Dillard and his brother had shown up late that morning in a black SUV. Now they were sitting around the kitchen table eating salami sandwiches and belching beer while Eddie gloated over the prospect of owning his own fishing camp and Larry gloated over the prospect of running it for him. To Molly’s dismay, they all seemed to regard it as a done deal.

This would be a place, Eddie said, where a man could put up his feet, relax, and get away from being “pussy-whipped by his wife.” This last was uttered with a wink, clearly signaling (one man to the other) that no woman pussy-whipped Eddie Dillard.

Molly wanted to throw up. Instead, she jammed a tiny bar of French-milled soap into one of the bird’s-nest baskets they used in the bathrooms to hold toiletries. She didn’t know whom she disliked more, Eddie or his revolting brother Larry, who planned to live upstairs in the house while he ran the fishing camp.

She glanced over at Kevin, who was leaning against the wall sipping from a longneck. He didn’t burp. When Eddie had arrived, Kevin had tried to get rid of her, but she wasn’t going anyplace.

“So, Larry,” Eddie said to his brother, “how much you figure it’ll cost to paint these frou-frou cottages?”

Molly dropped one of the tiny, frosted-glass shampoo bottles. “The cottages were just painted. And they’re beautiful.”

Eddie seemed to have forgotten she was there. Larry laughed and shook his head. “No offense, Maggie, but it’s gonna be a fishing camp, and guys don’t like fruit colors. We’ll just paint everything brown.”

Eddie pointed at Larry with his longneck. “We’re only painting the cottages in the middle, the ones around that whadyacallit?—that Common. I’m gonna tear down the rest of them. Too much upkeep.”

Molly’s heart stopped. Lilies of the Field wasn’t on the Common. Her pink, blue, and yellow nursery cottage would be torn down. She abandoned the toiletry baskets. “You can’t tear those cottages down! They’re historic! They’re—”

“The fishing’s real good around here,” Kevin cut in, shooting her a frown. “Large- and small-mouth bass, perch, bluegill. I heard a guy in town talk about a seven-pound pike he pulled out of the lake last week.”

Eddie patted his stomach and belched. “I can’t wait to get out on that boat.”

“This lake is too small for what you want,” Molly said desperately. “There’s a strict limit to how big an outboard motor you can use. You can’t even water-ski.”

Kevin shot her a pointed look. “I don’t think Eddie plans to cater to the water-skiing crowd.”