Charlie waited for his mother to round the side of the house, then leaned in close to the window and whispered, “I’ll be back. I’ll figure this out.”

Annie was again pretty wrapped up in her thoughts once she was behind the wheel and Charlie was belted in in the backseat.

Maybe, she said to herself, this was why John had told her not to go. Because this get-away-from-it-all house had been where some poor woman’s mind had snapped. But so what? Like Daniel had said, if it hadn’t happened here, it would have happened someplace else.

“For fuck’s sake, stop it,” she said under her breath, quietly enough that Charlie had not noticed.

John had not told her not to come here. She’d had a dream about John telling her not to come here. Get a grip, lady. She gave her head a shake.

It was about a five-mile drive to Fenelon, which was the closest town that amounted to more than a gas station, a church, and an antique store. It actually amounted to much more. With a population of about six thousand, it had half a dozen gas stations, a decent commercial strip as you entered with a Dunkin’ Donuts, a Burger King, a Home Depot, and a Wegmans grocery store. The center of town had more charm, with a green that ran down the middle of the main street, lots of trees, and a couple dozen small stores and eateries, many of which chose to use the quaint spelling of “shoppe.” There was the Card Shoppe and the Sandwich Shoppe and the Yarn Shoppe and, of course, Ye Olde Barber Shoppe.

Daniel had mentioned a place called Jake’s Hardware (and not, refreshingly, Jake’s Hardware Shoppe), where she might find a bike for Charlie. Annie thought they would make that their first stop, then scout a place for lunch.

“Keep your eye out for this Jake’s place,” Annie said.

As they cruised slowly down the main street heading west, Charlie called out, “Other side!” She made a turn at the next intersection, came down the east side, and nosed the BMW into an angled parking spot four shops past Jake’s. Once they were out of the car, their walk to the store took them past a bakery, an antiques store, a card shop, and a shoe repair. Annie glanced into the antiques store as they passed. She’d spotted a tall, spinning rack of paperbacks in there, the kind supermarkets and drugstores used to have. Annie recalled the rack at her neighborhood Rite Aid when she was growing up, how it squeaked when she turned it.

A jingling bell over the door announced their arrival at Jake’s. There were aisles of paint and tools and gardening gear and plumbing and electrical supplies and just about anything else someone might need for their household, but there were no bikes in sight.