Seven years after prom, Clarissa Hayes still kept the corsage in a glass dish by the door. The silk petals had gone brown at the edges. The silver pin had tarnished to the color of old nickels. She touched it every morning before she walked out to the board, the way other people touched a cross. This was the only piece of him she had left, and she was no closer to finding him than the night he walked her to her car and said he wanted to remember the moment. The board stood under a tarp behind her cabin, nailed to a sheet of brick she had hauled out from a torn-down chimney. Photos. Phone records. A witness statement that said nothing. Red string ran from a snapshot of his friend group to a question mark over the word LOCATION. She had pinned a printout of the girl's last known address there two years ago. The girl had moved again. The number was dead. Every thread on the board ended in a pin and no further line. Salem wound between her ankles, rainbow collar bright against the black of his coat. Clarissa picked him up and carried him to the bench at the edge of the yard. She had set the bench where she last saw her boyfriend standing, the night of the yellow dress, the night he watched her shut her car door. The brass plaque held his name and the date. No second date. She had not been able to bring herself to guess one. She sat down with the cat in her lap and opened her laptop on her knees. For three months her inbox had given her nothing but spam and a Christmas card from her mother. Today there was a message from an account with no name. One line. I was there. I saw which car he got into. It wasn't yours. Below it, a photo. A dark sedan, parked under a streetlight she recognized from the school lot. A hand on the driver's door. A class ring she had seen a hundred times in yearbook photos of the girl's older brother. Clarissa read the message twice. Then she stood up so fast Salem hit the grass running. She walked to the board and pulled the printout of the girl's old address off the brick. She tore it in half and let the pieces fall. The girl had not been hiding nothing. The girl had been hiding her brother. Clarissa went inside, opened a drawer, and took out the envelope where she kept the cash she had been saving for a lawyer. She counted it on the kitchen table. Enough for gas. Enough to drive to the brother's last known city by morning.

Clarissa packed the car before dawn. She set the cash envelope in the glovebox and a paper map on the passenger seat. Salem watched from the porch in his rainbow collar while she carried out a duffel and a thermos. She opened the hood to check the oil and stopped with her hand on the prop rod. The engine block under the hood looked worse than she remembered. Rust ran down the metal in long brown streaks. Green moss had crept into the seams near the bolts. The car had sat through too many wet winters behind the cabin. She wiped her hand on her jeans and shut the hood anyway. The brother's city was eight hours out. She had no money for a rental and no one to call. She made it three hours before the temperature gauge climbed. The needle pushed past the red line on a stretch of road with pines on both sides and no houses. Steam rose from the seams of the hood. Clarissa pulled onto the shoulder and killed the engine. Her phone showed no bars. She sat with both hands on the wheel and listened to the metal tick as it cooled. She got out and walked along the shoulder until she found a call box bolted to a post at the tree line. The paint was faded yellow and red. She pressed the red button and waited. A woman's voice came through the speaker and asked her location. Clarissa read the number stamped on the box. The woman said a tow truck could reach her in about an hour and would take her to the rest stop up the road. Clarissa thanked her and walked back to the car to wait. The tow truck dropped her at a low building with wide windows and pines reflected in the glass. A handful of cars sat in the lot. The driver said the nearest shop could look at her engine in the morning, and the repair would cost more than she had in the envelope. Clarissa paid him in cash and watched her car roll away on the flatbed. Inside the rest stop she bought coffee and sat by the window. She counted what was left. Not enough for the repair. Not enough for a bus to the brother's city. Not enough to turn back. She opened the map on the table and smoothed it flat. The brother's city was still eight hours out and now she had no car to reach it. She pulled out her phone and walked to the window where one bar finally showed. She scrolled to the anonymous message from the night before and tapped reply. She typed one line. I'm stuck at a rest stop and I need help getting the rest of the way. She sent it before she could change her mind.