At night a brace of stars hung over Trachis Inn; and what was Kevin Gearns to do at last but close the place? He couldn’t take it anymore, the endless guests—airline insurers, friends of the departed, Boeing executives. The false thaw passed, the first of February came. And finally, he did what he’d been threatening for months: He said no. He wouldn’t have any more guests. He was closing the doors, locking out the world, even though they called and faxed and e-mailed. If Douglas was around, he might have changed his mind, but by February he was gone for good. Not only during the days but during the nights as well. He’d gotten a job on the mainland, in another hangar where they sorted bits of the broken fuselage; his dream job (for he always did like puzzles). How he’d gotten the job, Kevin didn’t know—and Douglas didn’t offer—yet for weeks he’d moved about the house secretive and vague about his comings and goings. For weeks he’d spent hours online at night, in the office, and when Kevin approached, he’d sheepishly change the screen. Kevin suspected an affair; it wouldn’t be the first time—and probably not the last. But what was Kevin to do, make a scene, protest, demand answers? He was too weary for all that.

Go! Kevin shouted, when Douglas told him about the job. And he surprised himself by the passion in his voice; for he felt no passion, only exhaustion. With the confusion and trauma of the last few months, he was too tired to fight, to make demands. He’d let Douglas go (perhaps he’d even pushed him). In truth Kevin was a bit relieved to have him out of the house.

Finally, Kevin put the sign on the Peninsular Road “Closed for the Season” and ran the chain across the drive. The first night he built a blazing fire in the hearth. He poured himself a scotch and sat alone in the drawing room with the dog curled beside him on the couch; and he let loose what he’d been holding inside him for months, ever since the crash: a howl, a threnody. Were any of his tears for Douglas? Yes. Perhaps some. They’d grown so distant; some nights they slept in separate rooms. But it was more than Douglas he mourned. It was all these long months of running the inn without a break, without time to take stock of what had become of their lives.