She knew in the back of her mind where he was going, but she was still surprised when they reached the cemetery. They jogged through the rows of stones, both of them keeping their eyes straight ahead, not stopping until they got to Sibyl's marker.

Lena put her hand on top of the gravestone, using it to steady herself as she stretched her legs. The black marble stone was cool to the touch, and it felt good against her hand. Touching it was like touching part of Sibyl.

Hank stood beside her, lifting his T-shirt to wipe the sweat out of his eyes.

"Jesus, Hank," Lena said, shielding her eyes from the glare off his white belly. There were track marks there, too, but she did not comment on them.

"It's a warm day," Hank said. "I think the heat's about to break, though. Don't you?"

Lena took a minute to realize that he was talking to her and not Sibyl. "Yeah," she mumbled.

Hank continued to talk about the weather, and Lena stood there, trying not to show how awkward she felt.

She looked at Sibyl's gravestone. Hank had taken care of the arrangements, and chosen the words on the stone. Above the dates, chiseled into the stone, were the words SIBYL MARIE ADAMS, NIECE, SISTER, FRIEND. Lena was surprised he had not put "lover" for Nan 's benefit. That would have been just like him.

"Look at this," Hank mumbled, bending down in front of the stone. Someone had placed a small vase with a single white rose at the base, and it was starting to wilt in the morning heat. "Isn't this pretty?"

"Yeah," Lena said, but she could tell from the startled look Hank gave her that he had been talking to Sibyl.

He said, "I bet Nan left this for her. Sibby always liked roses."

Lena was silent. Nan had probably left the flower here that morning. She must have always done this early in the morning, because Lena had never run into her. Not that Lena made a habit out of visiting Sibyl's grave. At first, she had been incapable of making the trip because it was difficult to walk, let alone sit in the car for the ride from the house. Then, she had been embarrassed, thinking that Sibyl knew what had happened, that Lena had somehow been changed, compromised. Lately, it just felt eerie, visiting her dead sister. And the way Hank talked to Sibyl, as if she were still there, made Lena feel uncomfortable.

Hank said, "White looks pretty against the black, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

They both stood there, Lena with her arms crossed, Hank with his hands in his pockets, staring at the stone. The single rose did look pretty against the black marble. Lena had never understood people sending flowers to a funeral home, but she finally realized that the flowers were something for the living to enjoy, a reminder that there was still life in the world, that people could go on.

Hank turned to her, waiting for her attention. "I guess I'm going back to Reece," he said. "Maybe tomorrow."

Lena nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Yeah," she said, "that's probably a good idea." She had not told him that Jeffrey had given her an ultimatum: either take the time to get some help, or don't bother coming back at all. Partly, she had kept this secret because she did not want Hank to make the choice for her. He would easily take her back to Reece, give her a job in his bar, so that she could live her life under his watchful eye. That wouldn't really work, though, because one day Hank would be gone. He was an old man. He would not be there forever, and then what would Lena do?

For some reason, the thought that one day Hank would be dead brought tears to her eyes. She looked away from him, trying to gain her composure. Silently, he took his handkerchief out of his back pocket and handed it to her. The cloth was wet from his sweat, and hot, but she used it to blow her nose with anyway.

"I can postpone it," he offered.

"No," she said. "It's probably better."

"I'll sell the bar," he offered. "I can find a job here." He added, "You could come with me, back home."

She shook her head no, feeling the tears coming again. There was no way to tell Hank that she wasn't upset about his leaving so much as about knowing that one day he would be dead. It was all too morbid, and what she really wanted from him, needed from him, was to know that she could always pick up the phone and he would be there. That was all Lena had ever wanted from Hank. That was actually the one thing he had always given her.

Hank cleared his throat and said, "You've always been the strong one, Lee."

She laughed, because she had never felt so weak and helpless in her life.

"With Sibby, I knew I had to be there, had to hold her hand every step of the way." He paused, staring back at the tent from the recent funeral. "With you, it was harder. You didn't want me. Need me."

"I don't know if that's true."

"Hell, yes, it is," he countered. "You always did everything on your own. Skipped college, joined the police academy, moved here, didn't tell me about it until after it was all done."

Lena felt there was something she should say, but could not think what.

"Anyway," he said, taking back the handkerchief. She watched as he folded it. "I guess I'll take off tomorrow."

"Okay," she nodded, turning back to Sibyl's grave.

"They'll probably need you here for a while, anyway," Hank said. "What with that girl being found. I'm sure there's a lot more kids around here who went through the same thing. Those people don't tend to be as isolated as you'd think."

"No," Lena agreed. "They don't."

"Good that girl's back, though," Hank added. "That your chief found her."

"Yes," Lena said, but she wondered about that. What kind of things had been done to Lacey Patterson in that house? What memories would she carry with her for the rest of her life? Would she even be able to carry them, or would she take the easy way out, like her brother? Lena knew from her own experience that the lure of not having to think about the things that happened was seductive. Even after all she had been through, she was not sure that tomorrow she might decide that it wasn't worth it to keep on going.

Hank said, "I'm sorry about pushing Preacher Fine on you. I guess it's hard to see something like that."

Lena took the apology in stride. "Brad's a cop and he didn't see it either," she told him, though if Hank knew Brad, he would know that wasn't much of a consolation.

Hank tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. He dropped his hands to his sides, the back of his hand brushing against hers for just a moment. Like Lena, he was sweaty, and she could feel the heat coming off his skin.

After a while, he said, "You know if you need me you can call me, right? You know I'll be there."

Lena smiled, and she really felt it this time. "Yeah, Hank," she said. "I know."

Lena walked through the hospice, trying to breathe through her mouth so that the smell didn't overwhelm her. The building had a certain odor that reminded her of piss and alcohol. It kind of reminded her of Hank's bar.

She jabbed at the button on the elevator, feeling claustrophobic as it slowly climbed to the third floor. Her neck felt gritty, and she used her hand to wipe it. After her run with Hank, she had taken a long shower, but she was already sweating again from the heat.

Lena sighed with relief as the doors opened and the smell of urine did not assault her nostrils. Most of the residents on Mark's floor were catheterized and somewhat sterile compared to their more active counterparts on the lower floors. The stench was controlled because of this.

She stepped into the hall, looking out the window across from the elevator. The clouds were dark and fluffy, filled with rain that seemed on the verge of falling. She was reminded of the morning Grace Patterson had died, and how she had stood behind Teddy Patterson while he slept, watching the sun come up and relishing the thought that the monster lying in the bed would never be able to feel the sun on her face again. Lena never questioned herself about making sure Grace did not go peacefully. She knew she had done the right thing. There was no doubt in her mind.