She sat there for a long time. After a while, she heard Bob’s breathing start to rasp and then make an occasional snort. She got up and hugged him, her cheek touching his.

In her sweetest voice she said, “Come on, Bobby. You dozed off for a minute.” She had her free hand on the rifle’s barrel, and as Bob raised his head she slid the gun out of his loose grasp. She released the magazine and opened the chamber to take out the round, and then set the rifle and magazine back in the toolbox. As he made his way to the tailgate, she stepped to the side and jumped so she could get to the driver’s seat first.

“I’ll drive,” she said. “You can relax the rest of the way home.”

35

When Bob Carpenter woke up the next day, he reached across the bed for Charlotte and found that his hand just kept going across the flat sheet. He patted the spot where she usually was and then opened his eyes. The sun was high already, but it was coming in the wrong side of the house. It took him a second to sort that out—and realize that it was after noon.

He sat up and said aloud, “Charlotte?” The house was too small to make it necessary to raise his voice much, and his head was hurting and felt as though it had swelled in his sleep. His mouth was dry, so it was not pleasant to talk either. He got up and walked to the next room. They used it as a half-kitchen because it was where the counters and cupboards were. Charlotte mixed and stirred things here, but most of the heating was done at the community kitchen or the big grills outside. He often saw Charlotte here reading or listening to the radio or sewing, but not today.