toward the rear of the house, we took a quick walk around the property before the sun disappeared completely. “It gets dark early, here,” my father said. “I remember that.”
“Only in the fall and winter,” I said. “Not all year round.”
“I suppose I could do some raking tomorrow.”
“Mom would like that. She hates to rake.”
“I remember that. She always had me do all the raking.”
“Well, you or that boy across the street.”
“Right.” My father tightened the scarf around his neck, even though it was warm for a late October evening. “Remember when you were little you used to crawl into the pile of leaves?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Other kids always wanted to jump on leaves, apparently, but you used to burrow into them. Stay inside them for hours. You don’t remember that?”
“Kind of.”
“You were such a strange little girl. Before you got your nose into books we used to think we’d given birth to a wild animal. You barely smiled. You’d creep around outside for hours. You made animal sounds. We used to call you our fox girl, and say that you were being raised by humans. Hope we didn’t cock you up too bad.”
“You did okay,” I said as a little bit of rain began to fall out of the sky. “You’re letting me get my parents back together. The dream of every child of divorce.”
“That wasn’t your dream, was it?” my father said as we turned and headed back to the house, dark except for the light coming from the kitchen.
“God, no. I was only joking. Besides, you’re not getting back together, I hope. Just living together. Mutual parasitism. Isn’t that the plan?”
“Yes, that’s the plan. Peace and quiet. Maybe write one more book. Maybe not. I just want to live out the rest of my life and not hurt anybody. That’s all I’m really hoping for.”
Dinner went well. My mother roasted a chicken and my father didn’t say anything bad about it, even though it was overcooked. We drank a single bottle of wine among the three of us, and, afterward, my father offered to clean up, saying he’d clean up after every meal. “I can’t cook, Sharon, you know that, but I’m happy to clean.”
She rolled her eyes, but just at me. My father was already clearing the table, making careful stacks by the sink. We went to the living room; there was a television in there now, something we’d never had when I was a child. I mentioned it. “For PBS,” my mother said as we sat on opposite sides of the worn-out couch. I thought we’d talk about my father, but my mother told me in exhaustive detail about a glowing review of some artist she used to know. “I never thought much of him, but I guess I was wrong all along, at least according to the New York Times.” I listened to her, and I thought that this crazy arrangement between my mother and father just might work, at least for a little while. Over their years of separation they had come to mean less and less to each other, and that might allow them to live together. They didn’t love each other enough to hurt each other.
I left the following day after breakfast. I was in no rush and turned north at Hartford to drive up through the Pioneer Valley, eventually connecting with Route 2 and driving back to Winslow along more scenic routes. It really was my favorite time of year, the blustery air filled with dead leaves, the houses decorated for Halloween. One week ago I had learned of Ted Severson’s death, and now that whole sordid chapter of my life was closed. Miranda and Brad were gone as well, and I had gotten away with it. Any anxiety I had had about being caught was gone. Now, I just felt relaxed, and full of power. I had even enjoyed spending time in my parents’ company.
The murders had become a big story; from what I gathered, Kennewick had been flooded with reporters, all trying to untangle the story of the glamorous young couple murdered within one week of each other. Brad Daggett had not been found, and he never would be. If they’d located the truck, that hadn’t made the news. He had killed both Ted and Miranda, and forensic evidence would prove it. And he would never be found to tell his story.
I thought about what my father had said to me the day before—how he wanted to