“He didn’t tell me, not directly, but … I remember he did say that your appointment needed to be very soon. I’d just assumed he had some major commitment coming up, and … Oh, God. How is he?”

“Mostly the same. I mean, he looks very old, very thin. But he’s … very … very clear.”

A silence passed between them.

Madeleine was the first to speak. “Is that what you spoke about? His sickness?”

“Oh, no, not at all. In fact, he didn’t even refer to it until the end. We spoke mainly about … me … and you.”

“Was it useful?”

“I think so.”

“Are you still mad about my making the appointment for you?”

“No. It turned out to be a good thing.” At least, he thought it was a good thing. He was still having trouble wrapping words around its effect on him.

After a brief silence she smiled softly and said, “Good.”

After a longer silence, he wondered if he should circle back to the Winkler situation and get it resolved. He was still determined to get Madeleine away from the house. But he figured there’d be time enough to take care of that in the morning.

At eight o’clock, she went to bed.

A little while later, he followed her.

It wasn’t that he felt particularly sleepy. In fact, he was having a hard time putting any label at all on what he was feeling. The day had left him confused and overloaded. To begin with, there was the visceral impact of Claret’s message. And beyond that, the jarring immersion in the Bronx of his childhood, followed by the escalating horrors reported by Jack Hardwick from Cooperstown, and finally Madeleine’s pain at the rooster’s death—which he suspected had resonated unconsciously with another loss.

He went into the bedroom, took off his clothes, and slipped into bed beside her. He let his arm rest gently against hers, finding himself unable to conceive of any more articulate or appropriate communication.

Part Three: All the Evil in the World

Chapter 40

The Morning After

Gurney awoke with a heavy emotional hangover.

Mired between thinking and dreaming, his sleep had been too shallow and fitful to perform its vital function of downloading the jumbled experiences of the day into the orderly cabinets of memory. Bits of yesterday’s turmoil were still in the forefront of his mind, obstructing his view of the present moment. It wasn’t until he’d showered, dressed, gotten his coffee, and joined Madeleine at the breakfast table that he finally noticed it was a bright, cloudless day.

But even that positive factor failed to have its normal elevating effect on his outlook.

A piece of music was playing on the NPR station, something orchestral. He hated music in the morning and in his present mood he found it especially grating.