How to explain it? Months ago she told me that I reminded her of her father. For her part she has Rosa’s spunky personality and irrepressible good humor. Too, like some magical property that is essential to life but poorly understood, there is between us a steady sexual buzz, a ubiquitous all-purpose emotional Super Glue that can temporarily seal every crack in the relationship. This strange attraction to my aging, soft-putty flesh is, to me, another sign of her kinkiness. But women are generally strange creatures. What drives them to seek solace in such a ridiculously unsubtle and ultimately woebegone-looking organ? This relentless, instinctive preference for the obvious proves they have no more intelligence or self-control than we do.

And tonight, like so many others, we end our discussion in her queen-sized bed, leaving Jessie in her crate in the kitchen, a decision naturally questioned by my girlfriend. However, this confinement,

instead of being cruel, is an act of kindness.

Used to a lifetime in tight spaces, Jessie feels secure in there.

Freedom always sounds better than it is. I’m surprised Amy hasn’t turned that argument on me. I haven’t quite been honest with her, telling her that the reason I’m not hungry is that I was given a bowl of soup by an old friend whom I stopped by to visit in order to get information on the case. I don’t mention that I kissed this old friend or that she responded. Amy, who used to be in the Blackwell County prosecuting attorney’s office, has been fascinated by my account of the intrigues going on in Bear Creek and has listened in wide-eyed fascination at the description of my family’s treatment at the hands of Oscar and Paul Taylor. Why should I tell her about Angela? I don’t even know how I feel about her myself.

Amy’s bedroom is even more bizarre than the rest of the apartment, probably because, in addition to nudes on the walls, she has pictures of her family on the nightstand by her bed. Her father’s pinched face shows scarring on both sides, perhaps from acne as an adolescent. Bald, withered, he was already worn out at the time of this photograph, taken five years before his death from prostate cancer, but Amy assures me that emotionally, at least, he is still very much a force in her life.