glanced toward the car and suddenly flinched as if he’d been poked in the back. He gunned the engine, swung the wheel, and they sped up the road’s right-hand branch.
“Uh-oh,” Robin said.
Nate grimaced at her and shook his head. He checked the rearview mirror.
“Who was that, your girlfriend?”
“Former.”
“Does she know that?”
“Yeah. We broke up. It’s all over.” He looked again at the rearview.
Robin twisted around and peered out the back window. The road behind them was empty. “It’s over but it isn’t, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you’re afraid she might come after us…”
“You never know with her. She does crazy things sometimes.”
“A jilted woman with tendencies toward craziness. Great. I should’ve ducked.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Why not? You’re worried.”
Nate glanced at the rearview mirror again, then swept the car across the downhill lane and gunned it up a driveway. He downshifted. The engine thundered as the car climbed the steep slope. The narrow, curving driveway was bordered by trees that kept out all but spots and patches of sunlight. Robin couldn’t see any house.
“Did you dump her because of me?” she asked.
“There were other things, but…yeah, I guess you entered into it.”
“Does she know that?”
“She does now, I suppose.”
“Wonderful.”
They roared over the crest of the slope. Straight ahead, beyond a lawn shadowed by several trees, stood a dark wood house that reminded Robin of ski lodges she’d seen during her travels. Not quite as huge as a ski lodge, but big, with steeply slanted roofs, a covered porch, and high balconies.
“Neat,” she said. “Makes me want to yodel.”
“Feel free.”
“I don’t want to ruin your ears for you.”
The driveway turned, and they followed it alongside the lawn. Nate fumbled with a remote device clipped to the sun visor. Ahead of them, a garage door began to rise. It was one of three, and nearest to the adjoining house. The engine noise swelled as the car entered the garage. Then it sputtered to silence.
Nate pulled the key from the ignition and faced Robin. “Here we are,” he said in a hushed voice. He managed a smile, but it looked awfully nervous.
Robin realized she was suddenly trembling. Her heart was thumping hard, and her chest felt tight.
“Guess we might as well go in,” Nate said.
“Guess so.” She climbed out. Her legs felt weak and shaky. She closed her door and stared over the roof of the car. Nate gave her that nervous smile again, then ducked out of sight to retrieve her banjo and pack. Robin stepped around the rear of the car. “Do you feel right about this?” she asked.
“You mean coming here?” He backed away from the door with his hands full, and kneed it shut. “I’m a little jittery, I guess.”
“About your girlfriend seeing us?”
“Former girlfriend. And no, it isn’t really that.” He set down the banjo case and pushed a button on the wall. As the garage door rumbled shut, he unlocked and opened a door into the house.
Robin picked up the banjo. She followed him inside, and saw that they had entered a large kitchen. He shut the door and set her pack on the red tile floor. She put her banjo down beside it.
She slipped her arms around him. Head back, she gazed into his eyes.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
“You too. So what have you got to be so jittery about?”
“It’s just being here with you, I guess.”
“Afraid we’ll get caught?”
“No. It’s you.”
“I make you nervous?” Robin asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good. You make me nervous too. That doesn’t make sense, does it? I mean, after the motel…”
“Maybe we’re both afraid of blowing it.”
“I think you may be right.”
“I care so much about you, Robin. It’s like…there’s so much at stake. If I screw up, somehow, and lose you…”
“I love you. If you screw up, I’ll still love you. Unless you burn the steaks.”
Thirty-five
“What do you think?” Joan asked.
Debbie, sitting at the kitchen table, looked up from half-eaten pizza that Joan had brought home for her supper. She stopped chewing. Her eyes widened.
Joan stepped closer, paused, and turned, posing like a model walking the ramp at a fashion show.
She’d spent the past half-hour in her bedroom preparing the attire: dingy sneakers with holes in the toes that she kept only for working in the garden, faded baggy blue sweatpants, a loose gray sweatshirt, and an old green stocking cap that she’d last worn a year ago when she went deep-sea fishing on a charter boat.
Even before checking herself in the bedroom mirror, she’d known the clothes didn’t look scruffy enough. The mirror confirmed it. So