"Toddlers like biting their hands," she said with a shrug. "We've been over this part."

"Yeah but I was smitten, remember? Refresh my memory."

"I just bit myself and didn't know it hurt so I kept doing it until they had to amputate part of my pinkie. I wore those oven mitts to stop myself, but that only worked some of the time. They fell off, or I'd take them off, or the nurses would be pissed off because they got dirty, or wet, and so they'd ditch them and then I got hurt. So when I was a real problem they put me in a cast so I didn't end up chewing my fingers off completely. Wanna know how many times I almost bit my own lips off, too?"

I smirked. "Wanna know how many times I've thought about biting your lips off?"

"I'm in a crappy mood, so I'm betting at least twice since we got on this train."

"I thought about doing other things to your lips too, but then remembered we had an inconvenient reality to consider . . . so . . ." I shrugged and wrote down notes. She didn't say a word.

"How do they perform Checks?" I asked next. "Same as Montauk?"

"No," she flushed. "Not anything like Montauk."

I played along. "How does it differ?"

"No one kisses me, naked on their bed, for starters." She smiled. "The nurses only make sure I haven't hurt myself. Morning, noon. Before bed. If I go out. If I stay inside. I'm basically stripped searched at will."

"Do they ever ask?"

"What do you think?" she replied.

"That this part is very important." My eyes narrowed. "What do they do during Checks? I mean . . . I get it . . . but what happens? From beginning to end how has it always been?"

"I strip, they look me over. If I'm hurt they treat whatever is messed up and I get dressed or shower or whatever."

"Timothy ever performed these Checks?"

"Just drop it, Callum."

"How old were you the last time he examined you?"

"It's not what you're thinking so drop it. I despise Timothy but it's not like that and I'm not going to cry wolf that he's that kind of monster."

"That's not an answer." I stared at her until she said, "Thirteen."

"That's a little old for a father to be staring at his daughter naked."

"It was my fault. I wouldn't let them look at me because I had my period and I was embarrassed and he thought I was hurt and not telling someone. It's the tactic I use to wiggle what I want from him. When he realized what was happening he left the room and he's never looked at me again. He's twisted, but he's not that twisted."

I sighed as I sunk in my seat. "I'm sorry. Also, I might be experiencing a minor panic attack."

Everly rubbed my chest. "He would never hurt me you know. I mean . . . he is hurting me, but, he doesn't mean to hurt me."

"No offense, Topolina, but you sound like a text-book example of every victim who has had an abuser with that statement."

"Think it'll hold up in court?"

I put the paper on the seat beside me and let her lean her head on my chest. We rode the train in silence for a few stops, but then Sunday stepped aboard. It wasn't so much a person as it was an assembly. Everly smiled at each person cloaked in black, greeted them by name and they did the same to her, except her name on this train was only Peach. As soon as the train started to move again, Everly rested in her seat with her hand in mine and closed her eyes.

"This is my favorite way of attending church," she told me.

And then the black robes started rehearsing "Amazing Grace" for the choir they were bound toward.

I WASN'T ALLOWED TO KISS HER PROPERLY It was some kind of miracle Timothy never caught her sneaking out of their house. She'd show up around ten, and stay until eleven. A few nights she was braver, stayed until 11:45, and I drove her home, parked a few blocks away from her house. We were taking a chance, a big risk, but if either of us cared, you wouldn't have known.

The reason for this risk always leaned on us helping her in order to help Truscott, but that was hard to prove on the nights we sat and talked about inconsequential things, or didn't talk much at all. Sometimes she'd sit on my bed with her head down, and I'd just rub her shoulders, unsure of what bothered Everly, but willing to help fend it off. Other nights Everly would ask me to wash her hair in the shower. I'd turn the water on for her, and she'd climb in before me. Her back would be turned when I entered, and we'd silently spend our time like that. I'd wash her hair, then her back and arms. I'd kiss her wet, bare shoulder and she'd let me. But she never touched me. She never asked for more, or why I wanted her to be my girlfriend even though I wasn't allowed to properly kiss her and otherwise. And my spirit was all right with this. It was content with these moments we kept as secrets. Sex was an easy thing to shrug off compared to the goodbye I knew was inevitable. So my heart was in a panic, riddled with the fear that these moments would someday soon draw to a close. But I didn't want her to see the future I'd have without her. So I played my role as if tomorrow would never bring an ending. There would never be sadness over our lives intertwining.

Her legs draped over mine as we sat on the couch one night. She let them be seen-bruises, scars and all. She didn't pull away as I played my fingers up and down her calf. Her head rested on one of twenty pillows Marta had on the couch. She listened to me tell her about my day, because we were having a night of inconsequential talks-at least it started that way.

"Best night working in the E.R. so far? Logan is helping two medics usher in a guy on gurney. It's packed to the gills in the E.R. every bed is taken and because Logan never actually gets his hands dirty he has no idea what to do with the overflow. I walk up and I'm just so damn aggravated by his inadequacy I take one look at the guy on the gurney and then back at the medics and snap, "Just put the OFD against the wall and get out of here!"

"They get it, but Logan is such a damn rookie and he's looking around like a lost child, shouting, "What the hell is an OFD?" and no one is replying to him, and he keeps shouting, "WHAT THE HELL IS AN OFD?" This little old nurse Agatha-I swear she's like a hundred years old-walks by as he's shouting and slaps him on the shoulder and waves to the gurney going, "Obviously Fuckin' Dead!""

I couldn't control my laughter until Everly suddenly sat up, inhaled sharply, as if she had to catch her breath.