“A cup of tea would be nice. Your wife always brought a thermos of tea. And fresh biscuits. She was such a sweet, thoughtful young thing, even with that one hard year she had.” Charlotte gives him her sly grin again. “Did Bethie ever tell you about how when she was a teenager she got sent to the youth detention centre? She punched a girl right in the head. Gave her a concussion. Bethie beat her to a pulp. And you go on about Herman having bad blood, Doris.”

“Charlotte, my land! That’s ancient history. Adam doesn’t need to know. Bethie was a good girl. She was a sweet thing. She had spirit. Bethie was a one-of-a-kind girl.”

The shadows falling on the ground seem alive, everything spilling outside his field of vision in a full bleed. Adam can’t force this new information or this moment into a grid even though he keeps trying and trying. Elizabeth had said only that she was a tomboy growing up, how she couldn’t stand being teased. There is no gutter between the panels, no empty space between images. The panels won’t even take shape. Adam has no control over time here. He’s trapped in a documentary film about his life and it can’t even be neatly edited. His heart thuds, his breath frantic like Elizabeth’s when she was in labour with the girls, panting like an animal. An owl hoots. Far off, a coyote yips. The old ladies have been talking the whole time Adam has been thinking. Their chatter is as constant as the dry leaves whispering in the forest.

Adam looks up, beyond the overgrown foundation, and spots a small weathered wooden shack to the north of the clearing, behind a thin stand of firs. “I’m going to say again we need to turn back, ladies. We’re going to be stranded out here in the dark.” His breath steams out in the chilly air.

Charlotte looks toward the fir trees and back to the path. “But it’s Herman’s birthday. He likes to come into the woods. It’s where he goes during the hunting season.”

“But he’s in jail . . . isn’t he?” Aunt Doris asks again. She’s now completely uncertain. Maybe she was always uncertain, and Adam can finally see it — this part of him which agreed to the insanity of this trip also hears thoughts, tastes fear, senses heartbeats and can see through masks. He was blind before, that was the problem. He just saw what he wanted, but not the whole picture. There was a safe border around everything, but now there is a bleed to the edge. Adam can’t stand this. He tries to think in panels, but none come to him. He sniffs the air like a beast sensing danger.

“I have to pick up my children from the babysitter. Tomorrow’s a work day. How many times do I have to say this? For the last time, let’s turn around.” The anger in his voice echoes through the clearing.