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“Nice to meet you,” I say, offering my hand across the table. Dover takes it, shakes it once, and pulls away. His skin is warm and dry, his eyes hard on mine.

“Lydia Chass,” he says, like he’s tasting the name. “Your dad Brent?”

“Yes,” I say. “Do you know him? Wait, you graduated together, right?”

It’s the dumbest thing in the world to say. Of course they know each other; it’s Henley. But also, I know Dover never graduated, because Bristal is doing this podcast with me specifically so that she can be the first person in her family to do so.

“Sure, I know him,” Dover says. “Class of ’94.”

It’s a kindness to me, and a smart move for him. He’s not claiming he graduated, and he’s not making me feel stupid. It almost makes me feel bad for the bomb I’m about to drop on him. Almost. That smile might be smooth, and his skin might be warm, but there are teeth behind those lips, and that hand has made a fist more than once.

“We saw you were interviewed about the tornado,” Bristal jumps in. “So we thought it might be good to talk to you about that day.”

“Sure,” he says, nodding. “Not something you forget.”

“Great,” I say, regaining my composure and leaning forward. “You said in your interview then that you were staying with some relatives in town, right?”

“Yep,” he says. “It was so hot you’d see fire hydrants chasing dogs, trying to get them to piss on ’em.”

Bristal laughs, but I just offer the polite smile that I’ve tested out over years of Mrs. Nathans’s jokes during blood drive meetings.

“So yeah, I went into town. Had an aunt with air-conditioning. She suddenly had a lot of family members that liked her.”

“It looked like you were hurt, in the video,” I continue. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Sure.” Dover nods. “I was helping clear some of the rubble where the old hotel came down, the Fairlawn. The one wall had gone over, and they’d cleared us to start cleaning up that area. Pretty much everybody brought in their own wheelbarrows, chain saws, that kind of stuff. I thought I’d be smart and work over in the shade of the wall that was still standing, but it wasn’t super stable. One of them bricks came down, hit me bam, right on the head.”

He slaps his hands together, bringing attention from everyone in the room. A female guard gives him a small headshake, but the lesson is delivered with a smile and a wink. I want to tell her to take them back. I want to remind her that the reason he’s here is because he hits women.

“Anyway,” Dover says. “That set me back a bit.”

“Not much, though,” Bristal says, her pride in him showing. “In the video you’re all like—well, at least I didn’t get hurt.”

“Not by the tornado, nope,” he agrees, smiling.

“You lived out on Far Cry Road at the time, is that right?” I ask, starting to slip the wedge in, knowing that it might turn around to be jammed between my teeth.

“Yeah, Far Cry. Hell of a place to grow up. Me and your dad had some fun out there.”

I’m still for a second, wondering if he’s talking about Bristal’s dad—whoever that might be. But he’s looking right at me, and I’m blank. I clear my throat.

“My dad?”

“Yeah, your dad,” he says, pointing his finger at me to add clarification. “His grandpa used to bring him out there to fish. The Chasses own most of the land out by Far Cry, you know that, right?”

I didn’t know that, but I don’t want to look like I didn’t know that. Also, judging by Mom’s comment the other night, I’m pretty sure we don’t own most of anything anymore.

“So you two went fishing together when you were little?” I ask.

“Fishing when we were little, bit of hunting when we got bigger, lot of drinking when we were older,” Dover says, eyes holding mine. There’s a challenge in them, one that I see staring back out of Bristal’s eyes all the time; one that I have to answer or never be respected.

“Did you ever find your dog?” I ask, and he pulls back like I kicked him.

“What?” Bristal asks, turning toward me. “What are you talking about?”

“In Bailey Foxglove’s notes,” I tell her, keeping my eyes on Dover. “He called her about his missing dog. Twice, actually.”

“Dodger,” Dover says. “He was a good old boy, that dog. Taught him how to open the fridge. He could bring you a beer and everything.”