
    “Morning,” said the cashier, whose thighs hid the seat of her stool.
    Josee mumbled a reply. So much for flirting with a guy clerk for a chance to use the phone. “Think I can make a call?” she asked. “It’s local.”
    “Pay phone’s out front.” The woman’s eyes never left the television behind the register.
    “Yep, I know, but see, I’m out of change. Not a dime on me.”
    “Sorry. Store policy.”
    She stared past the woman at rows of locked cigarette cartons. “It’s a Corvallis number, I promise. Please, I’m trying to get ahold of my mother.”
    “I don’t make the