“Now, the bedding should be in here,” Parker said, opening the cabinet below the sink. “Yep, right where Bethalynn said it would be.” He pulled out a zippered plastic bag, plopped it on one of the beds. “Should be enough blankets in there. Sometimes we’re out here in the spring and the nights are pretty cold. If you need to start a fire up, the wood is downstairs. You can go directly down to the boat room, now you’re inside.” He pointed to a trapdoor in the floor. “We used to keep the wood outside, but people just aren’t as honest as they used to be. They’ll take anything we don’t lock up, and even then we get broken into every two, three years.”

We all shook our heads over this evidence of modern slack morals.

Parker sighed from the toes of his boots, a gusty sound that was supposed to mask the grief that crossed his face. Carson silently patted his father’s shoulder. “I’ll see you two later at the church hall,” he said. “Mom’s got your cell phone number.” And he was gone before we could see him cry. I guess it just got to him every now and then, and I wasn’t surprised that was so. I wondered when they would get to bury what was left of their oldest son.

Tolliver opened the trapdoor and descended. “No windows down here!” he called. I heard a click and the rectangle in the floor illuminated. “I’m bringing up some firewood,” he said, his voice muffled. While I slung my suitcase on the bed closest to the bathroom, I heard a series of thunks and thuds, and then Tolliver’s head appeared, the rest of him following along, his arms loaded with split oak.

I hadn’t had much truck with fireplaces. While Tolliver dumped the wood on the hearth, I crouched down and looked up to see if the flue was open. Nope. I found a handle that looked promising and twisted it awkwardly with my good hand. Voila! With a great creak the flue opened and I could see the gray sky. There was a basket of pinecones on the hearth that I’d assumed were for rustic decoration, but Tolliver said he thought they were to help start the fire. Since they were absolutely ordinary pinecones and there were a million more where they came from, I let him put some in the hearth like the former Boy Scout he was. Since neither of us had matches or a lighter, we were relieved to find matches in a Ziploc bag on the mantel, and we were even more relieved when the first one Tolliver struck flared with a tiny flame.

The pinecones caught with gratifying speed, and Tolliver carefully put a few of the logs in the fireplace, crisscrossing them to allow the passage of air, I assumed.