Lyle said, “He’s that detective I told you about, the one living north of town?”

Sandy looked like she had no idea what Lyle was talking about, but shook hands with Max anyway, her eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to find a big-city homicide detective behind the flop of hair and beard. “Nice to meet you,” she said. Her hand was soft and warm, and her fingers gave a light squeeze as she wrapped them around Max’s hand.

“And that little bugger there…” Lyle pointed at the boy, maybe five or six years old, who stood behind his mother. “That’s my Pip Squeak.”

The boy tucked his face into his mother’s leg as if to hide. It was official—Max had a face that could scare children. Maybe Lyle’s hermit comment wasn’t that far-fetched after all. Max would have preferred to ignore the boy, but his apprehension bothered Max. He didn’t want the child to have nightmares about the scary man he’d met at the grocery store. Slowly, Max squatted down to be eye to eye. “Your grandpa tells me you have quite the gift for carving pumpkins,” Max improvised.

The boy remained silent.

“What are you going to be for Halloween?” Max asked.

When he didn’t answer, Sandy patted the boy’s head and said, “It’s okay, Pip. You can tell him.”

The boy looked to his grandfather too before answering in a voice so small that Max could barely hear it. “A pirate.”

“A pirate,” Max said, his voice cracking as he tried a whimsical lift to his words. He softly cleared his throat again. “That is a great costume.”

Pip looked at Max as though he still wanted him to go away.

Max tried one more time. “Do you know what a pirate’s favorite letter of the alphabet is?”

The boy gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“It’s the letter arrrrrrrrr.” Max sold the joke by scrunching up the side of his face and pinching one eye shut. Pip’s cheek twitched and then a wispy smile fought its way through his bashfulness. Max smiled back, content in his small victory.

Max stood and nodded. “It was nice meeting you both. Lyle.” He held out his hand and gave the old sheriff’s hand a shake.

The first thing he noticed, on his half-hour drive home, was a feeling of warmth in his chest. Lightness. His face wore the remnants of a smile. Max thought back; had he smiled since retreating to the cabin? He didn’t think so. He wasn’t supposed to be happy. He had gone there to be alone, to be forsaken by the world. This seemed all wrong.

The cacophony of pleasantries from that day brought his hypocrisy into sharp focus. The grocery bags in the back of the SUV held wild rice soup and ribeye steaks. Apparently Purgatory came with fresh cuts of meat. No wonder atonement remained beyond his reach. Then he thought about Lyle’s words: If it were just me, I’d become a hermit like you.