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assumed she would just die and never say a thing for fear of that moment. The secret was so old, so a part of her, that
     the thought now—the voice?—surprised her. It said: you know you can tell him, don’t you? Even though? Just tell him.
    She looked at the television and saw apocalypse. The images were of a fire, from above. Some industrial building, sprawling,
     was engulfed in flames.
    Around it were what seemed to be thousands of fire trucks and police cars, all their lights flashing. Mobs of people made
     of tiny colored dots were grouped together in clumps not far from the building.
    Bill must have felt her muscles tense up, because he turned to her and studied her face, squinted, and said, “What?”
    “Nothing,” she said. “This just”—she nodded at the TV—“this just looks horrible. What is it?”
    “Mmm,” Bill said, looking back. “Chemical plant, I think,” he said. “Yesterday afternoon. It’s up near Milwaukee. A whole
     bunch of people died.”
    “What happened?”
    “Look at it,” he said. “It burned.”
    “It looks just...terrible.”
    Bill nodded again. “It was, from what I’ve heard. Very bad. Ammonia compressor exploded.” He frowned down at the remote control,
     then pointed it at the TV and turned the volume up. The sound of the reporter’s voice filled the room. She was speaking of
     the dead.
    “Delco,” Bill said. “Delco, I believe that place is called.”

3
    Matt took a change of course on Monday and began trying to divvy his Delco shifts instead of collect them. When Ken Granderson,
     Eric’s father, wandered into the break room, Matt offered him up Friday and he took it. To be on the safe side, he found Eric
     a little later and got him to take Thursday, then went to talk to the foreman to make sure all was understood. There was a
     funeral in Tennessee he had to go to. Old friend from grade school who’d moved away. Gun accident, tragedy. Okay, Bishop,
     the foreman had said kindly. I understand.
    On Wednesday night he changed the oil in the truck and made sure the windshield wipers were fine, drove it to the gas station,
     filled it up, bought three Twinkies, put them in the glove compartment, and went home. He and Marissa tried to have sex, but
     for the last few weeks it had been too uncomfortable, even from behind, as they had grown accustomed to.
    “I’m sorry,” she said as he got out of bed and crossed the room, toward the bathroom.
    He said, “It’s fine,” turned on the shower, stuck his head back out, and said, “It’s fine,” again, then went into the shower
     and masturbated with his back to the curtain, listening hard to make sure she wouldn’t sneak in and surprise him.
    Glen had produced an address. Matt had it written down and stuffed into his wallet, although, really, he didn’t need anything.
     The half sister’s name was Mary and the address was 78 9th Avenue. Glen had a little tickle in his voice when he told him
     over the phone. Matt said, “Not only did you never go to look.”
    “It’s hard to forget an address like that.”
    “That address is so easy I’m surprised you didn’t just one day suddenly find yourself there.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Glen,” Matt said, “are you and Caroline still married, then?”
    “No. The papers came in the mail a few months later. Some lawyer in Minneapolis. I signed them all and sent them back where
     they were supposed to go, and that was the end.”
    “Why’d you sign them?” Matt asked. “Couldn’t you have found her that way? Gone to see her? Talked to her?”
    “I signed them—” Glen started saying, but he hesitated. Matt waited. “I signed them just because. Maybe this is hard to understand,
     but I signed them because I thought signing them would make three lives better. Every life inside of the family.”
    “What family?”
    “Ours.”
    “But it was gone.”
    “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
    “Does Marissa know about the papers?”
    “Yes,” he said. “She