Tim had seen a wolf out here, though that hardly seemed possible, wolves having been eradicated a century ago, but then one of them could have migrated down from Canada—a whole pack of them for that matter, who knew? There were certainly enough deer around to feed them. He saw deer tracks everywhere, holes poked in the snow as if by phantom ski poles, and their droppings scattered like so many handfuls of raisins in the clearings. And what was that Russian story where the family in the sled was heading back home in the dark of night, the wolves right on them, and they flung their baby out into the snow to distract them and save themselves? Would he have flung Corey out? Or no, Lori—would he have shoved her over the transom and whipped the horses on?

At some point he got turned around, the forest a maze in itself and he the animal seeking pleasure in the absence of pain, but the estate was bounded by county roads and there were any number of outbuildings to navigate by, including a farm on the east end of the property, so it wasn’t really a problem. He was back before the kids returned from school, the house quiet, a rich aroma of communal cookery wafting through the gold-ceilinged rooms and the fire going strong in the library. Which was where he found Lori, all alone, crouched on her knees before the fire and feeding sticks into the flames—kindling—when what the fire needed at this stage were the split logs stacked outside on the porch. This was wasteful behavior, lazy really, the sort of thing you’d expect from a child, and no matter what Joanie said Lori was no child.

“Hi,” he said, and she swung round, startled, her face small and pale. “Need help with that?”

She didn’t answer, or not in a way that made any sense. She said, “‘I’m nobody! Who are you? / Are you nobody, too? / Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell! / They’d banish us, you know.’”

“You’re quoting again.”

“Yes,” she said, and turned to poke at the fire.

“So we’re two nobodies, huh?”

She didn’t answer. Sparks jumped and floated across the flames like glittering insects.

He was standing over her now, feeling strange again, out of place, out of body, as if he were back in the meditation house. It was a moment—a flashback—and then it passed. “Are you all right? Everything okay?”

She got to her feet—her bare feet, her monkey feet—and put her arms around him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Never better.” Then she broke away and went to the couch, folding her legs under her and snatching up the comforter all in one motion. “Why, do I seem sad or sick or whatever?”