But I was never comfortable in the house. When Jay first took me there, animal heads were mounted on the walls in odd spots, catching you unawares with their glassy eyes. And then, of course, there was the basement.

Jay loved the house though. I think it reminded him of his mother and the time they spent there together while his father hunted. She died so young that Jay didn’t have much time with her. He told me about the cocoa she used to make from scratch and the jigsaw puzzles they’d worked together up there. Memories of her, I think, made the mountain house a special place for him.

To an outsider, the house looks imposing, sitting on its peak, lording over the trees and river, full of dark paneling and plaid wallpaper. I picture it as the kind of place where the gentry used to go to indulge in hunting and other vigorous winter sports to prove to themselves perhaps that they weren’t all fluff and money.

So, for Jay’s sake, I tried to fit in, tried to enjoy our time there. We invited friends along whenever we could. We rarely went up there on our own, just the two of us. But even with Jay beside me, the house overwhelmed me. It felt sinister, alive with the blood spilled by men who took pleasure in the hunt and the kill.

I sigh. “I can’t think about that now.” Dealing with real estate agents, contracts, and fussy buyers.

“Well, it’s an option if you need cash.”

“Yeah. I know, but I’ll be all right.” I walk Corrine to the door, where she gives me a quick hug and leaves.

I sit at the table, flipping through screens like a stalker. In the backyard, a squirrel tiptoes past the bird feeder. It stops, listens, looks both ways before clambering up the bare maple tree to reach the goodies suspended in the feeder. I’m afraid it’ll be disappointed. I haven’t refilled it in a few days. I watch the squirrel, get lost in its world until the doorbell rings, and I’m pulled back to real life.

I switch screens to see who’s there. This is kind of cool if I don’t think about why I need this technology. Hayes and Alice wait patiently on my porch. I close my laptop and answer the door.

“Hi, guys. Come on in.” Hayes catches me in a hug, and Alice nudges him aside.

“We brought you these, Molly.” She holds up a box tied with string. “Lemon poppy-seed muffins. I made them.”

“Thanks, Alice.” I take the box and drape my arm around her shoulders.

“How are you?” Hayes asks, unwrapping his scarf. He’s wearing a black turtleneck, his dark curly hair in disarray.

“I’m okay.” I set the box on the table and collect their coats. Alice pulls off her red hat with its pom-pom on top and pats it onto the pile in my arms.

We sit at the kitchen table with tea and Alice’s muffins. Her long fair hair is plaited in two braids that she’s wrapped around her head like a little Swiss girl. Her huge gray eyes are grave, as usual. She’s eleven going on forty-five, as Hayes likes to say.