“I’m trying to imagine that. Did zombies chase you out of the cemetery?”

“That’s a pretty good metaphor for what happened.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“I can’t talk about it until I’ve had at least one stiff drink.”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere between where I last saw you and the second grave.”

“That’s real helpful, Ellis.”

She liked him saying her name. “I can meet you anywhere.”

“Okay, how about Pink Horses?”

“Pink Horses?”

“Yep.”

“Please tell me you’re not a weirdo who plays with My Little Pony toys.”

“Why would that make me weird?”

“Maybe I’d better rethink my evening.”

A soft laugh. “Pink Horses is a tavern. I swear. It’s not in a town—sort of out in the cornfields. It might be hard to find, but I could text the directions to you.”

“Okay. What time?”

“I’ll meet you there at seven. Is that too early?”

“Not if they have food.”

“They’ll have something that’s slightly like food.”

“That’ll do.”

“All right, see you soon,” he said.

A few minutes later, Keith texted directions to the tavern. It was farther than she thought. An hour away. But if she left right away, she’d be too early. She went to the gas station restroom to change clothes. She exchanged hiking pants for jeans and put on a new T-shirt. She wore the same flannel shirt on top. She didn’t want to build up laundry too fast. Her hiking boots had dried, but she put on new socks.

She brushed her teeth and looked in the mirror. Her eyes were bright with nervous excitement. Maybe from the meds, too. She thought she looked better than usual, at least recently. She was glad she’d washed her hair that morning. It had dried well, in soft waves. She had packed no makeup when she left New York, so what the ranger had seen would be what he got.

Back at the car, Ellis looked up campgrounds near Pink Horses. She had to know where she would sleep, how long the drive was, how much she could drink. The campground where she’d met the ranger was forty minutes from the tavern. She didn’t want to go back there. There was a small one on a fishing lake only ten miles from Pink Horses. The drive would be on one-lane roads that should be empty on a winter weeknight. Ideal.

She took the drive slow. Light snow was falling. Most of the route was on rural roads. Country houses glittering with Christmas lights lit the dark landscape like jewels. Every one of those houses added weight to her heart. She thought of River and Jasper. They had celebrated their fifth birthday without her. And now Viola was nine months old. Did the woman who had taken her celebrate Christmas? What would she give the baby?

Ellis shouldn’t have let her thoughts go there. Any speculation about Viola’s abductor inevitably led to visions of abuse. Ellis felt sick, almost had to pull over. She forced positive images to mind, imagined Viola crawling, giggling, pounding the keys of a baby piano like the one the twins had received for their second Christmas.

Tears dripped down her cheeks. Her wrenching need for her baby surprised her with its strength. She turned the radio loud to drown her thoughts.

By the time she arrived at the tavern, also strung with Christmas lights, she felt almost as hollow as she’d been when she left the river. She already needed another pill.

She looked at the old neon sign with two pale pink horses standing on their hind legs, the magenta words PINK HORSES between them. Why was she there? What did she think she was doing meeting a man in her condition? He would ask questions she couldn’t answer. He would want to sleep with her, and she wasn’t ready. She should leave.

A dark tavern. A drink. The first real food she’d eaten all day. A man who’d been kind enough to give her coffee and companionship when she needed it.

She realized she wanted to be with the man more than she wanted the drink. And that surprised her.

She smoothed her hair in the rearview mirror. Even inside the car, she heard the live country music. The parking lot was full, a sizable crowd for a weekday.

As she entered the tavern, a rich tang of booze wet her tongue. She looked around the dark room, billiard tables to her left, a long bar straight ahead, and a band of two men and a woman playing on a small stage to the right. Ellis scanned the wooden tables scattered throughout the room.

Keith Gephardt was seated facing the doorway. Watching her. He smiled when she found him. She was glad he’d chosen a seat far from the music. That meant he wanted to talk.

She walked over, unzipping her down coat.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Okay.”

He was dressed like her, in jeans, boots, and a light-blue flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. His short brown hair was neater than it had been that morning. But his dark eyes looked the same, warm and inviting.

She hung her coat on the chair next to him at the square table. When she sat down, she noticed the toy. A blue plastic My Little Pony next to his bottle of beer.

“No way!” she said.

He looked at the pony with her. “What? I don’t go anywhere without her.”

“You promised you weren’t a weirdo.”

“I did not.”