He accuses her: “You’re taking Ollie back.”

“Have any better ideas? He’s the father of my child.”

“Well that’s not my fault.”

“No, nothing’s your fault,” and she tumbles around him, and they make solid sadly skillful love again, and they talk and he dozes a little, and the phone rings. It shrills right beside his ear.

A woman’s arm, plump and elastic and warm, reaches across his face to pluck it silent. Peggy Gring’s. She listens, and hands it to him with an expression he cannot read. There is a clock beside the telephone; its luminous hands say one-twenty. “Hey. Chuck? Better get your ass over here. It’s bad. Bad.”

“Skeeter?” His throat hurts, just speaking. Fucking Peggy has left him dry.

The voice at the other end hangs up.

Rabbit kicks out of the bedcovers and hunts in the dark for his clothes. He remembers. The living room. The boys’ door opens as he runs down the hall naked. Nelson’s astonished face takes in his father’s nakedness. He asks, “Was it Mom?”

“Mom?”

“On the phone.”

“Skeeter. Something’s gone wrong at the house.”

“Should I come?”

They are in the living room, Rabbit stooping to gather his clothes scattered over the floor, hopping to get into his underpants, his suit pants. The puppy, awake again, dances and nips at him.

“Better stay.”

“What can it be, Dad?”

“No idea. Maybe the cops. Maybe Jill getting sicker.”

“Why didn’t he talk longer?”

“His voice sounded funny, I’m not sure it was our phone.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“I told you to stay here.”

“I must, Dad.”

Rabbit looks at him and agrees, “O.K. I guess you must.”

Peggy in blue bathrobe is in the hall; more lights are on. Billy is up. His pajamas are stained yellow at the fly, he is pimply and tall. Peggy says, “Shall I get dressed?”

“No. You’re great the way you are.” Rabbit is having trouble with his tie: his shirt collar has a button in the back that has to be undone to get the tie under. He puts on his coat and stuffs the tie into his pocket. His skin is tingling with the start of sweat and his penis murmuringly aches. He has forgotten to do the laces of his shoes and as he kneels to do them his stomach jams into his throat.

“How will you get there?” Peggy asks.

“Run,” Rabbit answers.

“Don’t be funny, it’s a mile and a half. I’ll get dressed and drive you.”

She must be told she is not his wife. “I don’t want you to come. Whatever it is, I don’t want you and Billy to get involved.”

“Mo-om,” Billy protests from the doorway. But he is still in stained pajamas whereas Nelson is dressed, but for bare feet. His sneakers are in his hand.

Peggy yields. “I’ll get you my car keys. It’s the blue Fury, the fourth slot in the line against the wall. Nelson knows. No, Billy. You and I will stay here.” Her voice is factual, secretarial.