“Where,” she said.

“Where in Indiana.” “A little township,” I said, “outside South Bend.” And Veronica went white.

“My mother,” she said slowly, “grew up out there.” A cold feeling started up the back of my neck.

“Veronica,” I said.

“What’s your mother’s name?” “Natalie.” Neither of us said anything for a long moment.

I could hear Veronica’s breathing go fast and shallow.

“When my mom was three,” she said, and her voice had started to shake, “her house caught fire.