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called out as he stood. He wavered, taking a moment to glance down and confirm that his feet were still there—not gone, not eaten, right where they’re supposed to be, by God!—then stumbled to the hall and the living room.
    Hands shaking, he unlocked the deadbolt. He opened the door and stepped aside to let Mare in.
    She huffed past with a load of groceries. “What a day! The AC was out on my ward again so everyone was super-cranky, the store was too fucking crowded, and I finally get to come home only to find Juniper Road’s blocked. I had to go clear around to Pilot Mound and come in the back way, and it’s hotter than hell out there.”
    Mare was sturdily built and curvy in all the right places, gorgeous to his eyes, but the day’s heat had taken its toll. Her hair had clung to her plump, damp cheeks in dark curls, her bright, kitten-print scrubs had wilted to loose, saggy wrinkles, and she smelled faintly of sweat. “Why’d you lock the door? We never lock the door.”
    “Got tired of being pestered by news crews,” Sean said, heading out to the sweltering afternoon. Driveway cement scorching his bare feet, he dove into the backseat of Mare’s rusty Buick for the twelve-packs of pop and a huge bag of charcoal.
    “Did you say news crews? ” she asked, her hand resting cozily on his backside as he stood and kissed her.
    “Yep. Let’s talk about it inside, okay?” They’d been together a decade and he still loved to stroke the narrowing of her waist, but, with both hands full, he settled for a second kiss. Charcoal slung over his shoulder, he returned to the house.
    She followed, carrying the last of the groceries. “Did Ghoulie finally break out? Some big star call for another album cover or movie poster? Des Moines or Ames commission a batch of community propaganda?”
    I wish. “No. Afraid not.” Sean set aside the charcoal and slid the pop into the fridge.
    Mare handed him a gallon jug of milk. “What, then?” She tilted her head, giving him a sideways glance. “What’d you do?”
    “Me? Nothing. I just helped some naked people that came out of the tree farm. They—“
    “Naked people?” She sniffed, grimacing, as she handed him a carton of eggs and a bag of produce. “Let me guess. Transient streakers who haven’t showered since last September?”
    “Close, but no.” Perishables put away, he wrapped his arms around her waist and tried not to sound like a lunatic. “Naked dead people. Ten of ‘em.”
    She frowned, nodding as if it made perfect sense, then placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “You have a sunburn. Did you push-mow the backyard again? Without a hat?”
    He kissed her and pulled away. “Nope. I ought to tell you they dirtied every sheet in the house, even the embroidered ones we got from your grandma. The first batch is in the dryer.”
    She stood frozen in place, her mouth working for a moment, before following him toward the living room. “Sean, wait. You’re not making any sense. Tell me what happened.”
    He stopped in the archway and turned to face her as he tried to explain. Judging from her expression, he didn’t do a very good job, but she listened, nodding in the right places, until he finished.
    “Sean. Babe,” she said before taking a breath. “This isn’t possible.”
    “I know. But it happened.”
    “And how many news crews came?”
    “All of them. Well, Eight, Five, and Thirteen, and a few newspapers. Fox hasn’t shown up yet, but CNN called for a quote. Apparently no one else will talk to them at all.”
    He shrugged. “I got sick of the interviews and finally locked them out and unplugged the phone so I could get back to Ghoulie’s new issue. Murph’s sent a stack of emails wondering why I haven’t shown him at least the prelims.”
    He let out a harsh breath and met Mare’s gaze. “He’s been called to a meeting with our publisher in the morning. Our sales are so crappy he’s worried they might use any excuse to cancel us,