At last Matty looked at him. He nodded. He said, “I like her.”

He went outside and waited for the bus.

An hour later it started to snow. Jack sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window. Pale flakes falling. The cold and the silence. He kept watching the window like she might reappear, but she didn’t. He watched for a long time. Everything dulling to gray. He rubbed his eyes and shoved at them with the heels of his hands.

With his eyes closed, he could see every detail of her. The curve of her lips. Her hair in the sun, her bare skin. Smell of spice. You are all kinds of stupid, he thought. You could have been nice. You could have talked to her. You won’t see her again.

His chest felt hot, and he coughed and stood. It’s all right. You needed to get rid of her. Best thing. Besides, there’s a lot of stuff you ain’t ever gonna see again.

He took to searching the house. In the kitchen, he found Mom’s Tracfone. It didn’t have any minutes, but he could buy more. He gathered matches and two candles and the tin of peaches. A roll of duct tape. He set them on the table. What else? Some forks and spoons, sturdy cups. Can opener. From the pantry the rest of the spuds. Can of string beans. Coffee. The fry pan would take up space, but they’d need it. He got the Tupperware bowl from the cupboard and dumped out the money next to the matches.

Thirteen dollars and thirty-six cents.

When he got to the living room, he emptied the highboy and sorted the good, warm clothes from the beat-up stuff. A sparse pile. He folded up a blanket and a quilt. Two pillows. He put it all on the table and climbed the stairs. Toothbrushes and soap from the bathroom. Bandages. A comb. The soap was near new and would last awhile.

He headed for the bedroom and stood there in front of the closed door with his hand on the knob. When he opened the door, she was hanging from the ceiling fan. Her eyes gaping. He turned and checked the dresser and came away with three dollars and some change. In the closet was a duffel bag. No guns. He’d pawned the pistol and rifle long ago. He searched the dresser again, but there was nothing else worth taking. On the carpet by the bed he spotted Dad’s hunting knife and picked it up. Then he unfolded the letter on the nightstand and read the two words typed in bold across the top: PAROLE DENIED.

So this is why. This is why you did it.