Sean is nodding. Victoria is at least listening.

“Lie to them,” I say. “Lie like your lives depend on it. Because I think they do.”

It’s almost sunset by the time we’ve finished laying out the details of the lie. Claire wanted to add a bit about winged ponies, which we rejected, and Peter embellished with his own details, most of which we rejected, too. At the end of several hours of debate, the basics remained the same as my original idea: I’d reminded the Missing Man of his daughter, and he’d gone to check on her. He’d return as soon as his personal business was complete. We also settled on a simple reason for why Sean and Victoria would have this information: the Missing Man had contacted the Finder, and the Finder had told Sean. Given Sean’s well-known hatred of the Finder (there was an incident with a kitchen knife, Claire whispered to me), this would be considered an objective report. Besides, no one ever doubted Sean. The man who could concoct heavenly meatloaf out of half-eaten old cheeseburgers was never doubted.

As the sun dips lower toward the ocean desert and the haze of dust, Victoria rises and says, “We should be going. It’s late, and we have lies to spread.”

Sean shakes our hands and thanks us for our hospitality.

I should offer to let them stay. It’s the polite response. I war with myself for a moment. My mother would have offered already, given up her bed and borrowed the neighbor’s cat so they could have something to cuddle. Bracing myself, I say, “You can use my room. It’s a queen-size bed. I’ll bunk with Claire.” I don’t mention Peter’s fondness for the closet. I hope he’ll follow me to Claire’s closet, rather than stay with them. We’ll have to clear out a few stuffed animals before he’ll fit, unless he likes fur-and-fluff pillows. I don’t relish explaining why he prefers closets, especially since he’s never given me a decent answer. It may be similar to why Claire likes to eat hidden in corners, though I have at least managed to coax her to the table. Everyone here is damaged in some way.

“Thanks for the offer, but we’ll be fine.” Victoria leads Sean toward the door.

I’m relieved. I don’t try to convince them to stay.

Her gaze fixes on the coatrack. “Where’s my gun?”

With a nod from me, Claire scampers away and then returns with it. She solemnly hands it to Victoria. Victoria raises her eyebrows at me but says nothing. I don’t bother with an explanation or apology. Instead, I come out with them as far as the porch and wave as they leave. Softly, Peter says to me, “Do you trust them?”

“Sure. No. You?”

“I’ll follow them,” Claire whispers. It’s a stage whisper, and it carries across the yard. But Victoria and Sean don’t slow, and I don’t know if they heard or not.

“You don’t need to...” I begin.

Claire slips away. She darts into the shadows and circles around the junk pile. I swear under my breath. Peter seems amused. “Girl is part eel,” I say, trying not to let the worry that claws my stomach creep into my voice.

“She’ll be fine,” Peter says. “She’ll spend the night in town and be back in the morning.”

“But the void—”

“She’s a survivor. She’s smart. Plus she took the bullets out of Victoria’s gun, so they might need her.”

I laugh.

My laugh dies in the wind, and I listen to waves crash in the desert. I wish I were back in the water. I don’t want to go into the house. I won’t be able to sleep, not knowing if Victoria and Sean plan to cooperate with the plan or betray us immediately.

It’s a good plan. But I bet there are plenty of people in town who think killing me is an even better plan. I’m glad that Claire is following them, even though I would have stopped her if I could have.

Standing on the porch, I make a decision. “Grab pillows and blankets. We’ll sleep in the art barn tonight. I’ll leave Claire a note, in case she comes back before dawn.”

Peter obeys without question, which I think means he thinks it’s the right call.

He comes back with backpacks stuffed with bedding, as well as snacks. I leave a note, deliberately vague and cryptic so only she will understand, stuck to one of the spines of the puffer fish. We then strap the packs on our backs and head out, after locking the door with even more care than usual.

We spend the bulk of the journey on the rooftops. He runs across the roofs in a low crouch, and I mimic him, walking across several of the boards rather than scooting like I usually do. Peter helps me onto the zip line to cross to the abandoned Laundromat, and I help catch him and undo his harness when he crosses. We move silently and quickly, and I try not to think about how I’ve become used to this life.

Several roofs later, I look back over my shoulder. “Wait,” I say softly. The sun is setting over the ocean. I haven’t seen that sight in literally years. I can’t remember when I last drove down to the ocean purely to see the play of orange and red on the waves. It’s more stunning than I remember, even with the void obscuring the actual horizon. Peter says nothing, but he watches with me. I have tears in my eyes. I wipe them away with the back of my hand.

As the last dollop of sun vanishes, I turn and lead the way across the final rooftops. It’s not too dark yet, though the ground below us is shadowed. We make it across the roofs as the first stars come out.

Peter drops to the ground, and I join him for the last part of the journey. We skulk through the shadows until we reach the barn, and then we wordlessly check the booby traps that we’d set around it. None have been triggered. No one is interested in an old hay barn. We slip inside.

It’s dark already in the barn, but I want the masterpieces exposed. I like the idea of having them around me as we sleep. By feel, I go from piece to piece and remove the sheets over them. The sheets flutter to the ground as I pull them, and the breeze whooshes in my face.

Finishing, I look for Peter. His silhouette is barely visible from the stray moonlight that seeps between the boards of the walls. He hasn’t unpacked the backpacks yet, so I do it by feel, pulling out the pillows and blankets. I lay the sheets that I’d pulled from the artwork on the dirt floor and then I put the pillows and blanket on top. Only when I finish do I realize that I’ve put them side by side, whereas we could have easily slept apart or in different corners.

I look again at Peter and then at the blankets.

I can’t move them without being obvious about it. Besides, I’m not sure I really want to be alone asleep in this cavernous barn, even with the Monets and Rembrandts watching over me.

I am aware of him in the darkness as I kick off my shoes and slide in between the blankets. I didn’t pack pj’s, so I’m sleeping in my clothes. I hear him lie down beside me.

“Your plan isn’t a permanent solution,” Peter says. “At best, it will buy some time. Keep the void at bay for a few weeks, maybe a month or two, until people begin to doubt again.”

“Maybe that will give the Missing Man enough time to return.”

Peter doesn’t respond. In the darkness, I can’t guess what he’s thinking. I listen to him breathe. It reminds me of the waves, the steady crash as the water folds under and embraces itself. At last, he says, “Tell me about your mother.”

I’m startled. He rarely asks about my life before Lost. He’s always about the moment, the now. It’s one of the things that’s great about him. Everything is about surviving the moment and wringing as much joy out of it as he can.

Lying beside him, I realize I don’t want to think about the past, either. Not right now. It hurts too much. So instead of thinking and instead of answering, I turn toward where I know he is, I scoot closer until our bodies are touching, and I kiss him.

It’s like kissing sunlight. His lips are warm and soft, and I feel his body against mine. His hands are in my hair and then on my face, cupping my cheeks.