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aiden name was McFate； and all the McFates were psychotic delusionaries of one stripe or another。 A pale shadow of a father who was drunk or gone most of the time； then suddenly dead； as if he had never existed at all； most of the Hummingbirds were poetic souls tethered to alcoholic bodies； though Kinsey himself had always been able to take a drink or two without requiring three or four。
In 1970 he inherited the mechanic's job from the garage where his father had worked off and on。 Kinsey was better at repairing engines than Ethan Hummingbird had ever been； though deep inside he suspected this was not what he wanted to do。
Growing older； his friends leaving for college and careers； and somehow the new friends he made were always younger： the forlorn； bewildered teenagers who had never asked to be born and now wished they were dead； the misfits； the rejects。 They sought Kinsey out at the garage； they sat and talked to his skinny legs sticking out from under some broken…down Ford or Chevy。 That was the way it always was； and for a while Kinsey thought it always would be。
Then in 1975 his mother died in the terrible fire that shut down the Central Carolina Cotton Mill for good。 Two years later Kinsey received a large settlement； quit the garage； and opened the first…ever nightclub in Missing Mile。 He tried to mourn his mother； but when he thought about how much better his life had gotten since her death； it was difficult。
Kinsey fumbled in his pocket for the key。 A large； ornate pocketwatch fell out and dangled at the end of a long gold chain； the other end of which was safety…pinned to Kinsey's vest。 He flipped the watch open and glanced at its pearly face。 Nearly an hour ahead of schedule： he liked to be at the Yew by four to take deliveries； clean up the last of the previous night's mess； and let the bands in for an early sound check if they wanted。 But it was barely three。 The overcast day must have deceived him。 Kinsey shrugged and let himself in anyway。 There was always work to do。
The windowless club was dark and still。 To his right as he entered was the small stage he had built。 His carpentry was unglamorous but sturdy。 To his left was the art wall； a mural of painted； crayoned； and Magic Markered graffiti that stretched all the way back to the partition separating the bar area from the rest of the club。 The tangle of obscure band names and their arcane symbols； song lyrics； and catchphrases was indistinct in the gloom。 Kinsey could only make out one large piece of graffiti； spray…painted in gold； wavering halfway between wall and ceiling： WE ARE NOT AFRAID。
Those words might be the anthem of every kid who passed through that door； Kinsey thought。 The hell of it was that they were afraid； every one of them； terribly so。 Afraid they would never make it to adulthood and freedom； or that they would make it only at the price of their fragile souls； afraid that the world would prove too dull； too cold； that they would always be as alone as they felt right now。 But not one of them would admit it。 We are not afraid； they would chant along with the band； their faces bathed in golden light； we are not afraid； believing it at least until the music was over。
He crossed the dance floor。 The sticky remnants of last night's spilled beer and soda sucked softly at the soles of his shoes with each step。 Idly brooding； he passed the restrooms on his right and entered the room at the back that served as the bar。
He was brought up short by the stifled screech of the girl bent over the cash drawer。
The back door stood open； as if she had been ready to leave in a hurry。 The girl stood frozen at the register； catlike face a mask of shock and fear； wide eyes fixed on Kinsey； a sheaf of twenties clutched in her hand。 Her open handbag sat on the bar beside her。 A perfect； damning tableau。
〃Rima？〃 he said stupidly。 〃What 。 。 。 ？〃
His voice seemed to unfreeze her。 She spun and broke for the door。 Kinsey threw himself over the bar； shot out one long arm； and caught her by the wrist。 The twenties fluttered to the floor。 The girl began to sob。
Kinsey usually had a couple of local kids working at the Yew； mostly doing odd jobs like stocking the bar or collecting money at the door when a band played。 Rima had worked her way up to tending bar。 She was fast； funny； cute； and （Kinsey had thought） utterly trustworthy； so much so that he had let her have a key。 When he had another bartender； he didn't have to stay until closing time every night； on slow nights someone else could lock up。 It was almost like having a mini…vacation。 But keys had a way of getting lost； or changing hands； and Kinsey didn't entrust them to many of his workers。 He had believed he was a pretty good judge of character。 The Sacred Yew had never been ripped off。
Until now。
Kinsey reached for the phone。 Rima threw herself across him； grabbing for it with her free hand。 They struggled briefly for the receiver； then Kinsey wrested it free and easily held it out of her reach。 The phone cord caught her purse and swept it onto the floor。 The contents spilled； skittered； shattered。 Kinsey tucked the receiver into the hollow of his shoulder and began to dial。
〃Kinsey； no； please！〃 Rima grabbed futilely for the phone again； then sagged back against the bar。 〃Don't call the cops 。。。〃
His finger paused over the last number。 〃Why shouldn't I？〃
She saw her opening and went for it。 〃Because I didn't take any money。 Yes； I was going to； but I didn't have time 。 。 。 and I'm in trouble； and I'm leaving town。 Just let me go and you'll never see me again。〃 Her face was wet with tears。 In the half…light of the bar Kinsey could not see her eyes。 Her wrist was so thin that his hand could have encircled it two or three times； the bones felt as fragile as dry twigs。 He eased his grip a little。
〃What kind of trouble？〃
〃I went to the Planned Parenthood clinic over in Corinth 。 。 。〃
Kinsey just looked at her。
〃You want me to spell it out？〃 Her sharp little face went mean。 〃I'm pregnant； Kinsey。 I need an abortion。 I need five hundred dollars！〃
Kinsey blinked。 Whatever he had expected； that wasn't it。 Rima had arrived in Missing Mile just a few months ago。 Among local guys who had asked her out and been turned down； the word was that she carried a torch for the guitarist of a speed metal band back in her native California。 So far as Kinsey knew； she hadn't been back to California recently。 〃Who 。 。 。 ？〃 he managed。
〃You don't know him； okay？〃 She swiped a hand across her eyes。 〃An asshole who wouldn't wear a rubber because that's like taking a shower with a raincoat on。 There's plenty of 'em around。 They shoot their wad and that's the last thing they have to worry about！〃 Now her mean face had collapsed； she was crying so hard she could barely choke out the words。 〃Kinsey； I slept with the wrong guy and he's not going to help me out； he won't even talk to me。 And I don't want any goddamn baby； let alone his。〃
〃At least tell me who。 I could talk to him。 There are things 。 。 。〃
She shook her head violently。 〃NO！ I just want to go to Raleigh and get rid of it。 I won't e back to Missing Mile。 I'll go to my sister's place in West Virginia； or maybe back to L。A。 。 。 。 Please； Kinsey。 Just let me go。 You won't see me around here again。〃
He studied her。 Rima was twenty…one； he knew； but her body seemed years younger： barely five feet tall； breastless and hipless； all flat planes and sharp angles。 Her straight； shiny brown hair was held back with plastic barrettes like a little girl's。 He tried to imagine that childish body swollen with pregnancy； could not。 The very idea was painful。
〃I can't give you any money；〃 he said。
〃No； I wouldn't…〃
〃But you can take your last pay envelope。 It's there on the bulletin board。〃 Kinsey let go of her wrist and turned away。
〃Oh； God； Kinsey； thank you。 Thank you。〃 She knelt and began scraping together the contents of her purse。 When she had searched out everything in the dimness of the bar； she went to the bulletin board and took down her envelope。 Kinsey was hardly surprised to see her glance into it as if making sure enough money was there。 She turned and stared at him for a long moment； as if deciding whether to say anything else。
〃Good luck；〃 he told her。
Rima looked surprised； and a little guilty。 Then； as if the milk of human kindness were too heady a potion for her parched soul； she spun on her heel and left without another word。
There goes my mini…vacation； Kinsey thought。
Thirty minutes later； with the lights turned up and the swampy area behind the bar half…mopped； he found the little white packet。
It was nestled in a crack in the wooden floor directly below the spot where Rima's purse had spilled。 With the lights off； as they had been when Kinsey caught her； it was unlikely that she would have spotted it。 Kinsey bent； picked it up； and looked at it for a long time。 It didn't look like much： a tiny twist of plastic； the corner of a Baggie perhaps； with an even tinier pinch of white powder inside。 No； it didn't look like much at all。 But Kinsey knew it for what it was： a towering monument to his gullibility。
She c