I heard voices from the lawn.

“People will talk,” I said, aware that we were visible, my white shirt, her white outfit, framed by the white columns of the gazebo. “I’m used to it. People always talk about me. But you might not want…” I trailed off. Your blonde to see us like this. “To be so indiscreet.”

“I don’t think,” she replied, “that I’ve ever done anything indiscreet in my life. Maybe I want to be the one they talk about tomorrow. I want them to say, wasn’t that Cordelia James with that tall, dark woman out in the gazebo?”

“No, it was only Micky Knight,” I answered, to keep talking, because if I stopped talking I would…I wouldn’t stop. Cordelia wasn’t sober. What she wanted now, she would regret in the morning. “Anyone can have her,” I added, a hint of rue creeping in.

“Don’t say that.”

“Ask Danny. She’ll tell you. Anyone. Don’t ruin your reputation with a…slut.”

“The slut and the wallflower. What a combination.” Then she looked at me, lifting her head away from my shoulder, her arms lightened their embrace, ready to pull back. “Don’t degrade yourself this way. Just say no. That’s all you need to do.”

She pulled away, not really moving, but retreating into herself. Her eyes grayer, less open. I tightened my embrace, wanting to bring her back, but not knowing how to both have her and not take advantage of a warm spring night and good champagne.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “I’ve done this before. Don’t take me seriously. I said I was going to get drunk tonight and I’ve succeeded.” This time she did physically pull away.

“I do…” I began, but was interrupted. Rudely.

A cry for help somewhere across the lawn. A guest has seen a garter snake, I thought disgustedly.

“Shit,” I cursed.

The cry for help was repeated. I toyed with leaving it to Rosie, then remembered that she might be even more entangled than I was. At least I still had my clothes on.

“Duty calls, I gather,” Cordelia said.

“Duty annoys,” I replied, incensed at duty’s timing. But Emma wouldn’t appreciate it if someone were really in trouble and I didn’t bother to check it out. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll find you later,” I called as I ran down the gazebo steps. “Sorry,” I repeated. I was sorry. We had almost…I didn’t even know.

“It’s okay,” her voice drifted after me. “Some people are born to be wild, some are born to run, and some of us are born to be discreet.”

I started running across the lawn, thinking more about what was behind me than what was in front.

Chapter 5

The cries were coming from somewhere around the main cluster of cottages. Probably just a damn garter snake or a toad on someone’s pillow, I snorted. I couldn’t imagine anything seriously wrong out here.

I trotted over to the group of people clumped outside the yellow cottage. “What’s going on here?” I asked, acting calm and official. After all, I was the only person who knew I was wet between the legs.

“Some animal’s in there,” the upset woman exclaimed.

“It looked like a porcupine,” someone else said. “I got a glimpse of it.”

Everyone looked at me, then at the door behind which this vicious creature lurked. How had I gotten into this, I wondered, not particularly wishing to entangle myself with an enraged pin cushion.

With extreme bravery, I marched up to the door. That’s as far as bravery got me. I cautiously opened it and poked my head in. Nothing in the living room that I could see. I entered, watching intently for any quivering quills. No movement, nothing. I looked in the kitchenette. Nothing pounced from the cupboards. Taking a broom with me, I started for the bedrooms. At least this cabin only had two.

The first one was animal-less. I even poked the broom handle under the bed to make sure.

“You need help?” Joanne called, entering the cabin.

“You look dressed for a porcupine hunt,” I responded.

“Is that what this is?”

“Maybe. Maybe someone’s imagination.”

I went into the second bedroom. I didn’t want Joanne to see a big butch like me hesitating in the doorway, scared of a little porcupine. I couldn’t see anything. With the disgusted feeling that I was definitely on a wild porcupine hunt, I knelt down and took a quick look under the bed.

Two animal eyes stared out at me, then winked out. I heard the soft skitter of clawed feet across the wooden floor heading for…

I jumped back, of course, crashing into Joanne’s legs. Some big butch.

“In a hurry?” she asked, looking down at me.

“There’s a porcupine coming after us,” I rationalized.

“That’s not a porcupine, that’s a possum,” she said, looking at the creature that had fled out from the opposite side of the bed. “I don’t know who’s more scared, it or you.”

“Easy for you to say,” I answered, getting up. “I was between you and whatever it is.”

“Right.”

“Stay there, in the door,” I replied, regaining my composure. “I’ll open the window and chase Ms. Opossum through it.”

“What an ingenious plan.”

I ignored her and shoved the window open. Then, with my trusty broom at my side, I went on an opossum roundup. Ms. Opossum, evidently unaware of how close at hand freedom was, went back under the bed. I got down on my side and attempted to gently prod her to liberty with the broom handle. She bared her teeth at me.

“Joanne? Can opossums get rabies?” suddenly occurred to me.

“Uh-huh. There’s an epidemic going on right now. Also be aware that rabid opossums inevitably go after the tallest person in the area.”

I looked back at Ms. Opossum. She didn’t look rabid. But then what did rabid look like?

“Good thing I’m on the floor. That makes you the tallest thing in the room,” I responded.

“Want me to flush her out?”

I swung the broom a few more times, unwilling to admit defeat. Ms. Opossum moved out of range of the broom handle.

“Be my guest,” I finally said, getting up and proffering the broom to Joanne.

As Joanne walked toward me, Ms. Opossum shot out from under the bed and through the now unguarded doorway.

“See,” Joanne observed, “just the idea of me coming—”

“But she’s still in the house,” I cut off her gloating.

Ms. Opossum was skittering about the living room. I closed the doors as we went back up the hallway so at least she couldn’t get back into any of the bedrooms.

“You can chase her this time,” I told Joanne as we surveyed the room.

“In heels?” she responded, not looking like she had any intention of chasing anything.

So I set off, an opossum posse of one. First I propped open the screen door, then I swept Opossum out of the corner she had chosen to cower in. She went to the next corner. I chased her out of that one and she returned to the first corner.

“Making great progress,” Joanne observed.

“Eat shit and die,” was my only possible response.

This time I herded Opossum directly toward Joanne. Joanne didn’t move, merely motioned toward the door. Opossum veered off, and, as luck would have it, went in the direction Joanne pointed. Out the door and into the night.

“It’s easy if you know how,” she said complacently.

“Luck,” I commented and stalked out the door, just to make sure Opossum was really gone and not lurking out on the porch. All clear. Only my bruised ego in sight. The clump of people had probably decided to wait this out in the safety of the house, with food and drink to sustain them through their ordeal.

Joanne came out on the porch behind me.

“Good thing you didn’t go into opossum catching as a career,” she said.

“Whereas you have obviously missed your calling,” I replied.

“Don’t be tacky. You’re not…Shit.”

“I’m not? That’s nice to know.”

One of those impossible-to-catch-opossum-in heels was caught in a gap between the floorboards. Joanne was standing on the porch, looking lopsided, trying to extricate her stuck shoe.

“Want some help?” I asked, laughing at her predicament.

“Knothole. Damn,” was her reply. “Would you be useful and pull?” she said, getting exasperated.

“Your wish is my command,” I replied with a malicious chuckle. I knelt down, put a hand under her foot and pulled. It didn’t budge. “Gosh, Joanne, it’s really wedged in. Didn’t know you weighed that much. Let me get a better angle.”

I moved in front of her, putting one hand under the shoe and the other on her ankle.

“Eat shit and die. Pull first,” was her response.

I tried to gently pry up the shoe, not wanting to scuff the heel too much. It didn’t want to cooperate. I started to pull a bit harder. My hand on Joanne’s ankle slipped, sliding up the slick stocking to her calf. I leaned my shoulder into her thigh to get a better grip.

“Micky,” Joanne said.

The heel was starting to become unstuck.

“Micky,” she repeated.

Her hand was on my shoulder for support. My shoulder was pressed against her thigh. I realized the slit in her gown was open and my shoulder was pressing into bare flesh.

I stopped and looked up at her. Then I noticed what my head was even with. Her black underwear. Joanne abruptly stepped out of the stuck shoe and moved away from me. I finished pulling her shoe up. I really hadn’t been flirting. Well, not as much as she obviously thought I was. I handed her the shoe. She took it and put it on, then walked down the steps. Having nowhere else to go, I followed her.

Joanne turned to face me. “Do you want Alex for a threesome or would you prefer just the two of us?” she asked, looking directly at me.

“What are you talking about?” I replied. Which was an incredibly stupid thing to say.

“Going on an Easter egg hunt,” she retorted.

“I’m sorry. Of course I know what you’re talking about, I’m just…I’m…” I sputtered.

Eros was staging a three-ring circus tonight. I didn’t have the vaguest idea how to get out of this, complicated by not wanting to get out of it.

“We’ve been heading for this. You know that,” Joanne said.

“Yes, I know, we have, haven’t we?” I mumbled inanely.

“Come on. Let’s go.” She took my hand and lead me in the direction of the blue cottage.

The idea that Danny and Elly and Cordelia and whatever-her-name-was (I didn’t know for sure that they were staying in the blue cottage, but paranoia made it seem inevitable) would know, perhaps hear, panicked me.

“Not the cottage,” I said, stopping. “Danny…”

“Where?” she asked, as she turned to face me. Then she took my other hand in hers. Her hands were warm and strong; I could feel the slight calluses. She brought one of my hands to her lips, kissing first the back, then turning it over to kiss my palm. I shivered in the warm night air.

“I don’t know,” I replied, trying frantically to think what my options were. Cordelia had, at best, given me an iffy maybe, the heat of a moment now cooled. Joanne left no doubts about what she wanted. My blood was pounding.

What the hell am I going to do, I thought wildly. I desperately wanted to sleep with both these women. I will probably end up with neither, flashed through my churning brain.

“The woods? It’s mild enough,” Joanne suggested.

“The woods?” I repeated stupidly.

“You’ve done it in the woods, haven’t you?” she asked.

“No…Yes…Of course, I have,” I said, trying to remember just what I’d done in my checkered career.

“How drunk are you?” Joanne asked, noticing that I wasn’t my usual voluble self.

“Not very,” I replied. Not enough.

“Have I misread? Are you not interested?”

“Uh…No, I’m interested. I’m…I find you a very attractive woman and I want to—” I broke off, thinking aloud, always a dangerous thing for me to do. “I’m confused…” Boy, was I ever. “What about Alex?” I seized to slow events down.

“She can join us or I won’t tell her,” Joanne answered.

“Oh.” So much for Alex. Where was monogamy when I needed it to make a decision for me?

Then Joanne kissed me. Oh, God, did she kiss me. Hard and penetrating, riveting my whole body to the spot. Thinking, hard before, became impossible. Concentration was spent on the press of her lips against mine, the hard curves of her tongue playing in my mouth.

Then, for the second time of this fickle summer night, someone screamed. It had to be a garter snake, I told myself, cursing inwardly.

The moment broken, our kiss subsided, then stopped. The scream didn’t.

“I’ve always wanted you,” I blurted out, too disconcerted by the second interruption to be cautious, to keep desire and need suitably hidden.

“Yeah, me too,” Joanne responded to my honesty.

“Got to go,” I said, turning from her, trying to locate the exact direction of the scream.

“Behind you,” she replied.

For the second time that evening I took off across the yard running. I quickly left Joanne, in her high heels, behind. I raced toward the area of the woods where the sound seemed to come from. Someone must have gone down the path near the stream, I thought as I pounded in that direction.

Suddenly a figure burst from the forest, stumbling in her haste. I ran toward her. It was Cordelia’s…what was her name? Nina. I caught up with her and grabbed her by the shoulders. She looked terrified.

“What is it?” I demanded.

She just shook her head, her mouth moving but no words came out.

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to calm her. “What happened?”

“Oh, God,” she sobbed, taking a deep breath.

I put my arms around her and held her. Whatever she had seen in the forest, even if it was a garter snake, had badly frightened her. The only thing to do was hold her for a minute, until she could speak. She shuddered against me.

“Oh, my God,” she repeated. “She’s dead.”

“Who?” I demanded.

She shook her head, sobbing.

“Who?” I demanded again.

“In the woods,” she gasped out. “I don’t know…I wanted to see the moon…”

“Where?”

“I dropped my flashlight somewhere near…” she said, pointing toward the path.

I nodded and let go of her. I could hear other voices across the lawn, coming this way. Nina would be taken care of. I hurried off in the direction she had indicated. I didn’t have a flashlight, but there was moonlight and I knew the woods. Whoever was there might be hurt and need help.

I ran into the forest, calling out, hoping whoever it was might hear me. The path was a dim gray ribbon against the charcoal of the wood. Only the common sounds of the night answered my calls. I saw a faint glow down the path. The dropped flashlight, from the look of it. I headed for it.

No one was visible in the dull glow of the flashlight. I picked it up, holding still, hoping to hear something, a groan, perhaps the deep breathing of a woman. I heard nothing. Maybe Nina hadn’t dropped the flashlight very close to whoever she saw. It was a small one and gave off only a dim amber light. I searched around with the beam. Nothing.

I suddenly wondered if someone had played a sick joke on Nina. Nothing that terrified another person like that could be funny, I thought angrily.

I moved off the path into the woods. The beam of light seemed even more feeble against the dark solid trees. I stepped cautiously through the pine needles and underbrush. I still saw nothing. I walked further into the trees, circling around a thick oak trunk. Only dark shadows and brown leaves appeared in the pencil of light. I turned slowly around, having to stare intently to make out the shapes outlined by the dim light.

Something caught my peripheral vision, at my feet, only a few inches away.

It was a hand, the pale flesh glowing visibly against the dark brown of the pine needle carpet. The arm was flung out as if reaching for my legs. With the light I followed the arm to the torso, then the face.

Her eyes seemed to blink.

Then I felt the bile rise in my throat. No wonder Nina was terrified. Ants were crawling out from under her eyelids. Insects scurried away from my light.

I stepped hurriedly away, out of reach of that grasping hand.

The light, which at first just showed her form, now revealed the ravages of a warm summer night. Some creature had nibbled on her outstretched hand, dainty chunks of flesh were missing from the palm.

I jerked the flashlight off her, then abruptly back, afraid the grasping hand would come closer while I wasn’t looking.

A dry heave shook my body. I took a deep breath to drive it away. Then I wondered if I was smelling the damp humus or the faint odor of human decay. I almost retched again.

“Joanne!” I suddenly yelled, to remind myself I wasn’t here alone in these grisly woods. “Joanne! I’m over here. Follow my voice!”

“Micky,” she answered from somewhere that seemed very far away.

“Yeah. This way. Follow the path until you see my light.”

I looked at the unknown woman, left in desolate death. She had to be dead, I thought. Would insects devour living flesh? The idea of touching her, brushing off ants to feel for a pulse nauseated me. She has to be dead, I told myself again.

“Micky, where are you?” Joanne called, closer this time.

“Here. Over here.”

I didn’t recognize the woman. She wasn’t one of the guests, I was sure of that. With a jolt, I realized that I had been at almost this same spot earlier in the evening, when I had walked in the woods. Then I remembered the eyes that I had been sure were watching me.

“Joanne!” I shouted, suddenly afraid to be alone in the dim light with only a corpse for company. “Joanne, can you see my light yet? I’m over here.”

“On my way. I see you,” she answered, responding to my fear.

I could hear her coming through the leaves. Another light joined mine, then Joanne was beside me.

“Oh, Jesus,” she said when she saw the body. She moved quickly and professionally, kneeling next to the woman to feel for a pulse. Then just as quickly she stood up, shaking her head.

“She’s dead,” I said, not really a question.

“For a while,” Joanne answered, standing back beside me.

“I couldn’t…touch her,” I whispered, ashamed of my cowardice, “to find out…”

“You didn’t need to. If she were alive those animal bites would be bleeding. She’s been beyond our help for a while now.”

“I guess.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Joanne?” I heard Alex’s voice off somewhere on the path.

“Alex. Don’t come here!” Joanne called to her. “Stay where you are.”

“Are you okay?” Alex asked.

“Yeah. Just stay away,” she yelled, not anger, but protection in her voice. “The police have to be called,” Joanne added to me.

“Of course. I’ll go tell Emma.”

“You can’t cover this up. I know that Emma Auerbach’s your friend and that a dead body on her property on this night is going to cause a lot of—”

“Joanne,” I cut her off, “the police will be called. Emma deserves the courtesy of hearing about it before they are, not after, that’s all. We can’t do anything for…her.” I indicated the body.

“Sorry, Micky,” she apologized. “Go tell Emma. I’m going to change. I don’t want to meet the local boys dressed like this.”

She took my arm and turned me away from the body.

“Leave her like this?” I asked, too aware of the corpse in the dark behind us.

“Not much we can do for her now,” Joanne replied, leading me back to the path.

We walked together, silently out of the woods and to the lawn.

There were some people milling about, more arriving to see what the excitement was about.

I saw Rosie, signaled to her, and gave her a brief version of what had happened. “Stay here. Don’t let anyone go into the woods,” I told her. “I’ll be back soon.”

I walked away, leaving Rosie on guard, Melanie faithfully at her side.

“Joanne?” Alex questioned as we reached her.

“Let’s go change,” Joanne said, putting her arm around Alex.

“You okay, Micky?” Alex asked me, as they started to move away.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered grimly. Compared to being dead and eaten by insects, I was great.

I walked toward the house to find Emma. As I got to the back porch, I saw Cordelia. She was holding Nina, who looked small and fragile tucked under Cordelia’s arm. Cordelia was saying something to her, smoothing her hair back. She didn’t see me. I went into the house.

I found Emma in the library. When she saw my face, she broke away from the group she was with and came over to me.

“Let’s go to your study,” I said, then let her lead the way.

“I imagine it’s serious,” she said as she closed the door.

I told her about the body. She listened quietly to my narrative. I was as brief as possible. Emma didn’t need the details.

“Do you want me to call the police?” I finished.

“No, I will,” she answered. “I know Sheriff Hampton. It would be better if I did.” She picked up the phone.

“Emma?” I said, wanting desperately to say Miss Auerbach. “I’m sorry this happened. I should have… You hired me to take care of things.” I felt somehow this horror was my fault. If I hadn’t been running around trying to sleep with half the women here…

“Don’t be nonsensical,” she replied, putting the phone down. “I don’t blame you for the simple reason that it’s not your fault. What were you supposed to do? Run around telling people not to die on my property?”

“I don’t think she just died,” I said, voicing the undercurrent that neither Joanne nor I had spoken.

“You think she was murdered? Why?”

“I’m probably way off base,” I retreated.

“But why?” Emma asked again.

“She was young. Late teens, early twenties. Too young to die easily. And…just a feeling,” I finished, remembering the eyes I was sure had been watching.

“I hope you’re wrong,” Emma said, taking my hand and holding it for a moment, then letting it go to pick up the phone again.

“So do I,” I said as I let myself out of the study.

I went back outside to the tool shed. I got several flashlights and a Coleman lantern, which I lit. Scare off the ghosts with a barrage of light, Micky?

Then I went back into the woods, nodding at Rosie and the stalwart Melanie on my way. Carrying both the lit lantern and a bright flashlight to keep the dark away all around me, I went back to the body.

I had to make sure she was still there. Somehow I couldn’t leave this dead woman alone in the dark.

I was torn between being afraid that she was gone, only a nightmare haunting the world I thought to be real, and fearing she would still be there, chewed and convulsed by the rapacity of nature during a warm summer night.

She lay as she had, a pale form against the brown bed of pine needles. Insects scurried away from the burning lantern. I tried not to see them. I placed the lights around her, a haphazard box. Nothing could keep out the darkness of death. But the lights could keep the night at bay, a small bit of the darkness she had been so callously thrown into.

I sat down, a few yards away, next to the lantern, the brightest light. She was young, probably not yet twenty. Maybe even pretty when she was alive. A day, a few hours ago? Her hair was dark brown, her makeup now garish on her immobile face. She was wearing a cheap cloth coat, inappropriate for the weather. Her legs were bare. I couldn’t tell if she had any clothes on under the coat. Probably not, a cheap cloth coat thrown on to cover her nakedness.

Raped and left here to die, I thought bitterly. Isn’t that what usually happened to young women found in the woods? Left to the scavenger ants. Men who do this should have pictures of decaying corpses put on the walls of their prison cells. This is what you did, you were so clever and hid her body so well, this is what it looked like when we finally found it. This is what her parents identified in the morgue, what a woman stumbled over one summer night, what I sat next to because I couldn’t leave her all alone, couldn’t leave her deathwatch to insects.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped away in startlement.

“Come on, get out of here,” Danny said gently. She was dressed soberly now, looking like an assistant D.A.

“I want to at least keep the insects away,” I mumbled.

“One of the things that drove me crazy about you was your insistence on being responsible for the sins of the world…”

“It’s been a long night,” I broke in. “Believe it or not, I’m not in the mood for a laundry list of my many faults.”

“It was also one of the things that made me fall in love with you, idiot,” Danny replied. “But you still need sleep. It’s past four in the morning. Be light soon.”

“I hope so. I think this night needs to end.”

“Guests have been leaving like the proverbial mice on the sinking ship,” Danny said.

“I don’t blame them. Not too many gay people like to be in the middle of a police investigation. Isn’t Joanne raising hell?”

“Not her jurisdiction. I gather the local sheriff said they could go. Poor Nina gets to stay and give a statement.”

“How is she?”

“She’ll be okay. She’s tougher than she looks. Just not used to tripping over bodies in the moonlight.”

“Like the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed. “Not a good way to end a party.”

“You don’t have to stay. This is my obsession,” I said.

I heard Joanne’s voice. It was her professional voice, cool, almost toneless. She was talking to the local police and leading them here.

“Aha. The cavalry,” Danny said.

“Much too late,” I answered.

The police arrived, bringing voices and lights everywhere. There was nothing more I could do. I went back to the lawn. Sending Rosie and Melanie to bed, I took up the guard post to keep away the idly curious. Few people came by, most staying away from this part of the yard. A lot of people had left. More were leaving as I stood my watch.

“Mick? They want to talk to you,” Joanne said, coming up behind me.

I followed her back into the woods. But this time I didn’t go near the body. I could do no more for her. I told them my story (leaving out what Joanne and I had been doing when we first heard Nina’s screams). They nodded silently and wrote it down. Then Danny led me away.

“Get some sleep, Mick,” she said. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Danno.”

We walked out of the woods together.

“Good night,” she said, hugging me tightly, then yawning, she turned toward her cottage.

“Night, Danny,” I answered, glad for a friend like her.

I walked back to the house, tired, but knew I couldn’t sleep. The first gray light of dawn was visible, finally fighting the dark night.

I went to the kitchen to see if there was anyone around. But the room was dim and deserted, people gone or gone to bed. There were no voices, no creaking floorboards to indicate anyone about.

I stood in the silent kitchen, wanting to put something between me and the scene in the woods. My hands were trembling. I found a bottle of Scotch. I went back outside, heading in the opposite direction from where the police surrounded the lonely body.

Dawn was still only a gray reflection of the sun. I walked down a trail into the forest to a clearing where I knew the sun would soon shine. The stump of an old oak tree destroyed by lightning a long time ago was there. I sat down on it, setting the bottle beside me.

The first tendrils of light found their way through the trees. A pale golden dawn. I sat still, listening to the wakening birds calling one another to the morning.

Death hits hard. It always does. She was younger than I.

“Well, you were right about one thing,” I said to myself, “You didn’t get to sleep with anyone tonight.” I was talking out loud to hear the sound of my voice. I sounded cracked and tired, not like the brave sophisticate I wanted to be. I looked at the bottle, but I didn’t pick it up. Instead I watched the rising sun as it colored in the glade.

“Drunk enough yet?” Joanne said from behind me. “I saw you cut across the lawn with a bottle.”

I turned my head toward her, too benumbed by the night’s events to jerk or even be startled at her abrupt appearance. She had taken a shower. Her hair was still wet, her eyes a veiled gray behind her glasses.

“Why don’t you put the bottle away and get some sleep?”

“I’d have to be very drunk to sleep. Too drunk to wake from nightmares.”

“Shit,” Joanne muttered, shaking her head. “You might be a decent person if you weren’t a drunken fuck-up,” she added angrily.

“Half right. Yeah, I’m a fuck-up, but at least this time I’m not drunk. I haven’t been drunk in a while.”

I picked up the bottle and put it between us. Joanne lifted the Scotch and examined the unbroken seal.

“How long?” she finally said.

“Two months.”

She didn’t say anything, still looking at the bottle as if she didn’t believe me.

“I know it’s not much,” I said. “Not enough to bother mentioning…”

“It’s a start. I’m sorry for jumping on you.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure I’ve done something to deserve it.”

“No, you haven’t. Not tonight.”

“Well…” I looked at her. “No need to pin any medals on me yet.”

“Two months…” Joanne said, then broke off. She walked to the edge of the clearing, then turned back to me. “My father drank himself into his grave. He was fifty-four when he died. My mother…I can’t remember her sober. I finally gave up hoping that one day she might call me and not be drunk. After twenty years of being disappointed every time I heard her voice, I just had to give up.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Life goes on,” she shrugged, walking back to me. “How do you feel?”

“I feel… Oh, God, Joanne,” I suddenly blurted out, “I can’t sleep because I finally feel things. When I would get hurt or scared before I would drink it away. Now…” I stopped and held out my hand, watching it shake. “What does it feel like to die so young? How do you do it? Do you get used to it?”

“No, I’ve never gotten used to it. I don’t think I ever will,” Joanne replied. She reached out and took my trembling hand between both of hers, holding it steady. “Tragedies happen every day. It’s inevitable that we stumble over them.”

“Was it murder or tragedy?”

“What’s the difference? Every murdered person is a tragedy in someone’s life.”

“Was she?” I persisted.

“Yes.”

“Raped?”

“Probably.”