“A little. I just wanted to get it started before you left. I want to take my time with it now. Think it out, you know. Let it show itself, little by little.”

“I think I’d like to buy it when you finish,” I said.

A grin cracked on his face. “Maybe I can ship it with the Old Man piece.” He paused, then asked, “How can I do something like this, Bobo, and the rest of it’s not worth a shit?”

I didn’t know how to answer him, because I did not know the answer. Sammy had no talent as a sculptor, yet he had created a reasonably good work of art.

“Sometimes, it goes better than it does at other times,” I suggested.

“I guess,” Sammy muttered.

There were workers at Amy’s house when I arrived. They were enlarging the back deck and cutting in for a hot tub—”To improve my love life,” Amy teased privately.

“Sure,” I said. “I knew something was missing.”

She laughed and called to one of the workmen, “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

The workman waved acknowledgment and turned on his circular saw. The blade screamed against the wood.

We drove toward Margaretville and talked idly of the changes that had taken place over the years in the Shandaken Valley. Amy admitted that her husband did not understand why she wanted to keep the house she had inherited from her mother.

“He calls this the Valley of Death,” she said. “It’s supposed to be a joke, but it isn’t. He never really liked it up here, even if he did pretend well enough to fool me for a long time. Maybe I shouldn’t blame him, though. He likes skyscrapers and airports.”

“He must have been surprised that you kept the house,” I said.

“A little, I think. He didn’t put up much of an argument. I think it’s his way of saying that’s he’s given up the fight.”

I asked what she meant.

“The marriage fight. You know—the little nicks and bruises of a relationship.” She reached for my hand, touched it with the tips of her fingers. “The giving and taking that Avrum talked about, but with Avrum it was always romantic. In real life, it isn’t always, is it?”

“I won’t argue that,” I said. Then I asked, “When did your mother buy the house?”

She was quiet for a moment, gazing out of the window at the distant scenery. “About five years ago. She said she needed the tranquillity.”

“Did she find it?”

Amy pulled her hand away from mine and began to play with the collar on her blouse.

“Forgive me,” I said. “That’s a personal question.”

“It’s all right. I think she did. She seemed more at ease when she finally moved up here.”

“What about your father? Did he like it here?”