“Uhn.” That hadn’t occurred to him, but now he doubts it. It’s not a track record that is likely to impress the defense industry too much.

Lucy hears the negative in his grunt and goes to the sink. Blows her nose. She’s upset.

She comes back, says brightly, “We should go up to our land by Eureka. It would do you good to get away. And we haven’t seen that land since the year it burned. Maybe it’s time to build that cabin you talk about.”

“The church?”

“I can get Helena to fill in for me. It would be fun to have a vacation.” She is sincere about this; she loves to travel. “We might as well make what good we can out of the opportunity. Things will work out.”

“I’ll think about it.” Meaning, don’t pester me about it right now.

And so she doesn’t. She begins making dinner. Dennis watches her work. Things will work out. Well, he’s still got Lucy. That’s not going to change. Poor Dan Houston. She’s all sniffly. He almost grins; she hates the idea of that cabin on the coast of northern California, away from all her friends. It’s always been his idea. Build a cabin all by himself, do it right. There must be churches up there, she’d have new friends inside a week. And he—well, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have any friends down here, does he? None to speak of, anyway—a colleague or two, most of them long gone to different companies, out of his life. “I should call Dan Houston.” So it wouldn’t make any difference, being up near Eureka. He loved that tree-covered sweep of rocky coastline, its bare empty salt reaches.

“We could visit, anyway,” he says. “It’s too late in the year to start building. But we could pick the site, and look around a bit.”

“That’s right,” Lucy says, looking steadfastly into the refrigerator. “We could make a real vacation of it. Drive up the coast all the way.”

“Stop at Carmel, first night.”

“I like that place.”

“I know.”

Fondness wells up in him like some sort of … like a spasm of grief. As he comes out of the numbness his feelings are jumbled. He doesn’t know exactly what he feels. But there is this woman here, his wife, whom he can count on to always, always, always put the best face on things. No matter the effort it costs her. Always. He doesn’t deserve her, he thinks. But there she is. He almost laughs.

She glances at him cautiously, smiles briefly. Maybe she can sense what he’s feeling. She goes to work at the counter by the stove. A sort of artificial industriousness there, it reminds him of LSR. Ach, forget it. Forget it. Twenty-seven years.

As Lucy is serving the hot casserole, the phone rings.