“Forget it,” Nelson said. “Come on. Dale has made this wonderful meal.”
“Don’t tell me what not to say to Jerome,” Brenda said.
“Let’s take another walk and cool off,” Dale said to Brenda. “Maybe they’d like to talk. Maybe we could use some air.”
“All right,” Brenda said, surprising Dale. She had thought Brenda would dig her heels in, but she seemed relieved by the suggestion. She got up and walked through the kitchen and into the hallway where the coats were hung. In the dark, she put on Dale’s jacket instead of her own. Dale noticed, but since they wore the same size, she put on Brenda’s without comment. Outside, Brenda realized her error when she plunged her hand in the pocket and felt the doughnut holes. “Oh, this is yours,” she said, and began to unzip the jacket.
“We wear the same size. Keep it on,” Dale said. Brenda looked at her, making sure she meant it. Then she took her fingers off the zipper. As they walked, Brenda began apologizing for Jerome. She said she’d only been guessing, back at the house. She didn’t really know what he was so angry about, though she assumed they knew that he was more fond of them than his own children—these being the daughter he’d had between Didi and Brenda, and the son whose mother was married to someone else. “He had a couple of beers on the plane. They took a bottle upstairs when they went to fix the wiring, too. Maybe he just had too much to drink,” Brenda said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dale said. She pointed at the Portsmouth light. “I like that,” she said. “In the evening I like the colorful sky, but at night I like that one little light almost as much.”
Dale tried to see her watch, but couldn’t read it. “Too late to round up Tyrone,” she said. She knew that it was, even without being able to see the time. In the distance, wind rustled the willows. They were walking where the path turned and narrowed, between the divided field. It was Dale and Nelson’s responsibility, as renters, to have the fields plowed so the scrub wouldn’t take over. In the distance, you could hear the white noise of cars on the highway. That, and the wind rustling, disguised the sound of tires until a black car with its headlights off was almost upon them. Brenda clutched Dale’s arm as she jumped in fear, moving so quickly into the grass in her high-heeled boots that she lost her balance and fell, toppling both of them. “Oh, shit, my ankle,” she said. “Oh, no.” Both were sprawled in the field, the hoarfrost on the grass crunching like wintery quicksand as they struggled to stand. A car without headlights? And after nearly sideswiping them, it accelerated. The big shadow of the car moved quickly away, crunching stones more loudly as it receded than it had on the approach.
Brenda had turned her ankle. Dale helped her up, dusting wetness from her own jacket on Brenda’s back, wanting to delay the moment when Brenda would say she couldn’t walk. “Some God-damned maniac,” Dale said. “Can you put pressure on it? How does it feel?”
“It hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken,” Brenda said.
Dale looked into the distance, Brenda’s hand still on her shoulder. “Shit,” Brenda said again. “I’d better take these things off and walk home in my tights. You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that was Jerome, zeroing in for the kill.”
“It’s something bad—” Dale began.
“I know,” Brenda said, crying now. “But the worst thing is that I’m pregnant, and I don’t dare tell him, he’s been so shitty lately. It’s like he hates me. I feel like he’d like it if my ankle was broken.”
“No,” Dale said, hearing what Brenda said, but not quite hearing it. “Something at the house down there. Janet’s house.”
Brenda’s hand seized Dale’s shoulder. “Oh, my God,” she said.
“Wait here,” Dale said.
“No! I’m coming with you,” Brenda told her.
“I’ve got a very bad feeling,” Dale said.
“We don’t know,” Brenda said. “It could have been kids—drunk, playing a game with the lights out.” From the tenuous way she spoke, it was clear she didn’t believe herself.
Slowly, helping her to walk, Brenda’s boots in one of her hands, the other around Brenda’s waist, the two of them walked until the little house came in sight. “Not exactly a wedding cake,” Brenda said, squinting at what was hardly more than a clapboard shack. There was one light on, which was an ambiguous sign: it could be good, or it could mean nothing at all.
The front door slightly ajar was the worst possible sign. Dale surprised herself by having the courage to push it open. Inside, the wood fire had burned out. A cushion was on the floor. A mug lay near it, in a puddle of whatever had been inside. The house was horribly, eerily silent. It was rare that Dale found herself surrounded by silence.
“Janet?” Dale said. “It’s Dale. Janet?”
