The old cabin is now occupied by the Hall family, but no one has lived in the main house since the Booths left. The windows are dark and reproachful, the grass entirely gone to weed, sedge, and bramble. Rosalie’s mint has escaped its bed and spread over the path, turning their steps to perfume. Edwin picks a dandelion, closes his eyes, opens them, and blows the stem clean. The seeds float away. “What did you wish?” Adam asks.

“No ghosts,” says Edwin. “Did I ever tell you I was born with a caul?”

“I wasn’t,” Adam says. He’s taken his glasses off to clean them. His bared eyes are intense, making Edwin acutely aware that they are spending the night together. “You’ll save me from drowning. I’ll protect you from ghosts.” He hooks his glasses back over his ears.

“We used to have a lawn,” Edwin tells him, but Adam has held up a finger, hushing him. He seems to be listening to a dove, calling over and over in its three-note song. “Dactyl,” Adam says. And then he tells Edwin that everything is perfect, that it’s all beautiful, that he prefers the wildness of weeds to the most beautifully planned and maintained gardens. No better landscaper than nature.

The sun is setting. The frogs come out. Edwin unlocks the door.

They walk through cobwebs. The air is stale and still. Adam wants nostalgia for his article, but Edwin lived only a few weeks in this house; he struggles to provide it. This is where his family lived without him. This is what happened while he was in California. He can’t wipe the feel of cobwebs from his skin. This is Father’s dream house empty of dreams.

That turns out not to be true. In every closet and cupboard treasures have been left behind. Books in many languages, some with corners turned, passages circled, others with the leaves uncut. Plays familiar and unknown. Lope de Vega, Jean Racine, Byron, Shakespeare, the Koran, and the Bible.

They’ve come equipped with candles but not with candlesticks.

As it grows dark, Edwin finds a basin in which to prop one candle, an old shoe for another. Adam produces two cigars and they pass the shoe to light them, breathe in the dank smell of tobacco.