He jumped. It was a good jump too. Another few inches and he'd have made it to safety. But a few were everything. He snatched at the air, short of his target, and fell.

One moment the sun was still shining on the top of his head. The next, darkness, icy darkness, and he was plummeting through it with cobs of concrete hurtling past him on the same downward journey. He heard them crack against the face of the rock as they went; then realized it was he who was making the noise. It was the breaking of his bones and back he could hear as he fell. And fell and fell.

The day began earlier for Howie than he'd ordinarily have welcomed after sleeping so little, but once he was up and exercising he felt good about being awake. It was a crime to lie in bed on a morning so fine. He bought himself a soda from the machine and sat at the window, gazing at the sky and musing on what the day might bring.

Liar; not of the day at all. Of Jo-Beth; only of Jo-Beth. Her eyes, her smile, her voice, her skin, her scent, her secrets. He watched the sky, and saw her, and was obsessed. This was a first for him. He'd never felt an emotion as strong as that possessing him now. Twice in the night he'd woken in a sudden sweat. He couldn't remember the dreams that had brought it on, but she was in them, for certain. How could she not be? He had to go find her. Every hour he spent out of her company was a wasted hour; every moment not seeing her he was blind; every moment not touching her, numb.

She'd told him, as they'd parted the previous night, that she worked at Butrick's during the evening, and at a book store during the day. Given the size of the Mall, it wouldn't be too difficult to locate her work place. He picked up a bag of doughnuts to fill the hole not eating the previous night had left. That other hole, the one he'd come here to heal, was very far from his thoughts. He wandered along the rows of businesses, looking for her store. He found it, between a dog-grooming service and a real estate office. Like many of the stores, it was still closed, opening time, according to the sign on the door, still three quarters of an hour off. He sat down in the steadily warming sun, and ate, and waited.

Her instinct, from the moment she'd opened her eyes, was to forget about work today, and go find Howie. The events of the previous night had run and re-run in her dreams, changed each time in some subtle way, as though they might be alternative realities, a few of an infinite selection born from the same encounter. But among such possibilities she could conceive of none that did not contain him. He had been there, waiting for her, from her first breath; her cells were certain of it. In some imponderable way she and Howie belonged together.

She knew very well that if any of her friends had confessed such sentiments she'd have politely dismissed them as ludicrous. That was not to say she'd not moped over a few faces, of course; turned up the radio when a particular love song was played. But even as she'd listened she'd known it was all a distraction from an unmelodious reality. She saw a perfect victim of that reality every day of her life. Her mother, living like a prisoner—both of the house, and of the past— talking, on those days when she could muster the will to talk, of hopes she'd had, and the friends she'd shared them with. Until now that sad sight had kept Jo-Beth's romantic ambitions, indeed any ambition, in check.

But what had happened between herself and the Chicago boy would not end the way her mother's one great affair had ended, with her deserted, and the man in question so despised she could not bring herself to name him. If all the Sunday teachings she'd dutifully attended had instructed her in anything, it was that revelation came when and where least expected. To Joseph Smith, on a farm in Palmyra, New York; news of the Book of Mormon, revealed to him by an angel. Why not to her then, in circumstances no more promising? Stepping into Butrick's Steak House; standing in a parking lot with a man she knew from everywhere and nowhere?

Tommy-Ray was in the kitchen, his perusal as sharp as the scent of the coffee he was brewing. He looked like he'd slept in his clothes.

"Late night?" she said.

"For both of us."

"Not particularly," she said. "I was home before midnight."

"You didn't sleep though."

"On and off."

"You stayed awake. I heard you."

That was unlikely, she knew. Their bedrooms were at opposite ends of the house, and his route to the bathroom didn't take him within earshot of her.

"So?" he said.

"So what?"

"Talk to me."

"Tommy?" There was an agitation in his demeanor that unnerved her. "What's wrong with you?"

"I heard you," he said again. "I kept hearing you, all through the night. Something happened to you last night. Didn't it?"

He couldn't know about Howie. Only Beverly had any clue as to what had gone on at the Steak House, and she wouldn't have had time to spread rumors, even if she'd had a mind to, which was doubtful. She had enough secrets of her own to keep from the vine. Besides, what was there to tell? That she'd made eyes at a diner? Kissed him in the parking lot? What did any of that matter to Tommy-Ray?

"Something happened last night," he was still saying. "I felt some kind of change. But whatever we were waiting for...it didn't come to me. So it must have come to you, Jo-Beth. Whatever it is, it came to you."

"Want to pour me some of that coffee?"

"Answer me."

"What's to answer?"

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying," he remarked, with more bafflement than accusation. "Why are you lying to me?"

It was a reasonable question. She wasn't ashamed of Howie, or what she felt for him. She'd shared every victory and defeat of her eighteen years with Tommy-Ray. He wouldn't go blabbing this secret to Momma or Pastor John. But the looks he kept giving her were odd; she couldn't read them. And there was that talk of hearing her through the night. Had he been listening at her door?

"I have to get down to the store," she said. "Or I'll be real late."

"I'll come with you," he said.

"What for?"

"The ride."

"Tommy..."

He smiled at her. "What's wrong with giving your brother a ride?" he said. She was almost taken in by the performance, until she nodded her acquiescence and caught the smile dropping from his lips.

"We have to trust each other," he said, once they were in the car and moving. "Like we always have."

"I know that."

"Because we're strong together, right?" He was staring through the window, glassy-eyed. "And right now I need to feel strong."

"You need to get some sleep. Why don't you let me drive you back? It doesn't matter if I'm late."

He shook his head. "Hate that house," he said.

"What a thing to say."

"It's true. We both hate it. It gives me bad dreams."

"It's not the house, Tommy."

"Yes, it is. The house, and Momma, and being in this fucking town! Look at it!" Suddenly, out of nowhere, he was raging. "Look at this shit! Don't you want to tear the whole fucking place apart?" His volume was nerve-shredding in the confines of the car. "I know you do," he said, staring at her, eyes now wild and wide. "Don't lie to me, little sister,"

"I'm not your little sister, Tommy," she said.

"I'm thirty-five seconds older," he said. This had always been a joke between them. Suddenly it was power-play. "Thirty-five seconds more in this shit-hole."

"Stop talking stupid," she said, bringing the car to a sudden halt. "I'm not listening to this. You can get out and walk."

"You want me shouting in the street?" he said. "I'll do it. Don't think I won't. I'll scream till their fucking houses fall down!"

"You're behaving like an asshole," she said.