She is aware of a sound like the susurration of the ocean. It’s been a long time since they went to the shore; maybe this summer they’ll rent a place on Cape Cod. The susurration begins to hiss and build, until what’s in her ears is a roar. Her own heartbeat, her own blood pounding up and through her brain, clouding the words coming out of Rossman’s mouth, obscuring the meaning until it breaks free of his mouth and penetrates her soul.

Stacy is dead.

This is Ed’s fault.

*   *   *

“Hey, Alice.”

Alice is furiously vacuuming again.

“Alice, put that thing away and come with me.” Ed was on his way to Lil’s when he changed his mind. Buddy is in the Cutlass, waiting for his daily ride.

Alice can’t hear him. Ed steps on the off button of the canister vac. “I said, forget this and come with me.”

“I’ve got to finish this.” She steps on the button.

Ed pushes it off. “Let’s do something, go somewhere. You’ll never finish vacuuming.”

“Where?” She doesn’t move to restart the vac. She shoves a strand of hair behind her ear in a girlish motion.

“I don’t know, but it’s too fine a Saturday to be wasted on vacuuming. Grab your jacket; let’s go do something.”

Alice stands there with the vacuum nozzle in her hands. Her hair isn’t yet in its twist, just pulled back in a workaday ponytail. The morning sun filters through the window, backlighting her, so that the uncaught strands look like a halo around her head. “Like what?”

“Time for a little adventure. Want to go look at cars?”

“That’s an adventure?”

“Have you looked at cars lately? They’re all about the adventure.”

Ed can see her debating his offer. In the old days, the really old days, there would have been no hesitation. Now everything is a debate.

“What about Buddy?”

“He’s waiting in the car. We need to find something that he likes, too.”

“When did we decide to get a new car?”

“We haven’t. I just thought it might be nice to see what’s out there.”

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Why does it feel like he’s won a major victory?

Alice pulls off the thin T-shirt she’s wearing and puts on a blue oxford shirt, puts her feet into her Dansko clogs, and runs a brush through her hair, sweeping it up and securing it with a clip. She’s done this so often that she doesn’t think about the action, just checks the result in the mirror hanging over her bureau. She should put on lipstick.