Years passed, and Jake began to feel old. He became sexually involved with a teenage girl, a runaway from Miami named Valeria who spent a week with him in his apartment until one day a man showed up at the door, claiming to be the girl’s brother (they looked nothing alike) and demanding a thousand dollars or he’d go to the police. He claimed Valeria was fifteen years old, even though she’d told Jake she was seventeen. He’d paid up, reluctantly and shamefully. The incident haunted him for several months—Jake deciding to leave Florida altogether—until he spotted the “brother” entering a nearby apartment complex. Jake began to watch him regularly, discovered his name was Edgar Leon, and determined that he lived alone. One night, after staking out the Jacaranda Estates for several hours, Jake followed Edgar up to his second-floor apartment, knocking on the door one minute after Edgar entered. It was two in the morning. He worried that Edgar, because of the time of night, would be armed when he came to the door, but he wasn’t. He was shirtless and yawning and opened the door wide. Jake’s first strike with his cosh put Edgar on the floor. Jake straddled him and repeatedly hit Edgar in the head until it was clear he was dead.

Jake felt better about himself after killing that cut-rate pimp. And he felt better about staying in Florida. He heard from his real estate agent in Maine that a long-term renter had just moved out of the Kennewick Beach condo he still owned, and Jake decided to sell. He was about to let the agent know when he got an e-mail from Alice, now going by Alice Ackerson, and with a new e-mail address.

The e-mail was short, just two perfect sentences: Jake, you ever think about returning to Kennewick? It would be nice to have an old friend here. Alice

The e-mail was a thrilling surprise; he’d assumed that he never would hear from her again. So he’d returned to Maine—an easy decision to make—and moved back into his old condo. He was shocked to discover that the carpeting was dirty, two windowpanes were cracked, and the wood of the balcony had rotted. Still, he was near Alice again. They met in a diner the day after he’d arrived. She was older, a little softer, but otherwise unchanged. He couldn’t help seeing himself through her eyes, though. The completely bald head, the skin damage, the white mustache. He didn’t mind so much; he knew that he hadn’t been summoned by Alice to resume their love affair. It was enough that, for whatever reason, he was needed.

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor, Jake,” Alice asked, as soon as they were settled in a booth.

“Of course, anything.”