That was about as much as she was going to get from the woman, who was facing the sun with determination. She feels bad for telling me. Resuming her position on the deck chair, she turned her head casually toward Ursa.

  “One more thing...”

  Ursa didn’t face her, but she nodded.

  “Did you ever meet any of Grant’s other girlfriends?”

  This time she smiled. “I only met one of them. Tara had a barbecue at her house one summer and Grant brought her with.”

  “What was she like?” She felt like the shittiest human in the world asking Ursa when she could have asked Grant, who would have gladly told her.

  “Not like you.” Ursa glanced at Rainy, looking wary, like she thought Rainy might be offended.

  Rainy chewed her lip, wishing she’d get on with it. She didn’t need to be coddled; she needed to know what was going on.

  “Anyway, everyone was really drunk by the end of the night and Marchessa—that was her name—got into an argument with Braithe, and then all hell broke loose.”

  “What type of hell?” she asked. A server appeared with Ursa’s drink. She set it down next to Ursa and looked expectantly at Rainy.

  “Same, thanks,” she said. I guess I am drinking again, she thought wryly.

  “Put it on my tab.” Ursa waved over her first sip. “So, anyway,” she said as soon as the server was out of earshot, “I was pretty new back then and have never revisited this with them, but Braithe and Marchessa were in the kitchen and all of a sudden Tara comes hurtling out the back door, still holding a tray of hot dog buns, and runs up to Grant to tell him they’re fighting.” She paused to sip her drink and check her phone simultaneously. “Sorry, just have to answer this.”

  Rainy waited while Ursa texted. Her drink arrived and she was so thirsty she drank the whole thing before the server left. “Another,” she said. “And two waters.”

  “Hair of the dog, get it, girl.” Ursa tossed her phone on the towel at her feet and stretched languidly. “I still to this day do not know what started the fight, but I do know that Grant had to pull Marchessa off Braithe, and then Stephen came running and they were screaming cunty things at each other. After that weekend I heard Marchessa and Grant broke up, and then we didn’t hear much from him until he started seeing you.”

  “Wow, okay,” Rainy said. “That’s a lot. Did she look like me?” She asked it before she lost the nerve. Ursa laughed her full, deep, brazen laugh, and it made Rainy laugh, too.

  “Get right down to it. No, she did not look like you. She was blonde and bouncy and vegan. You’re like dark and artsy and carnivorous. That’s why it was such a surprise when you came along. I’ve heard them say that he normally dates blondes. You’re his first emo girl.”

  “Ha!” Rainy couldn’t help it. She could see Grant dating leggy blonde models and it made her sticky with insecurity. Were they better? Did he like them better? Why did he change his mind and date a brunette? She was glad her eyes were hidden by her glasses, or Ursa would have seen the turmoil behind them.

  “You know what they say about girls like us—one bite and you never go back.”

  She was both moved and deeply confused at being grouped with someone like Ursa; she’d never considered herself in the same realm.

  “Because I’m an artist,” she said.

  “Yeah, like, I think his other girls were type-A personalities, perfect and superfeminine like Braithe...oh my God, this is sounding so bad. Perfect as in Little Miss Perfects, if you know what I mean. They’d drink one glass of rosé and get wild, and think a fun night in was organizing the closet with their boo. And that’s what she called him by the way—boo.”

  “Marchessa?”

  “No, Braithe. That’s why Marchessa got angry and said something to her. You know how they’ve all been friends since the beginning of time and all.” She said the last part, Rainy noticed, with a note of bitterness. There was a club within a club when it came to these women; the original group had a secret language and traded private jokes as easily as siblings.

  Rainy opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment Braithe swung through the doors, wearing a long black cover-up and dark sunglasses. Rainy kicked Ursa lightly on the foot to let her know they weren’t alone. She had no idea if Ursa would recount their entire conversation for the others later, but at the moment, she needed to process what she’d just been told. Braithe barely looked at them as she dragged a lounge chair next to Ursa’s and dropped into it.

  “You feeling okay?” Braithe directed this at Ursa, who gave her the thumbs-up without turning her head. “I’m never drinking again,” she announced before popping in her AirPods. During the four minutes it took for her to get settled, she hadn’t so much as glanced at Rainy.

  It felt like a slap in the face after the previous night. Hadn’t they danced arm in arm hours ago? Had she imagined Braithe pleading with her to join them? Perhaps she’d misinterpreted something. Or maybe, after a morning of reflection, Braithe was pissed about the way Rainy had acted at the restaurant.

  Her feelings were further validated when, five minutes later, Tara arrived and Braithe took her AirPods out to chat with her.

  “Hey,” Rainy said, leaning over to Ursa. “I’m gonna head out for a few hours. If anyone asks, just say I don’t feel well.” Ursa nodded, and Rainy gathered up her things. No one acknowledged the fact she was leaving or said goodbye. It stung worse than she wanted to admit. It took her what seemed like forever to make her way back to their suite, maneuvering around the slow-moving gambling crowd and then waiting for an elevator that wasn’t packed so tightly you could smell your neighbor’s shampoo.

  When she finally made it to the suite, it was empty. She must have just missed Mac on her way down. Rainy stood at the vast window in the suite’s living room, staring down at the dusty city she’d long come to hate. Her mother’s words the first day they arrived—Everything is going to be okay now—echoed uncomfortably in her memory. The most honest lie she’d ever been told. Nothing had ever been okay again. She’d learned to maneuver around the not-okay-ness until she met Grant. He made it all better than okay.

  She replayed the voice mail he’d left earlier. When she put her phone away, the longing for her mother hit her so deeply she hugged her arms around herself and held her eyes closed against the threatening sting of tears. Rainy made a split-second decision. She was here, so why not? Warming to the idea even as she threw a dress over her bathing suit, pushing away thoughts of him and focusing solely on her mother. The way things currently felt in the group, she wouldn’t be missed, and she’d be back before dinner, their last dinner before their flights home in the morning. Her seat on the plane was next to Braithe. She could talk to her then. Sort things out. She grabbed her bag and headed out the door.

  * * *

  It was no less crowded on the street outside their hotel. People swarmed around each other in a frenzied, colorful tempest. Everything smelled of gasoline and food, and Rainy’s dinner rolled in her stomach like it didn’t want to be there anymore.

  She didn’t want to be here anymore. But where was here? Vegas? With these strangers? In her new, partnered-up life that was built on a lie? She sat down on a wall, a short distance away from the crowds, and called an Uber, then she tried Grant again. If he answered, she’d tell him everything, because in the moment she couldn’t bear the weight. When it just rang, she thought about calling Stephen’s phone to see if he was with Grant, but then he might ask her about Braithe, and Rainy didn’t want to have to lie to Grant’s best friend. She sent him a text, knowing he’d see it later and respond.

  Miss you. We really need to talk.

  She hit Send and was about to put her phone away when she saw the dots appear on her screen: Grant was texting her back. The relief was a solid thing, like a chunk of concrete. It was moments like these when she realized how deep she’d fallen down the relationship hole. She waited for his words to appear, wondering why he didn’t just call, but as suddenly as they appeared they disappeared. Her phone notified her that Riva had arrived in a Jeep.

  * * *

  “The address you put in, it’s not showing up on my map—it’s just a dot in the desert.” The driver pivoted her body sideways toward Rainy, trying to see her where she sat wedged behind the driver’s seat.

  “It’s the right place,” Rainy said. “Do you have an issue driving me that far out?”

  “Nope, just wanted to make sure you know you’re asking to go somewhere I ain’t never been.”

  Rainy turned toward the window then so she could look out as Riva pulled into traffic. The radio was playing a Johnny Cash song that made her think of Taured. No, it wasn’t just the song that made her think of him; it was all the dust, too, coating everything in film. She could feel it on her tongue, on her skin, and then suddenly she was somewhere else.

  Friendship was a greasy spoon of a town meant to provide highway comforts to drivers before the desert swallowed them up. There was a post office, a diner called Nirvana that doubled as a bar in the evenings, a pharmacy named after its owner, Red, and a highway motel called Charlie’s Inn.

  Rainy’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth for most of the drive, and now that the Jeep was almost there, she was unsure if she’d be able to get out of the car when it stopped. This was the place where her childhood had shriveled up and died. Her chest was tight as they idled at a stop sign; she wished she’d brought a bottle of water with her. She’d buy one at Red’s Pharmacy, if it was still there.

  “Nice place,” Riva snorted, turning onto Main Street. “Would you like me to leave you at the pharmacy, the dollar store or what looks like a bar over there...”

  The bar was new. The building was modern, and it looked funny standing amid all the old buildings that had been there since before Rainy’s time.

  “Drop me at Red’s,” Rainy said. The Jeep made a sudden stop and her forehead bumped against the window. She poured out of the back seat and onto the sidewalk, already missing the air-conditioning.

  “And how are you going to get back?” Riva looked over her sunglasses at Rainy, who had gotten out of the car and was standing by the driver’s-side window. She had one arm propped on the window, and as she waited for Rainy’s answer, she wiped her face with a yellow bandanna and then tossed it on the passenger seat.

  “I don’t know yet,” she said. She looked over at the dollar store and wondered if Slav was still around; he owned the only taxi in a fifty-mile radius. She turned toward Riva. “I’ll figure it out.”

  Riva rolled up her window and Rainy watched as the Jeep disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  She couldn’t get close to the compound; they had it watched around the clock. But Rainy didn’t want anything to do with the compound; she didn’t want to see the pale cream walls or smell the fry oil that permeated the air. Everything in this shithole town was owned in some way by Taured. He supported them and they supported him. If she wanted to know things, she’d have to find someone willing to talk.

  Main Street was deserted, but there were a few cars parked outside the diner. The one-story yellow brick building—the old diner had a new name: the Canary. She wondered if they named it that so they wouldn’t have to bother painting the outside.

  Rainy spat on the ground outside Red’s doors. The back of her neck stung as the sun’s rays hit her skin. It was the hottest part of the day, and no one was outside. If she went into the Canary, chances were, it would get back to Taured. Though probably her very presence in Friendship would get back to him, anyway. She touched the ends of her hair, glancing at the newly built bar. He probably owned that, too. She could walk into either building and run into Sammy, or Frank, or any one of Taured’s goons. Looking between the two, she decided on the Canary; chances were the same, and she was hungry.

  The Canary, she noticed, still had the same giant bubble gum machine that had been there when she was a kid. It looked to be pretty empty, the shells from the candy coating dusting the bottom. The breakfast counter looked the same, too: a trucker in a red flannel slouched over his plate, an old man with a shiny egg for a head reading a novel and drinking coffee. A young couple sat in a booth across from the breakfast bar wearing matching Las Vegas hats: tourists on a road trip. Rainy sat at the breakfast bar a few seats down from the old man. A young server came over, a guy maybe in his twenties but not quite; he still had a smattering of acne across his chin. His name tag said Derek.

  Rainy ordered a coffee and a large stack of pancakes from Derek and settled back to study the place. It had undergone a little face-lift: the paint and posters were different, but other than that it looked to be the same old place. She sipped the coffee Derek brought her and looked at the old guy. He wasn’t wearing glasses as he read his novel; she was impressed. He was pushing seventy at least. He’d talk to her, she knew it; that’s what old-timers did.

  “That stuff will kill you,” he said, putting his book down and picking up his mug. He was referring to the fake sugar she was pouring into her coffee.

  “Gotta die some way.” She shrugged. He seemed to like that, and he spun his chair an inch or two toward her.

  “I always said cigarettes would kill me and here I am eighty-two years later.” He patted his shirt pocket where a pack of Marlboros stuck out. “I’m Marvin.”

  A memory slammed into her, dragging her beneath the belly of a truck: she could almost feel the heat of the asphalt on her back. She looked away, but Marvin’s sharp eyes caught what she was trying to hide. Her brain was galloping loops. That Marvin? How could she ever forget that name or that conversation?

  “You smoke?”

  “Not anymore.” She hadn’t smoked since her New York days, but the feel of this place was making her crave it.

  “Good, why don’t you come outside and keep an old man company.”

  Rainy smiled. “Sure thing.”

  They stood by a patch of shriveled saltbush as Marvin smoked his cigarette while leaning against the side of the building. Rainy faced the parking lot, keeping her eye on things. The heat was pulling up memories of endlessly long days spent outside. She wanted a cigarette badly.

  “You from around here?” Marvin spat in the dirt and then smiled at her, a fleck of spit resting on his bottom lip like a blister.

  “Do I look like I’m from around here?”

  He eyed her for a beat before saying, “All right, all right,” chuckling to himself. He reminded her of a lizard, beady-eyed and darty, his skin scaled with age. “You look like someone I used to know, that’s all.”

  “Oh? Who was that?” Rainy asked.

  “I can’t put my finger on it.”

  She smiled. Liar.

  “Who owns this place?” She looked back at the Canary.

  “I used to.”

  She put effort into her surprised face, raising her brows as high as they would go. Marvin loved it. Encouraged by the height of her eyebrows, he did what old men do: regaled her with a story from the past.

  “Owned it for thirty years, sold it ten years ago. Was called the Nirvana before, but the new owner hated the band and wanted to change it. I said, why ruin a good thing, but he wouldn’t hear it.” Marvin tossed his butt but didn’t bother to crush it.

  “Well, the food’s still good, I see,” she said. “Or are you coming for the excellent service?”

  He grinned. He still hadn’t told her who owned the place now.

  “You used to live around here, up at the compound.”

  “The what?” Rainy made her jaw hang open and hoped she looked as stupid as she felt.

  “Old women’s prison. Never mind. Must have been your doppelgänger. You’re too young to be her.”

  She raised her eyebrows. She sensed that he wanted to talk, so she shut up and let him.

  “Guy came through here in ’94 and bought the women’s prison, moved a bunch of roughnecks in to work for him, then came the women and children. Pretty soon he had a whole operation going on over there.”

  “Oh, yeah, like drugs?” She made her eyes big, but she hardly needed to; old Marvin was on a roll.

  “Nah, nothing like that. It was all legit. He had an orchard out there that generated some money, but rumor was he was a computer guy—was training all the kids on them computers, figured he could build an army via the web. You know old-timers like me didn’t think much of it back then, but now the guy has all of these damn nerds working for him from all over the country, building websites and selling them for a profit. Made millions at one point...” He spat again. “They come in here wearing those little glasses and leather jackets!” Shaking his head, Marvin eyed her clothes. “Weak-minded, enthralled by their emotions,” he added. “Perfectly culty.”

  “Why did he stay here? If he made all that money why not move on?”

  Marvin shrugged. “Snakes like the desert.” A laugh wrapped in a throaty cough followed. “Why would he leave? He owns this part of the desert.”

  A good enough answer. Rainy was almost done with him.

  Taured had been enthusiastic about technology. Mostly, she thought, it was to manipulate them. Now, in light of Marvin’s words, it sort of made sense. He’d been dismissive of the adults spending time in the computer lab; Summer had never seen her mother use a computer while she was at the compound. But the kids were a different story: in addition to the journals he made them send him via email, he went as far as having them take lessons with Gerry Lackey, a former programmer who taught them a computer science class. Taured told them he had met Gerry online, and wasn’t that amazing that you could meet people from all over the world and have them become your family.