Back at the jeep, Henry was again leaning against the front of the car, waiting for us to get back to him. To my surprise, rather than get in the back, Paolo stopped Henry from getting into the driver's seat by holding the door shut. "Why don't you let me drive for a while."

Having none of it, Henry stood nonchalantly where he was. They were almost the same height, I realized, with Henry being only slightly taller than Paolo, but Paolo's physical strength was evident in his shape, whereas Henry's build was deceptively slender. If the two of them got into some sort of physical altercation, I didn't know which would come out the better, and I didn't want to see either of them hurt. I also definitely didn't want any attention brought to us; it was broad daylight, and there were people around.

Henry was smart enough not to make a scene. "You don't know the way."

"You could tell me."

Henry just stared at Paolo, his face a blank slate, but I saw that glow in the back of his eyes. Quickly, I moved between them. "Stop it. Paolo, let Henry drive."

Paolo didn't take his eyes off of Henry, and he didn't move.

"Please, Paolo. You promised." I reached out and took his hand, and that seemed to break the tension. His eyes met mine; it felt as if something secret passed between us, though I wasn't sure what it was. But he shook free of my hand and went to get in the passenger seat. I sensed the animosity in him.

Henry watched him, then turned to me. I could only stare back. In that moment, just looking at him, I felt so worried for him. I wasn't sure how to behave around him; he made me think of all that had happened between us but also all that was different about him now--I couldn't put together the two images of him. Surely, when I'd seen him in that cabin last, he had changed, but not this much. There had still been compassion in him. The Circuit had apparently removed that, now--would I be able to put it back?

"What did you mean, you're as good as dead?"

He said nothing.

"Henry . . . talk to me."

My plea meant nothing to him. He said only "Get in" and proceeded to open the driver's door and climb up into his seat.

We drove in tense silence for another few hours. It was awkward and awful, but I didn't want to set Henry off, and I was in no place to chat with Paolo the way we'd done on our car trip from San Judo. I felt as if Paolo were waiting for Henry to do or say something wrong, and Henry didn't seem to realize Paolo was even there. I just sat in the back and prayed that wherever we were going, we'd get there quickly.

At some point I mentioned wanting food--more to break the tension than because I was hungry. We went through a drive-thru; Paolo and I ordered meals, and Henry ordered nothing. At that point, Paolo moved back with me. I was glad; it lightened the mood a little. We even started to talk again, just about unimportant things. I avoided anything that might be contentious or revealing, and the whole while we talked--even occasionally laughed--I wondered what Henry was thinking, if he thought anything at all. Every so often I'd see Paolo give some dark look in Henry's direction; I knew that his lack of control hurt his pride. As easygoing as Paolo had been around me for most of our time together, I could tell he was someone who preferred to be in the driver's seat, literally and otherwise.

The sky was dimming; night was approaching again. It seemed as if Henry could drive forever and never tire, but there was no way I was sleeping in a car again, and I desperately wanted a shower. I had enough money for a motel, and I pressed Henry to stop for the night somewhere. He didn't want to--not that he'd explain why, of course--but at last he seemed to do some math and realize that wherever he was trying to get to, he'd have enough time to stop for a while.

We found a roadside motel that looked straight out of a horror novel, with flickering lights, few patrons, and no other establishment within sight. Frankly, though, I wouldn't have cared what it looked like--I was so ready to get out of that car.

"I'll get two rooms?" I questioned, backing away from the car and toward the reception door. I wasn't exactly sure how those two rooms would be divided, but I definitely couldn't imagine the three of us being comfortable in a room together, especially the two of them.

"I don't want one," Henry said.

I shrugged; that simplified things a little, though being alone with Paolo made me nervous, too. We'd done it once, but we were more familiar with one another now, and familiarity could bring problems.

The shower, though in a relatively gross tub, felt like the best I'd ever had. Hot water was all I needed. I'd made sure to lock the door, and after I showered I considered handwashing a few clothing items, but then I realized I wouldn't have somewhere to dry them. Moments later, as if having read my mind, Paolo knocked on the door and mentioned he'd seen a washer and dryer near the vending machines in the reception, so I got my stuff together and went with him to do the little laundry we had. The machines took quarters, enough of which we managed to find, and I just hung around in reception while they ran so Paolo could go shower. The only other person in there was the woman who'd checked us in. When I'd come to ask for the room, I'd dinged a little bell, and she'd shown up from the depths of the building. She was unremarkable, really--a little old, though it was difficult to say how old; dressed as if I'd woken her from hibernation; a perpetual frown on her face, like she was angry at me. And she hovered while I used the washer and dryer, so I picked up some very old magazines off a table and sat in a chair with cigarette holes burned into it to pretend to read.

At some point, the front door chimed when it was opened, and someone entered the reception. I looked up from my magazine (which I'd pretty much just been staring at absent-mindedly) to see Henry approaching me. My stomach danced, and I sat up and put down my reading.

"Stand up," he ordered.

I wondered why, of course, but I did as he asked. He glanced at the haggard woman behind the counter and gave her some kind of look that I supposed was clear enough, because she got up and left, though she scowled at us on the way out.

A part of me wanted her to stay--Henry was unpredictable, even as I told myself he was the same person I'd become attached to.

"Give me your right hand."

"Wh-why?" His expression was answer enough. I lifted my right hand, and he took hold of it with his left a little too roughly. He squeezed and bent my hand so I'd open my fingers, and I let out a quiet gasp in pain. With his left thumb, then, Henry pressed the top of my wrist, hard, several times, moving his thumb around as if trying to find something. Then he paused for a moment, took something that looked like a large flashdrive out of his pocket, and for some reason appeared to scan it over my wrist.

"What are you doing?"

But before I could get anything from him, he was done, apparently satisfied, and he'd turned and left. My temper rose. I'd been so patient with him, but I had fire in me, too--I didn't deserve to be treated this way. Determined, I followed him out into the night. He was heading toward his jeep, which was parked across from our motel room under a neon sign with half its bulbs out. "Henry!" I called. "Henry!" He didn't stop, but I wasn't going to, either. I jogged a little to catch up to him before he could get in his car and avoid me again. "You can't treat people like that!" I said to his back. He'd stopped walking but hadn't turned to look at me. He was just standing, back to me, by his jeep. "What was that back there? What were you doing? You've got to tell me where we're going and whether you're still with the Circuit. You're probably driving us right to them, right? It's all I can figure, since you won't say anything about it. And I don't even care, Henry. I just want to be where you are. I'm trying to understand--"

Before I could finish my sentence, he'd whirled around, taken me by the arms, and slammed me against his jeep. I was so surprised that my breath was taken away. He pressed himself up against me hard and practically hissed into my face, "Understand this: I answer to no one." He paused, though, looked down at me. For whatever reason, as cold as he'd been, he relaxed his grip and backed up a little, not quite letting go.

I swore his eyes were glowing, somewhere in the backs of them. I wanted to touch his face, to ease the sharpness of his features, to be close to him, but not this way.

"I'm not taking you to the Circuit," he said slowly, still stern but without the rage of a moment ago. "I'll tell you that."

Then he moved me aside and got into his car, and I didn't try to ask any more questions. I didn't try to follow him into the jeep.

I was deeply shaken; some part of me felt like crying, but I shoved my frustration deep down and breathed deeply. I couldn't leave him, though the thought occurred to me. I couldn't leave him now that I'd found him, but if I told Paolo the way Henry had just behaved, he'd certainly try to convince me to run with him (or he'd have words with Henry, which I definitely didn't want). So I decided to say nothing. I returned to reception, finished my and Paolo's laundry, and went back to our room. Paolo joked around a little, but I couldn't bring myself to join in. I just couldn't stop thinking about Henry. He was so much more broken than I'd thought he'd be. It was as if he didn't remember our time together at all--and maybe he didn't. I knew how the Circuit could delete memories. And yet . . . if he didn't remember me, why would he be with me at all? Why seek me out, as he'd clearly done? He must have some motive, or a motive from the Circuit, but if he wasn't taking me to them and hadn't killed me already, what could that motive be? I wouldn't dare to question him about it again any time soon. I'd just wait to see where we were going. He had to have a destination, after all. He couldn't drive forever. And he must have had a purpose for keeping me with him, because he definitely didn't seem to like me very much.

I couldn't be naive with him anymore, though. I had to devise some strategy . . . some plan to deal with whatever he was bringing us into. I would stay with him, for sure, but I couldn't let him have the upper hand so easily, just because I cared more about him than he seemed to care about me.

"What are you thinking?"

I shook myself out of my thoughts. I'd sat on the bed, tired, lost in confusion. Paolo had been trying to talk to me, but I'd been absent-minded with him.

"I'm thinking . . . that I'm hungry," I lied. "I think there were vending machines down a ways. Want to go?"

He agreed, and we walked without conversation past the several rooms to the machines. There was an awkwardness between us, suddenly, as we stood there in silence contemplating our choices. I wasn't sure where exactly it came from, but I knew that this moment, this feeling was one I'd been expecting since we started this trip together--since I'd first met Paolo, really. It had built and built . . . and this purposeful quiet . . . this moment . . . I just knew what he was thinking. And I was terrified and excited for it, but what I mostly felt was that I couldn't. Not when Henry was right out there--Henry, who I'd thought of for months--and I couldn't untangle my confused thoughts, my feelings--I didn't--

"You should get those," said Paolo, coming into my storming thoughts, and standing at my side, he took hold of my right hand with his left, pressed it gently on top of mine against the glass of the machine.

His gesture drew us toward one another, and I could feel his warm breath in my hair. I closed my eyes and just let myself feel it for a moment, but then I turned up to face him, pressed myself into his arms, toward his chest, where I seemed to fit so perfectly. Why was he so close? He was so close. I couldn't remember him being so close before, and my words became knots when I tried to speak them. I couldn't be this close to him.

"Nadia . . ."

He'd said my name. Breathed it more than said it. And then his free hand was in the small of my back, pulling me just a little more toward him, and I swore I was somewhere filled with sound and spinning and his lips brushed mine and I kissed him back and I was lost in all of the warmth from our hands and our bodies and . . .

Forget-me-nots.

My mind saw them, small blue specks whirling against the brightness . . . and Henry's face the moment he'd given them to me . . . whatever happens, we won't forget each other . . .

I pushed back, firmly. The moment I did, cold air seemed to rush between us. Paolo stood, a questioning though not upset expression on his face, and I was ashamed. Ashamed for I didn't even know what. I had no reason to feel it, but I couldn't stop it. I turned my eyes down to the ground, embarrassed to look at Paolo.

"I'm sorry . . . I . . . I can't."

His tone was sincere, almost too kind when he responded. "Nadia, it's all right. There's no pressure from me. If you don't want--"

"I do," I interrupted. I met his gaze, which was even somewhat playful, and almost started toward him again, but I held back. "But . . . but not now. There's too much . . ."

"With Henry?"

I nodded, and he sighed.

"I thought it might be like that. You said you had a past."

"No," I shot back quickly. "It wasn't that kind of past."

He waited a moment, studied my face. "But you want it to be?"

"No! No . . . not . . . not with him. I don't know who he is, anymore."

"Then why are we still with him?"

I pondered the question; was I even sure, myself? "Because I need to find out. I think I need to before . . . before anything else."

"I'm sorry, Nadia. I didn't want to make it weird between us."

I found myself smiling. "Paolo, it's been weird between us since I saw you staring at me at that pool party. "

He, too, grinned. "I couldn't help myself. I was wondering why you were up there all alone in the plants. I mean, that was a little weird. This beautiful girl avoiding everyone."

I laughed a little. "What's weird is anyone who enjoys being around so many obnoxious people." But I was thinking, Beautiful? In my memory, I'd never been called that. In mirrors, I'd felt mostly that I didn't know the person looking back at me. I'd not had much inclination to think about my attractiveness. Paolo was the epitome of handsome--I couldn't imagine a more beautiful person than him. And here he was, saying the same of me. Had I had less willpower, I would've stopped and kissed him again, but instead, I took his hand, and we got some food and a couple of drinks, and we went back to the room, where Paolo slept on the couch and I slept in the bed, though we stayed up and watched a few hours of television together before he fell asleep.

For the time I was awake by myself, I sat in the glow of the old television, not watching it but thinking of so much. I turned my right wrist toward me and studied it, pressing it the way Henry had. But I didn't notice anything strange.

It took me some time to drift into sleep myself, and when I finally did, my dreams were disturbing, though I didn't remember them once I woke.