As to the other, impossible aspects of the scene—the numberless bodies of shadow that positioned and repositioned themselves around Mrs. Whitlock to hungrily knead and caress her body, the tongues of cobweb that licked her or pressed against her own jutting pink tongue, the dissolving faces of grit that leered at the action like a gaggle of phantom voyeurs—all of these details Maxine would later tell herself were simply born of her own imagination. Her brain, so shocked by the matriarch’s act of indulgence (or was it one of release?), created a tableau of Id-soaked images to punish her…and perhaps to protect from the even harsher truth about this scene.

Sheepishly, Maxine backed away from the cabin, plugging her ears against the curses and the cries that filled the otherwise silent night in the virgin new year.

*

New Year’s Day slipped past like a dream. It was plain to Maxine that her mother-in-law was either unaware of her spying or was unfazed by it, for the old woman was every bit as congenial, conscientious and clean as she’d been all weekend. As she had no doubt been all her adult life.

Maxine was unspeakably grateful that Xavier had booked them an afternoon flight back home. Their departure in the great marble foyer was filled with hugs and wishes for safe travels. Maxine hugged Mrs. Whitlock especially close. She thanked her for such a wonderful time.

“I hope this year brings you every happiness,” Maxine told her. Her sincerity was absolute. She looked her mother-in-law directly in the eye when she spoke these words, and then she hugged her again.

Their car hadn’t yet reached the four-lane highway when Maxine frantically urged Xavier to pull over.

“Do you feel sick?” he said.

“Just pull the car over, please.”

Xavier carefully edged the vehicle onto the side of the road, fearful that he might sink them in a ditch. He shifted the gear into Park.

He was half-confused, half-elated when he saw Maxine wriggling her underwear down her legs and over her shoes. She undid his seatbelt, his trousers. She mounted him.

Their coupling was surreal, exotic, intoxicating. For Xavier, terror of discovery mingled with the ecstasy of taboo. He looked at his wife, radiant in the bright winter afternoon. He caught glimpses of the vast open fields and the nearby houses, the birds that perched in the leafless trees.

“Promise me something,” Maxine said once the deed was done.

“After that? Anything!” Xavier breathlessly replied.

“Promise me you’ll never keep anything from me. Anything. Promise me you’ll always tell me everything, no matter what it is.”

Xavier was visibly confused but he nonetheless nodded his head. “Okay,” he said. “But only if you promise to do the same.”

“I will.”

*