That too was going to change, she decided. She would spend this morning taking care of her garden, putting it back in shape. It was time for her to take control of her own life and not let herself be manipulated by the mailman.

She thought of Irene. She would give her friend a call today, make sure she was okay.

Doug awoke soon after, and when she heard the shower water running through the pipes, she went back inside and woke up Billy. They were all going to eat breakfast together this morning. Like they were supposed to.

Following breakfast Doug washed the dishes, with Billy drying, and when they were finished, she enlisted the aid of both of them to help with the garden and the yard. Billy tried to get out of it, tried to explain why it was more important for him to watch television, but she and Doug forced him to rake the drive, and for the first time in recent memory he actually did the work without complaining. He even seemed to be enjoying himself a little, and she whisperedly pointed this out to Doug, who said there was nothing like a short stint in hell to make a person long for even the non-pleasures of everyday living.

They ate lunch on the porch together—bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches—and afterward Doug and Billy decided to go hiking out toward the old Sutpen ranch. She filled up two canteens with water and ice, packed a sandwich apiece just in case, and told them to be back by five or she was calling the ranger station. They drove off in the Bronco, waving.

When they were gone, Tritia called Irene.

She had thought about what she was going to say, had planned out what she thought was a fairly compelling argument for her friend to tell the police what she had received in the mail, or at least to allow her to tell Doug, but when she heard Irene’s frightened cracking voice, she knew that no logical argument would be able to sway her.

“Hello?” Irene said.

“Hello. It’s me, Tritia.”

“I knew it was you. That’s the only reason I answered the phone.”

Tritia took a deep breath. “Look,” she said, “I’m your friend—”

“No, I’m not telling anyone.”

Tritia was taken aback by the old woman’s determination. “How do you know that was what I was going to say?”

“We both know why you called,” Irene said. She coughed brittlely. “I have to work this out in my own way. Do you understand? This is something I have to do myself.”

“Yes, but—”

“There are things you don’t know,” the old woman said, and there was something in her voice that sent a chill down Tritia’s spine. “I shouldn’t’ve told you as much as I did.”

“I just want to help.”

Irene coughed again. “I know.”