After the others had left, Diana Olmstead hobbled down to the sea. There were thirty-eight days left of the bardo state. Thirty-eight more days for her on the island. She set herself on the boulder and crossed her good leg and took out her prayer beads. Claartija watched from the top of the steps, then turned back toward the house. Kevin, meanwhile, had climbed upstairs to his bedroom. Douglas was gone to work, and Kevin closed the door behind. It had been a very long few days, and what he needed now, more than anything, was sleep.

III

Seventeen

Bird migration in the north largely ceases sometime in late autumn. The wood warblers are among the first songbirds to go. Their brilliant summer plumage—orange, vermilion, blue—fades as fall approaches. The next to leave are sparrows—Fox and Clay-Colored and Chipping—then the wrens and Catharus thrushes. By November, it’s flickers and woodcocks, each exiting at the appropriate time. The last to leave are the kingfishers. They linger as long as possible in the north, wherever the water hasn’t frozen. Solitary, unpartnered, they rattle over their small stretches of river or pond or tidal pool. In Germany they’re called “icebirds” for the way they retreat southward in front of freezing water. Yet even kingfishers must migrate, however short a distance, when a hard freeze glazes their fishing grounds.

On Trachis Island that year, a Belted Kingfisher remained the entire winter, a single male Megaceryle alcyon. Kevin Gearns noticed it one frigid morning while walking Oscar along the beach. The Trachis Bird Club noted it as well in their annual newsletter, and on their Christmas Bird Count. No one could remember the last time a kingfisher had overwintered on the island.

For Kevin, it was a terribly long winter at Trachis Inn. Diana Olmstead was the last of the family members to depart; she stayed the full forty-nine days as planned, sending the souls of the dead off to their new incarnations. The forty-ninth day happened to coincide with the eve of All Saints’ Day. Coincidence? Kevin asked.

Diana Olmstead only smiled. She took his hands in both of hers, then climbed into the van back home, rolled the window, and said: Trick or Treat.

By late October, others had begun arriving at Trachis Inn. They were no longer family members but investigators with the Canadian Transportation Safety Board, airline officials, men from the FBI, the RCMP. Rooms were in demand. Everyone wanted to stay on the island; everyone wanted to get close to the site. What could Kevin do? He had to keep the inn open. He couldn’t shut it down as they did each fall.