She looked at me in astonishment. “I lied, of course. What kind of person do you think I am? I told her you were with Sammy at an art show in Woodstock, and if I were you, I’d stick to that story. I think she may have believed it.” She smiled coyly. “When are you going to see Amy again?”

“This afternoon. We’re going to drive up to Margaretville and have a late lunch and look through some antique shops.”

“Ummmm,” Lila purred. “Antique shops? I like that. Romantic. Now, go call Carolyn and get some sleep. You look a little like the stockbroker this morning.”

If Carolyn had been distressed over not reaching me, she did not sound it. She was at work. I could hear laughter in the background.

She answered my apology, “No, I wasn’t bothered. I just hadn’t talked to you in a couple of days, and I wondered how things were going.”

“We had the memorial service yesterday. It went well. A lot of people were there.”

“Good.”

We talked briefly about the children. They were well. Jason had called to say he had seen Dee Richardson’s interview with me and was impressed. Rachel was upset that she had missed it. Lydia was trying to get a copy from CNN. There was no mail of significance. She’d had a good week at work.

“You sound worried about something,” she said. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” I assured her. “I should have called you earlier. I’m sorry.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Probably next Monday. Maybe Sunday. I’ll let you know.”

“All right. I’ve got to go. We’re a little busy.” I could still hear the laughter.

I sat on the bed, holding the telephone in my lap, waiting for the hammer blow of guilt. But there was no guilt. None. Only the sweet, remembered pleasure of the night. I put the phone on the nightstand and pushed off my shoes and lay back against the pillows and closed my eyes. I could smell the perfume of the soap from my shower.

It was a bothered dream. Quaint and bothered.

I was sitting with Avrum on his bench, and then he was not there, but Amy was. She was holding my hand. The voice of Amelita Galli-Curci was suspended in the air. And then Amy was not there, but Carolyn was, and Harry Burger was standing beside the bench, dressed in his baggy pants and cardigan sweater, and there was a great sadness on his face. He shook his head and walked away slowly, dragging his feet in the labored shuffle of old age. And then Mrs. Mendelson crowed from across the street, from the porch of the Inn— “Ja, ja. Ist gut. Ist gut.” And Ben Benton passed by in his truck, twirling his bear-buckle belt from the window.

“Who are all these people?” Carolyn asked suspiciously.