The house had been spotless when she left, less than an hour before, but Greg and Shelly had made themselves at home, unloading backpacks, sleeping bags, and duffels by the door to the dining room. This was territorial marking, like a dog pissing in each corner of the yard. She wasn’t sure why they hadn’t left their stuff in the bus . . . unless they anticipated being houseguests. Oh lord, she thought.

She called, “Greg?”

“Yo!”

She crossed the kitchen and looked into the den where the three of them were sprawled, almost unrecognizable. They looked like ruffians, people who’d wandered in off the street. Greg had a scraggly beard and mustache. Patrick had never been able to grow convincing facial hair and usually ended up looking like someone on a Wanted poster. Greg had inherited the same sparse fuzz. He’d let his hair grow long, dark and frizzy and unkempt. She wondered if he knew how unattractive he looked. Or maybe that was the point.

Shelly was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch with her bare feet out in front of her while she smoked a cigarette, using one of Deborah’s Limoges saucers for an ashtray. She wore the familiar black turtleneck, torn black tights, and a long skirt. She’d kicked off her Birkenstocks and those lay in the middle of the room. Her earrings were big silver hoops. In the tangled mass of dark hair, she now sported a series of small braids with beads woven into the ends. She was no longer the petite, thin creature she’d been. She had an earthy air about her, the residual weight of two pregnancies having caught up with her.

Most alarming was the boy, Shawn, who was ten years old now, according to Deborah’s calculations. His dark hair was shaggy, worn long enough to brush his shoulders. His cheeks were so gaunt he looked like a young Abraham Lincoln. He had Shelly’s huge hazel eyes set in darkly smudged sockets, which gave his face the solemnity of a lemur’s. He was tall for his age, and very thin. His flannel shirt was pale from wear or too many runs through the washing machine. The cuffs rode above his wrists. His hands were thin and his fingers were long and delicate. His pants hung on him.