"Hungover."

Like it should have been obvious. "

And I promised myself I'd be sober as a judge for whenever they found you. And they just never did, and I never could bring myself to take another drink. Just in case."

"So wait. You were drunk when I said that thing about going to the leaving?"

"Yes, ma'am. But I remember that clear as a bell." She looked at Scarlett and spoke slowly.

So slowly that Scarlett could see her mother's tongue . . .

on the l's in . . .

"Clear as a bell."

Scarlett looked at The Lamppost Hotel's many, many windows and wondered whether anyone in there knew what was happening.

Whether guests with sunburns and big hats had the news on while they packed up their beach bags.

Whether the ticker at the bottom of the screen said: GIRL REUNITED WITH ALIEN-OBSESSED RECOVERING-ALCOHOLIC MOTHER . . .

HAS NOTHING IN COMMON WITH HER . . . FULL STORY AT 8:00 P.M.

A song came on the radio that her mother turned up.

Something about wasting away again in Margaritaville.

It seemed to make her happy.

Scarlett wondered what that felt like.

Didn't know the song.

Any songs?

Her mother said, "Maybe after things calm down and all, we'll have a little party. You know, you, me, Steve, my friends. Bet your uncle Tom will drive down from Tampa."

Scarlett ran a search: Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom.

"What about my . . ."

Couldn't Remember Ever Saying The word: Dad.

" . . . father?"

"Was never in the picture." Her mother pulled into the outlet parking lot. "So you wouldn't remember him at all."

"What about grandparents?" She'd seen a photo back at the house-a woman with curly black hair and a soft, round belly perched on top of a skinny pair of legs, and holding what must have been a toddler Scarlett-and she'd known it was her grandmother.

"With the good Lord." She made the sign of the cross. "Your grandfather in 2009 and your grandma the year after."

Scarlett couldn't focus.

When she'd disappeared, she'd been a girl with grandparents, and now all she had was this woman she couldn't bring herself to think of as Mom.

The word had felt so wrong, so sour, that one time.

"They took it hard. What happened to you. And then we had a fall ing-out because, well, we all had different ideas." She sighed. "Here today, gone Tamara."

"What does that mean?" They were out of the car and walking toward the stores.

"Oh, nothing. Just something Steve says."

The clothes were . . . too bright.

Too boxy.

Too . . . ?

Scarlett didn't like anything she tried on. Most of it fit, technically.

But didn't fit her.

Made her look too . . . something.

Too other.

Too someone else.

Lines all wrong.

Colors all wrong.

Patterns that made no sense on her.

They bought most of what she tried on anyway.

Because, well . . . because.

Here today, gone . . .

Ah.

Her mother's name was Tamara.

"Can I call you that?" Scarlett dared as they walked toward the car. She'd worn a new dress out of the store and felt like an impostor. "Tamara?"

"No." Tamara unlocked the car. "You may not."

Lucas

A handful of people in FORENSICS shirts were taking photos and swabs near where Lucas's father had fallen.

Died.

Lucas watched from the kitchen window, where he'd been studying a map of Opus 6 that hung on the wall, and started counting stones, then gave up. He couldn't even begin to estimate how many there were, or how many hours it had taken his father-and by the looks of his brother's muscles, him, too-to cut and shape and place them all.

When Chambers turned up, Lucas stepped outside. "I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

"Well, they're letting me hang around for the time being." Chambers stood on the front steps facing out to Opus 6. "Professional courtesy because of my history with the case. I'll be acting as the liaison between you all and the FBI, generally facilitating things."

Lucas nodded. He was wearing a T-shirt Miranda had left in his room for him, and shorts and boxers borrowed from Ryan. The decal on the shirt had two purple fists meeting in front of a triangle and read WONDER TWIN POWERS ACTIVATE! He had no idea what it meant.

"So what can you tell me about the tattoo?" Chambers turned to him.

"Nothing."

Lucas had taken a photo of it with the phone Ryan gave him; he wanted to be able to study the image without craning his neck. The doctor who'd done his physical had glimpsed the top edge of it above Lucas's boxers in spite of his hopes to keep it secret.

"Think you did it yourself ?" Chambers raised one eyebrow. "From the photo the doctor sent me, it looks kind of DIY."

"People do that?"

"Apparently."

"No idea." Lucas shook his head. "Anybody else have one?"

Chambers said, "Don't know yet."

They stood there, as if waiting for something to happen, like watching the wind. It was too nice a day for a murder investigation, and Lucas wished he could go surfing or ride a Jet Ski or anything but this.

Chambers probably felt that way, too.

"What did you mean the other day," Lucas said, "when you said The Leaving ruined your life?"

Chambers gave him a look. Like, really?

"What? I want to know."

"My sad tale?" Chambers pushed his shoulders back, stretching. "You can probably guess." He took a pack of gum from his pocket and slid a piece out.

"You were so focused on the case that you neglected your wife."

"Ding ding ding." Offered the gum to Lucas, who declined. The detective put a piece into his mouth before he said, "And daughter. Don't forget the neglected daughter."

"And now they are . . . ?"

"Wife is remarried. Daughter is in college. 'Estranged,' I believe, is the word."

"And you?"