She lost track of the hours. Several times gazing up into a walnut tree, she was dazed by the sun. This blinding seemed to bloom from the heat in her skull. In it, images came to her. The girl in the suede vest and leather anklet dancing around the circle of stars and moon, chanting, then shaking B. violently. “You should’ve taken it for yourself,” she said. “Why didn’t you just take it?”
The girl vanished before B. could answer and she was left staring at the stars and moon alone. But what was it that she had wanted? What should she have taken? She pressed her fingers into her forehead. Now all B. wanted was the carsickness. She waited for the girl to return so she could explain, but the girl did not reappear. B. rocked herself gently back and forth, humming something from The King and I, a tune about a dance but she could no longer remember the words.
At some point, she cleaned the knife. The blood had thickened to a gluey film. Daughtry was already out of her mind. In the end, he had nothing to do with it.
She waited until dark to leave. The even sharper scent of the rinds in the moonlight invigorated her, made her linger. But she knew she must move on. She walked barefoot to the car, started the engine. The headlights on the rows of trunks animated them into a momentary line of compatriots, waving her off.
She pulled in at the first gas station to fill the tank and get something to eat, but there was a police car at the pumps. She kept to the side roads after that.