They approached the Quahog; it was one of the nicer cottages, down toward the bluff, with cedar shakes and a view of the sea. He’d put the lights on earlier, which he was happy about now, for the lit-up cottage looked homey, a bit cheery almost, in the gloom. They walked up the porch; he opened the door for the woman, shook the umbrella, left it outside, and followed her in. The room smelled of lavender bath soap; the electric heater was on. Kevin took a quick survey to make sure all was in order. A bouquet of pink roses sat in a milkglass vase on the kitchen table. There were two tissue boxes beside the bed (he’d told Sheila Quinn to stock extra in each room). The bed was perfectly made with a white chenille spread and extra pillows.

The woman walked to the sliding glass doors and parted the sheer curtains with her left hand. Kevin started to explain that the main house was open at all times, and she should feel free to use the drawing room or the library, that a dinner buffet was laid there now, in the dining room, and she could help herself. He told her that breakfast began at seven thirty but tea and coffee were available any time. The woman was staring out the window, fingering the curtains, her back toward him, but he yammered on anyhow. He told her about making phone calls and using the computer in the main house, and he thought to himself the entire time, You idiot, why explain any of this when clearly she couldn’t or didn’t care less?

He fell silent. He fidgeted with the key, searched helplessly around the room for something to straighten.

Well, he said, if there’s anything I can possibly do…please don’t hesitate to ask.

For the first time, Ana Gathreaux turned and faced him.

No. She shook her head, then peeled off the wet beret. She ran her fingers through damp hair. It was long and reddish and uncolored, a streak of iron in one side. Kevin had thought she was much younger but saw now that he was mistaken, that her face was slightly lined, her eyes puffy and squinting. Perhaps it was simply her grieving, how it aged one so.

There is one thing, the woman said. Could you please—she made an indistinct gesture toward the ceiling—turn off some of these lights.

Oh, of course, Kevin said.