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Now come on out,” Miles said into the microphone. “I just want to talk.” Finally, after another minute, two boys—the second a few years younger than the first—peeked out from either side of the opening where the front door used to be. Moving with exaggerated slowness, they set their guns off to the side and, hands thrust high in the air, stepped out. Miles suppressed a grin. Shaky and pale, they looked as if they believed they were going to be a source of target practice any second. Once they’d descended the broken steps, he stood from behind the car and holstered his gun. When they saw him, they stutter-stepped for a moment, then slowly continued forward. Both were dressed in faded blue jeans and torn-up sneakers, their faces and arms dirty. Country kids. As they inched forward, they kept their arms thrust above their heads, elbows locked. They’d obviously seen too many movies. When they got close, Miles could see that both of them were practically crying. Miles leaned against his car and crossed his arms. “You boys doin’ some hunting?” The younger one—ten, Miles guessed—looked to the older one, who met his gaze. They were clearly brothers. “Yes, sir,” they said in unison. “What’s in the house there?” Again they looked at each other. “Sparrows,” they finally said, and Miles nodded. “You can put your hands down.” Again they exchanged glances. Then they lowered their arms. “You sure you weren’t going after any owls?” “No, sir,” the older boy said quickly. “Just sparrows. There’s a whole bunch of ’em in there.” Miles nodded again. “Sparrows, huh?” “Yes, sir.” He pointed in the direction of the rifles. “Those twenty-twos?” “Yes, sir.” “That’s a little much for sparrows, isn’t it?” Their looks were guilty this time. Miles eyed them sternly. “Now look . . . if you were owl hunting, I’m not gonna be too happy. I like owls. They eat the rats and the mice and even snakes, and I’d rather have an owl around than any of those creatures, especially in my yard. But I’m pretty sure from all that shooting you were doing that you didn’t get him yet, now, did you?”

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There, they talked for a long time, or rather Sarah talked. Maureen mainly listened, unable to mask the concern she felt. Her eyes widened and occasionally filled with tears; she squeezed Sarah’s hand a dozen times. “Oh . . . that’s justterrible, ” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “What aterrible day.” “I thought so.” “Well . . . would it help if I told you to try to look on the bright side?” “There is no bright side, Mom.” “Sure there is.” Sarah raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Like what?” “Well, you can be certain that they won’t live here after they get married. Your father would have them tarred and feathered.” Despite her mood, Sarah laughed. “Thanks a lot. If I ever see him again, I’ll be sure to let him know.” Maureen paused. “You’re not planning on that, are you? Seeing him, I mean.” Sarah shook her head. “No, not unless I can’t help it.” “Good. After what he did to you, you shouldn’t.” Sarah simply nodded before leaning back against the bench. “So, have you heard from Brian lately?” she asked, changing the subject. “He’s never in when I call.” Maureen followed Sarah’s lead without complaint. “I talked to him a couple of days ago, but you know how it is. Sometimes, the last thing you want to do is talk to your parents. He doesn’t stay on the phone long.” “Is he making friends?” “I’m sure he is.” Sarah stared out over the water, thinking about her brother for a moment. Then: “How’s Daddy?” “The same. He had a checkup earlier this week and he seems to be doing fine. And he’s not as tired as he used to be.” “Is he still exercising?” “Not as much as he should, but he keeps promising me that he’s going to get serious about it.” “Tell him that I said he has to.” “I will. But he’s stubborn, you know. It would be better if you told him. If I tell him, he thinks I’m nagging.” “Are you?” “Of course not,” she said quickly. “I just worry about him.” Out in the marina, a large sailboat was heading slowly toward the Neuse River, and they both sat in silence, watching. In a minute, the bridge would swivel open to allow it passage and traffic on either side would begin to back up. Sarah had learned that if she was ever running late for an appointment, she could claim that she “got caught on the bridge.” Everyone in town from doctors to judges would accept the excuse without question, simply because they had used it themselves. “It’s good to hear you laugh again,” Maureen murmured after a moment. Sarah glanced sideways at her. “Don’t look so surprised. There was a while there when you didn’t. A long while.” Maureen touched Sarah’s knee gently. “Don’t let Michael hurt you anymore, okay? You’ve moved on—remember that.” Sarah nodded almost imperceptibly, and Maureen pressed on with the monologue that Sarah had practically memorized by now. “And you’ll keep moving on, too. One day you’ll find someone who’ll love you as you are—” “Mom . . .” Sarah interrupted, stretching out the word and shaking her head. Their conversations these days seemed always to come back to this. For once, her mother caught herself. She reached for Sarah’s hand again, and even though Sarah pulled it away at first, she persisted until Sarah relented. “I can’t help it if I want you to be happy,” she said. “Can you understand that?” Sarah forced a smile, hoping it would satisfy her mother. “Yeah, Mom, I understand.” On Monday, Jonah began the process of settling into the routine that would come to dominate much of his life over the next few months. When the bell rang, officially ending the school day, Jonah walked out with his friends but left his backpack in the classroom. Sarah, like all the other teachers, went outside to make sure kids got in the proper cars and onto the right buses. Once everyone was on the buses and the cars were pulling out, Sarah wandered over to where Jonah was standing. He stared wistfully at his departing friends. “I bet you wish you didn’t have to stay, huh?” Jonah nodded. “It won’t be so bad. I brought some cookies from home to make it a little easier.” He thought about that. “What kind of cookies?” he asked skeptically. “Oreos. When I was going to school, my mom always used to let me have a couple when I got home. She said it was my reward for doing such a good job.” “Mrs. Knowlson likes to give me apple slices.” “Would you rather have those tomorrow?” “No way,” he said seriously. “Oreos are way better.” She motioned in the direction of the school. “C’mon. You ready to get started?” “I guess so,” he mumbled. Sarah reached out, offering her hand. Jonah looked up at her. “Wait—do you have any milk?” “I can get some from the cafeteria, if you want.” With that, Jonah took her hand and smiled up at her for a moment before they headed back inside. • • • While Sarah and Jonah were holding hands, heading toward the classroom, Miles Ryan was ducking behind his car and reaching for his gun, even before the echo from the last shot had died. And he intended to stay there until he figured out what was going on. There was nothing like gunfire to get the old ticker pumping—the instinct for self-preservation always surprised Miles with both its intensity and its rapidity. The adrenaline seemed to enter his system as if he were hooked to a giant, invisible IV. He could feel his heart hammering, and his palms were slick with sweat. If he needed to, he could put out a call saying he was in trouble, and in less than a few minutes the place would be surrounded by every law enforcement officer in the county. But for the time being, he held off. For one thing, he didn’t think the gunfire was directed at him. That he’d heard it wasn’t in question, but it had sounded muffled, as if it had originated from somewhere deep in the house.