It wasn’t easy to drive two hours north and two hours home while her kids were at school without anyone noticing her absence. The first time she did it, Becky threw up at recess and had to go to Elinor’s house because no one could reach Audrey. She said she’d been shopping and lost track of time. Another time, Russell hit his head against a desk and had to stay on the cot in the school office for hours. “Where were you?” he wailed all the way home. And then in December, Larry came in from the garage and asked how in the heck the new Mustang had gone nine thousand miles already. She felt the blood drain, but he laughed and said, You head down to Atlantic City every time you drop the kids off? And she saw he didn’t expect an answer.

That first time, she didn’t even know what she was looking for. She just drove up and down Graham Street, two and seven-tenths miles, believing she would just know it. Had he said a number when he’d said Graham Street and she’d forgotten it? Old sea captain’s house, he’d said. Not wealthy. No view of the sea. Hairdresser on the bottom floor.

It was only driving home that she had remembered the roof. A kind of roof. It began with an m. She didn’t know roofs. She casually asked Larry one night coming home from a dinner party about the kinds of roofs there were.

“Well, you can make a roof out of slate or asphalt shingles or tile … or even grass like in Sweden.”

“No, styles of roofs.” Her arms burned in impatience. “Use the technical term. Be technical.”

“Do you need to take another tranquilizer, Auds?”

“A kind of roof that begins with an m.” She was nearly crying.

But he didn’t know.

She went to the library. It took all of five minutes.

Mansard.

Not one mansard roof on Graham Street in Portland, Maine. Mansard. It sounded French. It seemed French, like the houses in Madeline.

At a New Year’s Eve party, Frances said her father had been with them for a few days over Christmas.

“What a riot that man is,” Elinor said. “Why weren’t you there that night? Were you out of town?”

“Yes, we were visiting my mother,” Audrey said, low so Larry wouldn’t hear.

“I gave him the new Greene novel,” Frances said. “He loves Graham Greene.”