Even that short trip into town yielded lore. There had been a big lumber mill here once, connected with a basket factory across the state line in Murfreesboro; a lot of people worked there until it burned down in the early sixties. A tobacco market had closed around the same time, and the town drifted into decline. Main routes of traffic had bypassed the village around the same era, and this part of Virginia never had much to offer as destination, anyway, being close to swamps, bordering the part of North Carolina where Quakers had settled, along Albemarle Sound. Since there were no big towns nearby, Turtletrack had taken on an isolated, ghostly feeling, storefronts boarded up or empty on the central streets, forlorn lines of rusty parking meters, traffic lights that blinked yellow over empty intersections. The little commerce that remained had moved to the outskirts of town. Ben told him about some of this. He had some nostalgia for his home, maybe some pride. Growing up here had been easy, he said, except for family stuff. He and his buddies played without fear in the yards and in the woods; nobody supervised them much. Now it was different. People had started to lock their doors, hover over their children like they were precious butterflies. He said this with a mocking smile. “I don’t like kids much.”

“Yeah. Same.”

“Then let’s don’t have any,” Ben said, and chortled, enjoying his own joke, slapping Ronny on the back.

Ben went for a run in the afternoon, lifted weights in the basement. Mrs. Nickelsen had a spell of nausea and went back to bed. Nina worked around the house with Ronny, dusting, cleaning her parents’ bathroom and bedroom. She was silent while she was working, answering any question put to her but otherwise focused on the work. Cleaning was not something she cared to do, she said, and at moments she appeared irritated and indifferent. Later, when they went to her room to take a break, she showed no sign of reserve at all. She sat cross-legged on the bed and Ronny pulled off his shoes and joined her. She shifted a strand of hair that was hanging down in front of her face to behind her ear. “Man. I haven’t played maid in a long time.”

“It’s kind of fun.”

She looked at him a bit sharply. “What are you, Pollyanna or something?”

Ronny giggled. “Well, I don’t really like scrubbing toilets, that’s true.”

“I always got stuck with the housework because I was the girl. I don’t think Ben even knows how you use a sponge.” She was tearing up buds of pot on a tray, the smell pungent. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, I don’t want to smoke right now.”

“Me either, not while I have to face your folks.”

“I just fall asleep.” But she went on cleaning the stuff, separating seeds from leaf. “We can have a joint when my folks go to bed. Ben wanted me to bring some.” She was watching him, studying his clothes and hair; Ronny felt her gaze move from one part of him to another. “You’re so skinny.”