In the sixteenth century they used to pile rocks on criminals, one by one, more and more of them until the guy’s ribs caved in and all his bones broke and eventually he died. Peine forte et dure they called it.

After a while, I drive farther downriver and park off-trail. Ducking dead spruce boughs sharp-pointed as knives, stumbling over rocks, slipping on the moss, I shove my way through the woods until I see the roof of the old hunting shack. It’s covered with moss too. No glass in the windows. Hinges loose on the door, which groans as I push it open.

So many trees surround it that the light inside is almost green. It smells musty, as though long ago something crawled under the floorboards to die.

I sit down on one of the two wooden chairs and rest my forehead on my hands. I can still hear the river. Under that sound— which never stops—there’s only silence.

I don’t know how long I sit there. Until I can’t stand my own thoughts any longer, I guess. I run my fingers over the stubble on my head and look around.

A wooden table, two chairs, two bunks, no mattresses, an oil drum with a rusty black chimney. Cobwebs furring the corners. Little piles of raccoon shit everywhere.

Deep inside, something stirs to life. Slats on the windows would keep the animals out. The door hinges could be tightened. A broom would do wonders for the floor.

I wonder if the roof leaks.

I’ll need a place to go if Cassie’s going to spend any amount of time at Rolf’s. And this could be my place. Nothing to do with Floyd. Nothing to do with anyone but me. Me and Cassie.

*

AT SEVEN thirty, Marigold is waiting outside on the step with Cassie. As I turn off the ignition, she says, “I’m sorry it’s worked out this way, Brick.”

She does look sorry. She doesn’t look as though she’s about to change her mind, though. “Me too,” I say.

“Bring her over anytime ... but please call first.”

If I’m going to work on Della’s wall, I’ll need a place for Cassie on the weekend. I swallow my pride. “Could I leave her with you on Saturday?”

She nods. “Rolf’s on day shift then, so I’ll be around.”

I thank her, then Cassie and I drive back to the house. We’ve got the place to ourselves. As soon as we go inside, she says, “Did you throw rocks at Igor?”

Oh man. “Once or twice. I’ll never do it again.”

“You gonna throw rocks at Caramel?”

“No. I’m hungry ... go watch TV for a while.”

Twin blue lasers point straight at me. “You better not throw rocks at Caramel,” she says, “or I’ll beat you up.”