“It is?” she asked, gazing up at him, waiting for what seemed like forever, before he could swallow, could get rid of the lump in his throat.

“It is,” he said. He wanted to say, because she's going to be spending a lot of time with her. He'd been on his own for four years now, hadn't even come close to falling in love with someone else. But now, sitting with Marisa, he felt that changing.

They kissed again, and he felt her run her fingers down his forearm. He shivered in spite of the warm thawing right in the center of his chest, where his heart had been frozen for so long.

Outside the truck, the night burst into tiny red stars. They sparkled in the sky, coming out of the chimney. Marisa saw them and sat up straight, and Patrick suddenly remembered what they were actually doing here, parked in the woods.

“What's that?” she asked.

“They're burning something in the fireplace,” he said, watching sparks fly into the night. “It's dry—maybe paper. I'm going to try to look through the curtains, see what they're doing.”

He started to open the truck door, and Marisa did the same.

“I want to come with you,” she said when he glanced across the seat.

Patrick wanted to tell her to stay here, where it was safe. But he saw the determination in her eyes, so he nodded. They closed the doors silently, began cautiously covering ground. Fallen pine needles formed a soft cushion under their feet, muffling their steps. The smell of wood smoke mingled with the fresh sea air and an unpleasant smell of dead fish.

When they got to the van parked in the driveway, Patrick gestured for Marisa to hang back. She nodded, edging into the van's shadow. He moved forward, closer to the red house. The yard was almost totally clear of trees and bushes, but the surrounding woods were so thick and tall, they blocked much light from moon or stars. Patrick reached the structure, crouched as he walked under the two front windows.

He could hear the TV blaring inside. One voice rose above it, and Patrick raised his head slowly, to look through the window. Although the dark green curtains were pulled tight, he could see through a crack underneath. The room was small and square, stuffed with furniture.

Two people sat on the couch—the woman Patrick had seen earlier, eyes glued to the TV, and Lafarge, talking on a telephone. He tried to listen, but the TV was so loud, it made the words unclear. Lafarge suddenly jumped up, phone to his ear, to stir the fire with a poker. Patrick saw the logs crackle, and when he looked up, he saw another geyser of sparks come out the chimney.