They hadn't started eating the rabbits because they liked the flavor, exactly. It's just things had gotten so lean, and there were rabbits everywhere. Amy stopped at the store after work, bought paprika, peppers, dried pintos, and they ate the stew together over rice, listening to the radio, which was still, like some sort of miracle, free. Bobby got used to the gamey flavor of rabbit stew quickly, came to appreciate the way the stringy tendons caught between his teeth. It had taken Amy three attempts at the recipe before she could eat the rabbit without gagging.

“Hot sauce saves the day,” she'd said finally, grimacing.

“Look, we don't have to eat the rabbits,” he said. “We could just get a ham hock or something.”

“Maybe not,” Amy said. “But it's all part of the frugality game, right?”

“What?” Bobby asked.

“The post-recession survival game,” Amy said. “It's like we get poor-people virtue points for any crazy we teach ourselves to tolerate. Like eating rabbits out of the yard just because they're free.”

Bobby had run his hand over Amy's shoulder and down her back, his fingers caressing her shoulder blades, his mind a panic of wings in a graceful, frantic migration, his hands searching for a tether. He thought of the misery they'd endured: the missing mortgage payments, the months of wondering how long it would take the bank to come for them, whether they'd take the house in February, in May, in September, the neighbors watching out their windows. Amy had taken it all in stride. Only now could he see the traces of bitterness on her characteristic light heart.

Now, he saw Amy, backlit by the sunrise, walking toward him. He caught a whiff of rabbit before he could see what she was carrying, and he knew she'd found the skins he'd been curing on a rack in one of the sheds.

When she was close enough that he could see the worry in her eyes, she handed the pelt to him. “What's your plan for these, Bobby?” she asked, her nose wrinkled even as she ran her fingers through one of the furs, touching it in a way they had stopped touching each other.

“Thought I'd make a coat,” Bobby answered.

Amy looked at him for a long time, as though she was deciding how serious he was, how concerned she had to be. She took a deep breath. She took one of his hands. “Babe. Be cool. A blanket, maybe.”