He reads this in reverse: he bores her. Always did. He attacks: “O.K., what about sex, with you and the kid?”

She looks away. She has a long nose and long chin, and that dry moth mouth that he feels, seeing it in repose, when she is not watching him, as absentmindedly disdainful, as above him and wanting to flutter still higher. Summer has put only a few freckles on her, and these mostly on her forehead, which bulges gently as a milk pitcher. Her hair is twisty from being so much in those little tiny braids hippies make. “He likes me,” she answers, except it is no answer.

He tells her. “We can’t do that trip to Valley Forge tomorrow. Janice wants Nelson to go shopping with her for school clothes, and I should go see my mother. You can drive me if you want, or I can take the bus.”

He thinks he is being obliging, but she gives him her rich-girl sneer and says, “You remind me of my mother sometimes. She thought she owned me too.”

Saturday morning, she is gone. But her clothes still hang like rags in the closet. Downstairs on the kitchen table lies a note in green magic marker: Out all day. Will drop Nelson at the lot. . So he takes the two bus rides all the way across Brewer. The lawns in Mt. Judge, patches of grass between cement walks, are burned; spatterings of leaves here and there in the maples are already turned gold. There is that scent in the air, of going back to school, of beginning again and reconfirming the order that exists. He wants to feel good, he always used to feel good at every turning of the year, every vacation or end of vacation, every new sheet on the calendar: but his adult life has proved to have no seasons, only changes of weather, and the older he gets, the less weather interests him.

The house next to his old house still has the FOR SALE sign up. He tries his front door but it is locked; he rings, and after a prolonged shuffle and rumble within Pop comes to the door. Rabbit asks, “What’s this locked door business?”

“Sorry, Harry, there’ve been so many burglaries in town lately. We had no idea you were coming.”

“Didn’t I promise?”

“You’ve promised before. Not that your mother and I can blame you, we know your life is difficult these days.”

“It’s not so difficult. In some ways it’s easier. She upstairs?”

Pop nods. “She’s rarely down anymore.”

“I thought this new stuff was working.”

“It does in a way, but she’s so depressed she lacks the will. Nine-tenths of life is will, my father used to say it, and the longer I live the more I see how right he was.”

The disinfected scent of the house is still oppressive, but Harry goes up the stairs two at a time; Jill’s disappearance has left him vigorous with anger. He bursts into the sickroom, saying, “Mom, tell me your dreams.”