"I was just trying to…" She shook her head. "I don't know what I was trying to do. Make an idiot of myself?"

"You did a good job."

"It's part of my personality to want to excel in everything I do."

He did not smile.

She tried again. "I don't think you're stupid."

"As a box of hair."

"What?"

"You said 'stupid as a box of hair.' "

"Oh. Well." She laughed once, like a seal's bark. "That doesn't even make sense."

"But it's good to know you don't really think that." He glanced behind him and passed a church van. Sara stared at his hand on the shift, watching the tendons work as he passed the cars. His fingers gripped the shaft, his thumb tapping lightly on the knob.

"By the way," he told her. "I did go to college."

"Really?" she asked, unable to check her surprised tone. She made it worse by saying, "Well, good. Good for you."

Jeffrey gave her a sharp glance.

"I mean, that's good as in…well…because it's…" She laughed at her own ineptitude, putting her hand over her mouth as she mumbled, "Oh, God, Sara, shut up. Shut up."

She thought he smiled, but wasn't certain. She dared to ask, "Exactly how much did you hear?"

"Something about me rubbing off on you?"

She tried, "I meant it in the good way."

"Uh-huh," he said. "Just FYI, I've heard you say that word before." This time, he showed his teeth when he smiled. "Well, not say it. More like scream it."

Sara bit the tip of her tongue, watching the passing scenery.

He said, "It's good your mama worries about you."

"Sometimes."

"Y'all are pretty close, right?"

"I suppose," Sara answered, knowing there was more to it than that.

He asked, "Did you tell her I passed the test?"

"Of course not," Sara answered, surprised he had even asked. "That's private."

He nodded his approval, keeping his eyes on the road.

Their second date had ended with a kiss at the door and Sara asking Jeffrey to get tested for HIV. Granted, the request was a little late in coming – their frenzied first time hadn't exactly stopped for a frank discussion about the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases – but Sara had picked up on Jeffrey's reputation well before the news had hit the Shop-o-rama. For his part, Jeffrey had seemed only slightly insulted when she asked him for a blood sample.

She said, "I saw so many cases at Grady. So many women my age who never thought it could happen to them."

"You don't have to explain it to me."

"Hare's lover died of AIDS last year."

His foot slipped off the gas pedal. "Your cousin's gay?"

"Of course."

"You're kidding?" he asked, giving her an uneasy look.

"He wasn't born with that falsetto."

"I thought he was just joking around."

"He was," Sara said. "Is. I mean, he just does that to annoy me. Everyone. He likes to annoy people."

"He played football in high school."

"Only straight people can play football?"

"Well…no," he said, but he did not seem certain.

They both stared at the road again. Sara could think of nothing to say. She knew hardly anything about the man beside her. In the three months they had dated, she had heard nothing about Jeffrey's family or his past. She knew he had been born in Alabama, but he was vague with the details. When they weren't in bed, Jeffrey mostly talked about cases he had worked in Birmingham or things that were happening in Grant. Now that she thought about it, when they were together it was Sara who did most of the talking. He seldom volunteered any personal information about himself, and if she pushed him too far with questions, his response was to either shut down completely or run his hand up and down her thigh until she forgot what she was saying.

She chanced a look at him. His dark hair was getting long in the back, which was a little dangerous considering the Grant County school system routinely sent boys home from class if their hair touched the back of their collars. As usual, his face was clean-shaven and smooth. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans and a black Harley Davidson T-shirt. His tennis shoes looked high-tech, with extra padding in the sole and black waffle treads for running. The muscles in his legs were well defined under the denim, and though his shirt was not tight enough to show the firm abs underneath, Sara was more than familiar with them.

Sara stared down at her legs, wishing she had worn something different. She had changed into an ocean blue wraparound skirt, but her white calves were the color of fat on uncooked bacon against the dark floor mat. Despite the air conditioning, she was sweating under the cotton shirt she wore, and if Sara could have waved a magic wand to stop time, she would have stripped off her constricting bra and thrown it out the window.

"So," Jeffrey said.

"So," she returned, trying to think of something to restart the conversation. All she could come up with was, "You're a universal donor."

"Huh?"

"A universal donor," she repeated. "You can donate blood to anyone." Grasping another straw, she added, "Of course, you can't accept from anyone. You can only accept from other O negatives."

He gave her a strange look. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Your blood has antigens that -"

"I'll donate some as soon as we get back."

The conversation was lagging again, and she asked, "Do you want some chicken?"

"Is that what I keep smelling?"

Sara leaned over the backseat and rummaged around for the plastic bowl her mother had packed. "I think there's some biscuits if Tess didn't steal them."

"That'd be nice," he said, tickling the back of her thigh. "Too bad we don't have some tea."

She tried to ignore his hand. "We could stop for some."

"Maybe."

He pinched her leg and she slapped at his hand, saying, "Hey."

He laughed good-naturedly at the rebuke. "Do you mind if we take a detour?"

"Sure," she said, finding the Tupperware under a pillow. She dropped back into the seat as he passed a Winnebago. "Where to?"

"Sylacauga."

Sara stopped in the middle of removing the plastic lid. "Sill-a-what?"

"Sylacauga," he repeated. "My hometown."

Chapter Four

10:15 A.M.

"Matt?" Someone said, more like a stutter. "M-a-a-a-a-att."

His ears held on to the echo, stretching the "a" even more.

"M-a-a-a-a-a-a-att."

He tried to move but his muscles would not respond. Inexplicably, his fingers ached. They were cold. Everything was cold.

"Matt," Sara said, her voice suddenly sharp as a tack. "Matt, wake up." She put her hands on either side of his face. "Matt."

He forced open his eyes, his vision blurring, then doubling. He saw two Saras looming over him. Two Marlas. Two kids he had never met before in his life. They were all huge, like giant versions of themselves. The ceiling tiles above their heads were even larger, like flying saucers with mammoth fluorescent lights.

He tried to sit up.

"Matt, no," Sara stopped him. "Don't."

He put his hand to his head, feeling like his brain was in a vise. His right shoulder burned as if someone was grinding a hot poker into the flesh. His moved his left hand to touch it, but Sara stopped him.

"Matt," she said. "Don't."

He felt around his mouth with his tongue, trying to find the blood he could taste in the back of his throat.

She pushed back his hair and he saw a glint of gold on her finger. She was wearing his Auburn football ring. Why was she wearing his ring?

"Matt?"

He blinked, hearing a distant ringing in his ears. Jeffrey squeezed his eyes shut, trying to orient himself. The ringing came from the phone on Marla's desk. The blood he tasted was from a cut somewhere on his head.