“We can give them a ride,” she said. “We’ll run them home. We’ll all fit in the car.”

“You could run them home, but you’re not going to. I brought them here, and I’ll take them back,” I insisted. “I’m not leaving my car out here. One of you would only have to bring me back to it tomorrow.”

I stood up, brushing concrete dust off of my hands and onto my thighs. Everyone else sitting on the stairs—Dave, Lu, Jamie, and Benny—rose as well. Ted stood aside in a charming, deferential fashion that marked him as a salesman.

“My offer stands,” he reminded me, and I thanked him but declined again.

“Thanks, man. But I don’t want to have to come back for it. I do appreciate it, though. If you hadn’t been home, we might’ve been in trouble.”

I said it with a rueful sort of smile that I hoped told them all I was kidding. No one smiled back except Ted, but that was okay.

Lu tossed her hands up, then snaked one arm around Dave’s wrist. “Suit yourself, if that’s the way you want it. We’re going to follow behind you, though. We’re parked over by the Tower monument. I won’t have you falling asleep at the wheel.”

Or give you extra time to run off and get your story straight, I thought, but did not add aloud. It wouldn’t have been fair. She was worried, and Dave was worried, and I had been the one to worry them.

“That’s fine. We’ve got to walk that way to get to Ted’s anyhow. Let me make sure the cops are done with us, and we can walk back to the car.”

I confirmed with the nearest police officer that nothing more was required of any of us, though they had all of our contact information and would almost certainly be in touch. No surprise, there. They offered us a ride back to our car, but I declined on everyone’s behalf.

I rejoined my friends and family. Benny withdrew the trusty flashlight from his bag and struggled to flick the black switch to turn it on. He was exhausted, and had a headache to boot.

I put out my hand, and he gave me the light. With some trouble of my own, I pushed the switch into place and aimed the beam at the ground. Everyone was kind enough to refrain from pointing out how badly the circle of light shook and wavered.

I was worn out, but not so much that I didn’t appreciate it.

We left Lu and Dave at their vehicle, and the rest of us walked the extra half a block to Ted’s in silence. Even Ted kept quiet, which was a little out of character, but he was a smarter guy than I sometimes gave him credit for.

I thanked him again for his assistance; then Jamie and Benny and I all piled back into the Nugget. We closed ourselves inside the smallish car and exhaled simultaneously.

I stuffed my hand into my pocket and dragged out my keys. They felt bulky and sharp in my hand. I fumbled with them, dropping them twice before my thumb found the right one.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Jamie asked.

I nodded. “We’re all okay. We’re all just tired. Right?” I looked over to Benny, then over my shoulder at Jamie. “We are all okay, aren’t we?”

They mumbled assent, though Benny put his hand to his head with a wince.

I leaned forward until my brow was creased against the steering wheel. “Let’s go.” Without looking, I jabbed the key into the ignition.

I couldn’t keep Lu and Dave waiting.

Benny showed up on the mountain shortly after the first hint of daylight, begging to be let inside. He figured that since our number was unlisted, except for Dave’s studio office, the reporters might have a harder time tracking me down. He figured right, sort of. Though Channel 3 had located Benny’s home within an hour, it took them all of three to catch up with me.

Benny cowered in the kitchen when Lu opened the door.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Nick Alders from WRCB. Is Eden available?”

I shook my head fiercely—no, no, no—but Lu just opened the door farther and invited the man inside.

“Baby,” she said, “you went out and made this mess. You clean it up. Can I get you fellows anything?”

The heavily laden cameraman and reporter duo declined, but thanked her.

Tall, brunet, and violently tanned, Nick Alders beamed his big-toothed way into my living room, hand outstretched to shake mine.

There was no statement to be made by being rude, so I took it and obliged him. He dipped his head and called me “ma’am,” same as he’d done to my aunt, but that was no surprise. He wanted to butter me up good and see what slipped out.

“Miss Moore, we were very much hoping we could have a moment of your time, to talk about the incident at the battlefield last night.”

“Why me?” I asked, glancing into the kitchen and seeing no sign of Benny.

“Your friends have both declined to provide us with a report in the matter, but with all those rumors flying around, we sure would like to give you the opportunity to set the record straight.”

“What rumors?”

The cameraman turned to set a blocky canvas bag down on the ground. He adjusted the equipment—pulling out digital memory cards and investigating his battery supply.

Nick didn’t answer as fast as I would have liked; and when he did respond, he was vague. “Oh, you know how it is around here. People like to talk.”

“I do know that for a fact,” I agreed, with matched vagueness.

He flicked his eyes to the sofa as though he wanted me to adjourn to the seat, but I stood my ground. We were eye to eye and I liked it that way. I was tired and beat up from the previous evening, and pissy about the intrusion. And I felt stronger if I was ready to run, even when I didn’t intend to.

“Would you care to sit down?” he asked.

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

He cleared his throat and motioned to his assistant. “Well. All right, then. Would you um, hang on—Calvin, if you could just bring that up here I’d appreciate it, yeah, thanks—okay, Miss Moore, would you care to give us your take on the events at the battlefield last night?”

Again I looked over into the kitchen. I hadn’t heard the door to the garage open or close, so I could only assume that Benny was crouched on the floor behind the counter.

I shrugged as Lu excused herself to the porch and left me to my journalistic fate. “What exactly do you want to know?”

“What would you like to tell us?”

“Tell you about what?”

His hundred-watt smile twitched. “Ma’am, I sure would love to be the one asking the questions, here.”

“Then why don’t you ask me something specific?”

Nick sighed—not in a pretty way, but with an aggravated hiss. “Turn that off for a second, Calvin, would you?”

Calvin obliged him, and when the red light went off on the camera Nick started again. “Because we don’t know shit, that’s why. Nobody knows what happened, and nobody’s talking. I’m just trying to do my job here, honey, so if you’re going to blow me off or dick around with my time, just say so now and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the top of Benny’s rumpled head rear slightly over the edge of the counter.

“I find your candor refreshing, Nick. But if you want me to stand here and tell you the long and sordid story of what we were doing out there and how it all went to hell in a handbasket—”

“Oh, I don’t need all of that,” he interrupted me. “Maybe I exaggerated when I said we didn’t know shit, precisely. Dana Marshall released a statement from the hospital.”

She had? That was news to me, but I didn’t announce it to him right away. “All right. How about this, then—we’ll sit down and have a nice chat and you can tell me all about what you know, and then I’ll maybe fill in a few gaps for you. But I don’t like the camera. Leave the camera off and we’ll talk.”

“Deal. Camera’s staying off. Is a tape recorder okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay.” Mostly I didn’t want anyone seeing me on TV. Again I thought of Gary and the little dead girl; and I thought of all the hopeful lovers, parents, and friends who had come before him. They were finding me one way or another, but I wasn’t going to make it any easier for them.

“What about your friend over there, beside the fridge? Does he want in on this, or not?”

So he wasn’t completely blind. That made one more point in the reporter’s favor. “I’m guessing not. Benny?”

“Naw,” He waved from behind the counter. “Y’all go ahead. I’m just looking for the chips. Down here. In these cupboards.”

“Check the pantry. Up on your left.”

“Thanks,” he said, and sheepishly rose to fish around behind the pantry door.

“Salsa’s in the fridge. Second shelf. Sour cream’s in the door.”

“I got it, okay?”

“Okay. Now Mr. Alders—”

“Call me Nick.”

“Fine. Nick.” I leaned back in the crook of the couch’s right arm, striking a pose that might have looked open and friendly—though I didn’t really intend it that way. I was making a point to take up as much space as possible.

“And I can call you Eden?”

“Knock yourself out. And let’s start this with you telling me about Ms. Marshall’s statement. I’m afraid I must’ve missed it.”

He exchanged an eyebrow lift with the cameraman. “Surely it’s not anything you don’t already know. But since you asked, it was mostly typical stuff—it’s a very difficult time for her and her crew, she’s thankful that none of her local volunteers were hurt, and she appreciates everyone’s thoughts and prayers. Nothing you wouldn’t expect. Given the media coverage lately, we were all just confused to learn that they’d enlisted local help. I talked to her and her husband last week, and I got the distinct impression that they always brought their own people along.”

In the kitchen, Benny dropped his freshly located bag of chips.