Werner and Helen had purchased a large plastic tarp and a few rolls of duct tape from another hardware store, and while buying their regular groceries from the supermarket, they had also picked up four packs of extra-large freezer bags and a roll of gray garbage bags. All paid for in cash. They had spread the plastic-smelling tarp over the basement floor before coming back up to the kitchen.

Werner looked at the clock. It was ten past eleven. “What time are the kids getting home?”

“The girls get back at three thirty, and Thom will be here an hour before that.”

“Good.” Werner drew a deep breath. His eyes were pensive. “I need a drink.”

“You don’t have to do this on your own.”

He glanced at her with an expression that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, before walking over to the cabinet where he kept his liquor.

Helen realized that it had been a long time since she and Werner had spent a weekday morning or afternoon together. They used to do that regularly—back when Werner was still an employee at the Horn of Plenty and she worked more evening shifts than she did now.

“Somebody’s been in here again, for Christ’s sake,” she heard him say.

After noticing on a few occasions that some of his alcohol had gone missing, Werner had taken to unobtrusively marking the level by scratching a line on the label with his thumb. If the level in the bottle was lower than the last marker, that meant somebody else had taken a drink from it. Helen found that sort of monitoring distasteful. She preferred to assume her children were honest—at least with her and Werner. The outside world could be hard and unfair enough as it was, so she felt everybody in the family ought to be able to rely on one another. Sara’s recent deceit had shown her the naiveté of that—and on top of it, now she had to deal with children who were developing their own identities and pushing the boundaries.

Was there a teenager anywhere in the world who left their parents’ liquor cabinet alone?

“What have they been drinking?” she asked.

“My Aultmore Adelphi,” he replied. “That bottle cost me a hundred fifty goddamn euros.”

“Our kids have good taste,” she said softly, unable to suppress a faint smile.

Werner came back with a glass of whiskey. He leaned his back against the counter and took a sip. Closed his eyes briefly. “Man, I needed this.”

On the counter behind him lay the new electric saw, gleaming in the fall sunshine.

7

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