Zack turned to Paula and said, “I have the statement you gave. Do you have anything you’d like to add? We could go into a bedroom,” she looked to the short hall. “For privacy, if you’d prefer.”

Uncle Tim extended a plate with a cinnamon bun to Paula. She took a bite and chewed. “Nothing to add. Don’t remember anything, anyway. Just landed in the ER with paint flecks in my hair.”

“Okay. I’ve got other victims—abductees—to revisit and check out physically.”

Israel and Zack left the bus with the laptop and the binder. Paula gestured to Uncle Tim to join her on the couch, where he ate two buns while Paula drank a second, larger cup of espresso.

The driver climbed aboard and told Uncle Tim that they were leaving in four minutes. Weather followed him up the steps with a coat in her hand.

“I don’t wanna go,” Paula said to Weather, setting her cup aside.

Uncle Tim looked to Paula.

“I mean, I don’t want to leave this bus,” Paula said. “Leave you,” she added, turning to Uncle Tim.

Uncle Tim set his pastry on the plate.

“You should say something,” she nudged.

He didn’t speak. He stopped chewing, swallowed, and gently took her hand.

THE RV’S AIR BRAKES let out a gasp, and the long vehicle began to roll.

“I’m wired and fed,” Paula said to Uncle Tim. “Know what would be nice?”

Uncle Tim watched the slow passing view in the opposite window.

“No idea,” he answered.

The bus made four slow tight turns, swaying slightly before it ran straight and smooth.

“A nap. Come on. Join me?”

She stood and he followed, her hand taking his. Inside Uncle Tim’s small room, Paula click-locked the door before lying down. Uncle Tim took off his boots and joined her on the narrow bed. He drew the blanket up over both of their bodies and rested his head on his hand. Paula whispered to herself and closed her eyes.

The curtains were open and Uncle Tim watched hills and bluffs and treetops pass by.

UNCLE TIM WOKE AT noon to the sound of click-locks. He rose slowly from the narrow bed, careful not to stir Paula who was facing the window and still asleep. Before he left the room, he reached over and closed the blinds.

In the galley, he opened the refrigerator and removed a bowl of sliced fruit. Emma appeared from the short hall, her white and yellow hair blasted out in severe angles. She had clearly slept in her clothes; her black shirt and pants were twisted and rumpled. Without a word or a look, she padded to the galley table, digging her cell out of her pants pocket. She sat and slid over to the window leaving the curtain drawn. Uncle Tim set the fruit bowl on the table and went to slice bread and cheese. Emma placed the cell on the table, tapped it, and began clearing Karen’s voicemail.

Karen appeared from the bathroom in an oversized white shirt.

Uncle Tim watched her walk to the table.

“Socks?” He grinned.

Karen beamed a smile, hunched her shoulders, and slid in beside Emma, placing her back to Emma’s shoulder and raising her gray stockings up on the bench. The two women whispered to one another, pausing only when Emma tapped the cell and replied briefly to messages. Uncle Tim set a platter of sliced bread and cheese on the table before them. He added silverware, and Emma nudged Karen playfully when she began to eat with her pale fingers. Emma talked about new stage clothing and looks. Karen replied with frowns and smiles while she ate. At one point, the two rustled and began to giggle.

Uncle Tim went up front and sat down beside the driver. The two watched the highway roll up under the dashboard—the road curving gently with the coastal terrain.

“You’ll be home soon,” the driver said.

“Yes, it’s been too long,” Uncle Tim agreed.