He had very little to pack. He took his things out of the bureau and put them in the B-4 bag. There were a few garments on hangers in the closet and some books that he placed in a brown paper bag, and the job was done. The room looked just as it had the night he moved into it. He was leaving nothing of himself behind in the little cell.

Spurgeon was on duty in the ward and so there was nobody on the sixth floor to say goodbye to.

They drove to the place in Cambridge and Susan Haskell helped Gaby to pack her things while he emptied two bookcases into cardboard cartons.

Susan was very upset but she treated Adam with icy care.

“The plastic bucket is mine,” Gaby said guiltily. “I bought a bunch of supplies and things but I forgot to get a bucket. Is it all right if I take it?”

“Of course. Take whatever you paid for, silly.”

“We’ll have lunch in a couple of days,” Gaby said. “I’ll call you.”

They were both quiet as they drove over the Harvard Bridge and then followed the river on the Boston side of the Charles. The sky was ashen and their mood had withered but when they got to Phillips Street the physical activity of unloading the car broke the spell.

He performed a spirited little breakneck ballet on the icy stairs while carrying in the things, but managed not to fall. By the time the last carton was on the floor she had wiped down the bureau drawers with disinfectant and was lining them with butcher paper. “There’s just the one dresser,” she said. “Does it matter which drawers I put your things in?”

“Suit yourself,” he said, suddenly happier. “I want to clear the ice from those steps.”

“Great idea,” she said, making him proud to be such a responsible householder.

When he came back into the house, cold but triumphant over the forces of nature, she stopped him from removing his coat.

“We’re going to need sheets for the bed,” she said.

So he went to Jordan’s, where briefly he was haunted by the questions of white or colored, plain or contoured. Finally he plunged, settling on beige and contoured and buying four, two to use and two for the laundry.

When he opened the door he found her on her hands and knees, scrubbing.

“Stay close to the wall, darling,” she said. “I left a space for you to walk on.”

He circumnavigated the room. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Well, the floors in the john and the kitchenette still have to be washed,” she said. “You can scrub in there while I wax in here.”

“Is that absolutely necessary?” he asked a bit faintly.

“We can’t live in a place without cleaning it first,” she said, shocked.