“Get whatever you want,” he said to her anytime they went out. It had given him great pride to be able to say that. He beamed like a little boy who’d just tied his shoes for the first time. Mastro’s was the first restaurant, but not the last, that Sherri had been to without prices on the menu. It struck her like a swift blow that she’d have to look at prices, and very carefully, for the rest of her life. She never should have ordered this dish. She had lost her appetite anyway. She cut into an asparagus spear.

We’ll have to get rid of her. No mirth when Bobby said that. Madison Miller was a piece of business that must be attended to, like filling out invoices and managing the fleet of trucks.

Eventually Sherri managed to eat her meal, and the good meat and the good shrimp got to work soaking up the alcohol, and so by the time she was driving the Acura back across the causeway she felt almost normal. (Many of the ladies seemed to have carpooled, so it was a lonely business, climbing into the Acura all on her own, though she did manage a quick good-bye to her savior.) The moon, almost full, was winking above the salt marshes, and she lowered the window to take in the very particular briny smell of the summer evening. She began to feel almost peaceful, and when she parked in front of the half-house on Olive Street she was looking forward to telling Katie all about the restaurant. Maybe they could go there one evening soon and sit on the more casual side, near the bar, and share two of the small plates. (The flatbread had looked very good.)

She called Katie’s name as she unlocked the door and entered the house. Every light in the house was on, and the living room, where she thought Katie would be watching television, was empty. Her pulse started to race. She called Katie’s name again, then again, and she heard some reply—as quiet as the mewing of a kitten—from upstairs. The hall light was on too, and the lights in her bedroom and Katie’s as well.

“Katie-kins?” Instantly Sherri was 100 percent sober, with every hair, every pore and fiber of her body, on high alert. Katie was sitting cross-legged in the very corner of her very bright bedroom, her knees drawn up and into her chest. She had pulled the comforter from her bed to cover herself. Sherri rushed to Katie’s side.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” said Katie. “I just got scared.”

We’ll have to get rid of her, came the fragment of memory, floating along on the summer evening, and Sherri felt all of her collective terror gather itself and sluice through her.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I shouldn’t—”