“A pleasure,” she said, offering a hand. She stayed on the porch and watched until he had crossed the road and gone back into his own house.

Six

“That is one fucked-up story,” Finnegan said. He’d phoned Annie not long after she had emailed him a thank-you for setting up the house, and listened to the tale of the man from across the road. “Now I feel like I should have found you someplace different.”

“It’s okay,” Annie said. “I shouldn’t even have brought it up, but it was too strange not to share. I mean, it happened a long time ago. More than a couple of decades.”

“But still, if I’d had any clue . . . Candace certainly didn’t mention it.”

“Why would she? Someone had a medical event in the house. How many houses can you think of where something like that hasn’t happened? That’s life.”

“I guess.”

“I do kind of wish he hadn’t told me. I came up here to get away from sadness, but maybe there’s a lesson there. You can’t escape it. You have to learn to live with it. For all I know, someone died in our Bank Street place.” She laughed. “Maybe even Sid Vicious.”

“You’d have wanted to put up a plaque or something.”

“Actually, he died farther up the street, at number sixty-three. How’d you even get onto this house in the first place?”

Finnegan said, “Funniest thing. Someone new down in marketing, there was a meeting, he dropped by, poked his head in the door, heard I was looking for a spot for you for the summer. He was from up this way, knew about it. I checked it out and it looked perfect.”

“The studio space is very nice. Skylights and the whole deal. You stocked it well, you manipulative son of a bitch.”

With forced sincerity, he said, “Only trying to help. My intentions were purely honorable.”

“Of course they were.”

Finnegan wrapped things up with, “If you need anything, anything at all, just call. Maybe I’ll surprise you with a visit one day.”

“Love you, Fin,” she said, and once she was done, shouted, “Charlie! Let’s go!”

When he didn’t answer, she went to the front hall and called up to the second floor for him. When that produced no response, she went out onto the porch and called for him.

“Where the hell is he?” she said under her breath.

She started to walk down to the road, but before she’d gotten very far she decided to take a look around back. And there, sure enough, was Charlie, standing on a pile of wood, peering through the grimy window of that shed he’d been so curious about.

“Hey!”

Charlie’s head turned.

“You want a bike or not?”

“One second!” he shouted.