Stevie wasn’t sure if the sudden airlessness in the tunnel was her imagination. Probably.

“My mom was a concierge at a swanky resort in Marin,” David began. “She did things like set up the wine-tasting weekends and the spa experiences and golf trips. Edward King went to some event there, some fundraising thing, and he and Becky locked eyes. This was before he was a big deal. He wasn’t a senator yet, just some local politician on the rise. My mom is very pretty. And Edward King is rich. It’s not that Becky is just after money, it’s more that she doesn’t get that money doesn’t make you smart. She thinks people who have it are . . . maybe not better, but more complete, or something. I don’t think she’s worked out that you can be rich and have done nothing to deserve it. Which is weird, because she dealt with rich people for a living and should have known that’s not true. She’s not stupid, but she has some issues. You don’t get together with Edward King if you feel great about yourself. It’s not a solid emotional choice.”

He paused, and Stevie wondered what was happening. She could not see his face, or really even his back. But she could tell that the caustic tone in his voice was forced. He was talking into the dark because it was easier, because he could not be seen while he revealed himself. Even though nothing physical was happening, this was the most intimate they had ever been.

“No,” she said into the beating pause.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s really not. They got married pretty quickly in some shady, private ceremony in a judge’s office and I came out seven months later. Eddie put Becky and me in his house in Harrisburg and went off to DC to continue his career. And that was the end of the romance. I was the result of the most consequential bang Eddie ever had. Captain Personal Responsibility paid the bills. I never really remember him being around much. Maybe at Christmas. He pulled us out to use us as props at a few things, but then that stopped. Becky was bitter and had nothing to do, so she started drinking. One time when I was maybe nine I heard water running. I was playing on my Xbox, but I always listened. When you live with an alcoholic, you have to listen a lot. The water was running way too long. I went upstairs and the carpet in the hallway was all wet and there was water coming out from under the bathroom door. Becky went in there with a bottle of Chablis and passed out. She was red all over—the water was turned all the way up on the hot side. I had to pull her out, then shower her in cool water because of the burns. She didn’t wake up. So I called Eddie. I got his assistant, who told me to call 911. So the ambulance came. She was okay in the end—just drunk, minor burns. Eddie called me later that night and basically told me off for calling him and letting his assistant know about what was going on with my mom. I should have handled it. That was the night I decided that Edward King could fuck off, forever. That was one of the things I liked about you right away—you also know that Edward King should fuck off, forever. It’s a good quality to have.”

She noticed that he had slowed his pace. She kept her hand on his back and pressed in a bit, assuring him of her presence.

“When I was ten, Becky got pregnant with a magic baby. It wasn’t Eddie’s. I mean, I don’t want to brag, but I can count to nine. And Eddie was not around nine months before my sister, Allison, was born. Her dad is probably this guy in the state legislature who went to Becky’s gym. He came around the house a few times. I never remembered his name, so I just called him Chad. To his face. Right after Allison was born, Chad left the state legislature, and then the state. One does not simply sleep with Edward King’s wife. Then Eddie and Becky got a nice quiet divorce.”

“How did people not know about this?” Stevie said. “That he was married before?”

“That’s the magic of Edward King,” David said. “He made sure we were gone before anything big started happening with his campaign. He married Tina, former intern Tina, to use her full title. Tina is a good campaign wife. She has great teeth. Great big white teeth. It looks like she has a mouth full of kitchen cabinets. How am I doing so far with the full-disclosure thing?”

“It’s . . . a lot.”

“Good thing we’re at the end,” he said, stopping. “Literally. The end. Of the tunnel.”

“Let me see,” she said.

“How? I can’t move around you.”

“Bend down.”

David squashed himself down and Stevie shone her light at the wall. There was a short metal ladder, just eight rungs, leading up to a round hatch.

“Keep the light on it,” he said, standing again. He set his light down, shook the ladder once, then climbed and reached up his hand, testing the hatch, pushing hard.

“Nope,” he said. “That’s not opening. A long, dark journey into nothing. But good tunnel.”

He climbed back down. Stevie lowered her light so he would not be blinded. For a moment, they were face-to-face in the dark, though they could not really see each other. She turned her flashlight down to the ground.

“Why did you decide to tell me all this?” she said.

“Like I said. Clear the slate.”

“But why?”

“Because . . . my dad has messed up everything in my life. Now he’s making a career of messing up everyone’s lives. But he can’t have this. He can’t have you. It sounds cheesy, but it’s all I’ve got.”

But your dad does have me, she thought. Could she say it? Tell him right now?

He was reaching for her in the dark, his hand searching, landing on her shoulder, finding its way to her neck, to feel along her chin.

Tell him now. Tell him right now. He just told you everything.

He ran his fingers down her jawline gently. Her breath snagged and she leaned her hip up against the wall for support, which was easy because the wall was only an inch away. He kept coming closer, slowly, testing his way, until his chest was against hers and she did not move.

The heavy flashlight was weighing down her left hand. She found herself leaning down to put it on the ground. Then she rose and reached for his head with both hands, intertwining them in his curly hair. When her lips met his, she felt something release inside of her, something she didn’t know she had been holding. There was something frantic about the way she kissed him, like being with him was the only way she could breathe. They couldn’t move to the left or right, so they stayed locked together. She kissed down his neck and he let out a soft moan, then a little, happy laugh.

“This went better than I hoped,” he said. “I thought . . .”

“Shut up,” she said, kissing him again.

He reached around, gripping her and lifting her a few inches off the ground. Had there been enough room, she would have put her legs around him. But the tunnel walls did not stretch to accommodate her desires.

“There’s something,” he mumbled against her lips.

“What?” she mumbled back.

“Light. Nate has to be signaling.”

He set her down gently. She wished she could see his expression now, but they were blind to each other. He held her face in his hands for a long moment, saying nothing—not kissing, not moving, not seeing.

“Nate,” he said again, after a long pause.

“Nate,” she replied.

“Your turn to lead.”

She fumbled around, her hands shaking and her legs wobbly, trying to find the flashlight. Then she turned awkwardly. She was very glad that David had taken the lead on the way in, because she had only seen his back. Had she had a good look at the long, tight way forward, she would never have gone on, and what had just happened would never have happened.

They walked back, David at her heels, his hand playing with the tips of her hair, teasingly poking at her ribs, tickling the back of her neck. The world was perfect and hilarious all of a sudden, even if they were busted down here. It would all be all right. Her life had been building to this—this tunnel, this moment. She was warm and giddy. She was a new Stevie.

Her light caught something on the ground. At first glance, it was simply more black in a world of blackness, but this was a different, deeper black against the gray, and it had a bit of shine. She bent down and reached for the thing and David took the opportunity to reach around her waist and hug her.

“What is it?” David said. “Treasure?”

She held it under the flashlight beam. It was plastic. A bit of bag, shiny and black.

“Just a piece of bag,” she said.

There were no plastic bags in the thirties, probably. Probably? Stevie rubbed the fragment between her fingers. There was something, something that clicked in the back of her mind. Her brain was always doing that—clicking and not talking to her about the clicking.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stevie said absently. The bit of plastic slid coolly between her fingertips. “It’s nothing.”