"I guess I'm driving," Sheila said as he headed to the bathroom for a cold shower.

The headache lingered for another ten minutes before it became a light buzz. He drank the cold coffee Sheila brought him, then handed her the keys to his Lexus. "I'll call Norma on the way. Warn her of our impending arrival."

"The prodigal son returns." She looked at him askance. "No offence."

He shrugged. "No, I've read the Bible. That's pretty accurate."

She laughed. They headed down to the car, returned the room keys and drove off. By ten-thirty, they were back on the thruway. Two hours later they crossed the state line into Rhode Island. An hour after that, they were crossing the Sound on the small car ferry from Point Judith to the island community of Barrows Bay.

On the ferry, they got out of the car and headed up to the top deck. They stood beside a young father and son, the four of them looking out at the ocean as the boat rose and fell on the choppy water, coating them in a light mist.

They stood there in silent awe for several minutes, taking deep, invigorating breaths of the saltwater air. It brought strong feelings of nostalgia for Martin—not all of them good.

"Look, Daddy!" the little boy said suddenly, pointing toward the dark, craggy island in the distance. "The island sparkles!"

Sheila lowered her sunglasses to look, furrowing her brow in confusion. Martin blinked blearily but he couldn't see what the boy had seen, either. Even the sun's diamond-glint reflection on the water was on the opposite side of the boat.

The three adults looked at each other for a moment, mystified. The father shrugged amiably and tousled his son's hair. As the boat neared the dock, they all returned to the car deck. The Lexus was first off, after a small white delivery truck, and at just past two p.m. on a windy Thursday in early March, Martin Savage finally returned to the place of his birth.

7

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jog

SHEILA PARKED THE Lexus out front of a Victorian home at the end of a cul-de-sac. Martin still looked pretty rough as he stared up at the big old house with his forehead pressed against the window. After everything he'd been through in the past few days—the murder, the interrogation, fleeing the city in the middle of the night—she supposed he could have looked worse.

"Look at me," she said.

He gazed at her with apprehension in his bleary green eyes. She gave him an encouraging smile, brushed his hair back from his face and straightened his shirt collar under his pea coat.

"Better. Are you gonna be okay?"

He processed the question a moment before nodding. "I think so. Thank you." He gave her a tight smile. "For coming with me."

"I didn't have much choice in the matter, did I?"

He grinned sheepishly. "No, I guess you didn't."