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Scott can’t just leave his job. He has tenure! He can’t just walk away from it.”
    â€œDoes Breckinridge use the cabin when you’re not there?” Charlie asked.
    She shook her head. “Maybe in the summer.”
    â€œDid you tell Pete about him?”
    She shrugged and muttered, “Yeah. I knew he’d understand how it’s been with me, and he did. He said I needed a little attention, a little fun, but then he blew, after he got out.”
    She opened the door behind her and tilted her head, listening. “Look, I told you all I’m going to say. Now leave me alone. I won’t talk to you anymore. If you come back, I’ll call the police or something.” She laughed bitterly. “That’s a joke, isn’t it? Me call the police on you!” She opened the door farther and stepped inside, closed it softly behind her.
    Back at the car, Constance asked if he wanted her to drive and he said yes. Marla was hoarse because she had been up all night reading to the boy, he was thinking. Roy had said she did that, read to him for hours at a time when she claimed he was upset. Roy said there was no way to tell if he was upset or not, or even if he could hear what she was reading, but she thought it helped him through bad times. He said each meal took two hours, and she chattered away all the time she was spooning baby food into his mouth and wiping off most of it when it dribbled down his chin. She chattered, he had said, even while she was changing his diapers.
    Charlie slumped in his seat and gazed ahead and saw nothing of the scenery they passed, nothing of the traffic that Constance navigated through. They didn’t talk now. She always knew when not to talk.

    At home, they ignored the cats and listened to the answering machine messages; Charlie instantly forgot what the messages were. If any had been important, he would have noticed, he thought, and sat down to call Breckinridge. When he hung up, he said, “Tomorrow. He’ll meet us at the cabin at three. He gave me directions.” He looked at her. “I feel prickly.”
    â€œMe, too.” It had been too easy, she thought then. Why had Marla told them anything? She could have slammed the door.
    â€œShe got orders from Pete,” Charlie said softly.
    â€œWe turn left at the sign for Benson’s Landing,” he said the next afternoon, watching for the sign. He suddenly thought of the distances out west, drive two days and not leave Texas, ten hours to get across Oregon, a lifetime to travel from southern to northern California. All the distances in the northeast were child’s play comparatively. The drive from home up here to Benson’s Landing had been only two and a half hours. He saw the sign, two miles to Benson’s Landing, turned left, and checked the odometer. One mile and turn left again, then watch for Breckinridge’s sign.
    There was more snow up here than they had seen all day, and now they could see the lake, with pale patches of ice against dark water. His next turn was onto a gravel driveway that wound through pine trees to a gray cabin. The lake was a short walk through the woods. The air smelled good.
    â€œWe’re so early,” Constance said. It was 2:30.
    â€œI figured he’d probably get here before three,” Charlie said. “Give us time to look things over before he shows up.”
    They had both worn boots, not knowing what to expect in this area, but the drive was clear of snow, as was a walkway bordered with pale, round rocks that led to the cabin door. The structure was of unpainted cedar that had weathered to a nice silver gray. Patches of thick pine-needle carpeting showed through the snow, melting its way to the light. Constance went to a window and peered in; the shade was drawn halfway down. Kitchen, with a gas stove, scant cabinets… She wrinkled her nose. And a dead mouse. Two dead mice. She drew back just as Charlie yanked her