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attention. I just don’t have that right now.”
    â€œBullshit,” Montauk said.
    Mani’s face wrinkled.
    â€œYou’re not fixated on anything?”
    She took a drink from her Long Island. “I’m confused, okay?”
    â€œConfusion is bad.”
    â€œNo, it’s good. I mean, it’s fuel. For art. And I’ve never felt as confused as I am now. So yeah, the compulsion to draw, to paint, whatever. It’s enormous.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    â€œBut I’m scared to dig around in that mess.”
    â€œMess?”
    â€œMy head.”
    â€œMy head’s a mess, too, for what it’s worth.” Montauk held his Long Island without drinking it, feeling the cold glass perspire against his palm. “When do you get off those crutches?”
    â€œI’m supposed to be off them now.”
    â€œWhy aren’t you?”
    â€œLazy. Plus, it’s automatic sympathy. People hold doors, get me things.”
    â€œPeople? You mean me. You never leave the house.”
    Mani laughed. “I like it in the house.” Which was true, if only because every time she left the house, it was like replaying that night, going down those steps toward the pavement where she’d been hit. In the house, even though everything was up in the air, it was on pause, and none of it would come crashing down. “Where else am I gonna go?”
    â€œWe could go to the art museum. Or to Compline at St. Mark’s. The choir is amazing.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œYeah, why not?”
    â€œYou don’t like me,” Mani said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou don’t have to pretend.”
    Montauk tapped his finger on the table. “I’m not.”
    Mani responded by taking a deliberate sip from her Long Island.
    â€œFine, I didn’t like you. Okay? Hal had a raging heart-boner for you, and I thought you were playing him.”
    â€œBecause Hal’s generous, I was taking advantage? I fucking loved him. I’m not the one who split in the middle of the night.”
    â€œHe was confused. He didn’t know what to do.”
    â€œThat didn’t stop him from walking out.”
    They both sipped from their drinks. Montauk finished his.
    â€œI told him to,” Montauk said.
    â€œOh, fuck. Fuck you. Seriously?” Mani stared at him until he looked down. She sighed.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Montauk said. “It was a mistake. And I’m not pretending.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m not pretending to like you.”
    â€œYou mean that?”
    Montauk smiled. Mani kept her face blank for a few excruciating seconds, as if coming to a decision. Her lips curled up at the corners.
    When Montauk helped her back up the concrete steps to the Encyclopad, Mani wondered whether living with him was a good or a bad thing. Was it merely convenient, her old habit of latching on to the nearest guy who could offer a place to sleep? She hoped it wasn’t. If she had kept a journal, she would have written that night about this moment ascending the steps. She would have written that living here, with Montauk and the gang of Encyclopadders, was not easy. That it was not habit. That she was slowly rewriting the associations this place held for her, replacing that awful night with something newer, something better. She would have written: Please let it be true. It has to be true.

6
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    After a morning of remedial land navigation in the woods, Captain Byrd had called for Montauk and the three other lieutenants who led the four platoons in Bravo Company. They stood in Byrd’s small trailer while he sat behind his desk, glancing intermittently at his computer screen. His XO was standing behind him.
    â€œI know you’ve all been wondering where we’re headed,” he said, spitting tobacco into a Diet Sprite bottle. “So listen up, but remember, this is need-to-know information, and you baby LTs only marginally need to