She lay full length on the couch, her bare size-twelve feet draped over the arm, Catsy curled comfortably between her protruding pelvic bones. Tupper was on the floor trying to straighten out his back. They’d been awake the entire night before, gathering more limbs from his warehouse in Red Hook. When Tupper had returned from scattering them in Cobble Hill Park, they’d made love and ordered sushi and shared a bottle of wine. Now they were both more relaxed than they’d been in years. Elizabeth never mentioned Iceland.

Tupper’s eyes were closed too. “Maybe they feel at home here,” he replied. “It’s not so different from London.”

“That English friend of yours, Roy Clarke,” Elizabeth went on. “His books are not as ‘important’ as everyone thinks. If a woman wrote them, they’d be considered chick lit, not absurdist masterpieces or astute social satire.”

“I keep meaning to read them,” Tupper said. “Well, it’s nice to hear they’re not full of testosterone and bullfights. Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’ve read them?”

“Yes, every color of his Rainbow. You know I read everything. What will be the title of the new one?”

“Gold,” Tupper said. “Or Red. He hasn’t decided. He seems very excited—”

Someone knocked loudly on the door. Elizabeth jumped to her feet. It was the MacArthur people, come to deliver the news in person.

“Who is it?” Tupper called out gaily, his eyes still closed. He imagined it was Roy, wanting to meet up for a quick drink. They could sit outside on the stoop. Elizabeth could nap.

“Police,” said the voice on the other side of the door.

It was Monday. Stuart was at work, but he wasn’t paying attention to anything he was supposed to be doing. He was supposed to be composing music for a “healthy” macaroni and cheese commercial featuring animated dinosaurs. Instead, he was obsessing over Mandy. Her recent energy and behavior were just so inconsistent.

Girl’s so hot her limbs are fired

My lazy lady used to be so tired

He decided to call Dr. Goldberg.

“Hi, it’s Stuart Little, Mandy Marzulli’s husband?”

“Mmm,” Dr. Goldberg said. “The man with the mouse tattoos. How can I help?”

Stuart immediately felt guilty for not going in for a checkup in at least three years. He probably had something dire like skin cancer or fatally high cholesterol.

“Yeah, well, I was just wondering if all the activity she’s been doing lately is okay. I know you have her on some kind of new medication and she’s like, so much better. Plus, and I don’t even know if I should say this, but I got her pot and she’s using it. We both are. Anyway, it’s like—and I don’t even know if this is possible—she’s cured. Maybe you want to do some more tests?”