They got a ride as far as Clarington, then another, in the bed of a black pickup, up the river to Wheeling. The door to Amber’s father’s house was boarded, and someone had painted pervert on the side of the house and someone had painted crosses and someone had painted Andrew Lynch is God and someone had broken all the windows. That was the first night they slept in Amber’s father’s bed, in that little house outside Wheeling. They slept with all their clothes on, on his mattress. They slept without blankets or sheets. They slept facing each other, her cold hand gripping his.