It rang and rang. “What would you do if I answered that?” He was smiling and flinched when I squeezed him too hard.

His face was a few inches above mine. Some of the bristles of his beard were gold, others black. I rubbed my hand across his scratchy cheek. Then I stopped my hand and left it there.

He stared at me. Something distracted him and his head snapped up. His eyes widened. His face changed into an expression I had never seen before on him: fury. Outrage. He leaped up. Before I could say anything, he was already sprinting down the hall.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Hugh!” I grabbed my pants and stood too quickly. Again came a whoosh of dizziness. It passed slowly and I went after him.

He was in our bedroom looking frantically around. “There was someone here! He was watching us. I looked up and saw a man standing in the doorway watching us!”

“Where did he go?”

“I thought in here. But he’s not. The windows are closed… I don’t know. Jesus.”

“Should we call the police?”

“It won’t do any good if he’s not here. When he saw that I saw him, he stepped back in here but now… nothing. What the hell…”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. A man. He was in the shadows. I don’t know.” He kept checking around. He opened a closet door. He went to a window and, throwing it open, stuck his head far out and looked in every direction.

We spent a long time searching the house from top to bottom. But Hugh was much more upset about it than I. Perhaps because he had actually seen the man. What disturbed me more was that it was the second time something strange had happened in Frances’s house and we hadn’t even moved into the place yet. While we searched, I kept thinking of the little boy and his birthday party. That little beautiful boy.

“Look at this!”

An hour later I was in the kitchen making lunch when Hugh came in holding something large in his hand. Or rather his fingers—he held it far out in front of him, as if it wasn’t at all nice. I smelled it before recognizing it. A bone. The kind of big cow bone you give a dog to chew.

“Where’d you find that?”

“Under the desk in my room! But touch it—that’s what’s weird.”

I pointed to the food on the counter. “Hugh, I’m making lunch. I don’t want to touch a bone.”

He jiggled it as if trying to guess the weight. “It’s still warm. Warm and slimy. Like it was chewed five minutes ago.”

“In your room?”

“Under my desk. I haven’t seen any dog around here. But this thing is warm. Something has been chewing this bone in my room. Recently.”

I put the knife down. “Do you think it had anything to do with the man you saw this morning?”

He looked at the floor and shrugged. “You mean maybe the dog was chewing this while his master was spying on us? I don’t know. I was wondering along those same lines. It’s weirder thinking he might have had a dog with him.”

The phone rang again. I picked it up and was relieved to hear Frances Hatch’s scratchy voice on the other end. She asked how we were doing. I told her about our morning of the intruder and the warm bone.

“That house has been empty a long time, Miranda. Who knows who’s been going in and out of there over the years? McCabe says he’s been watching it, but he can’t be there the whole day long. I’d call and tell him. You two be careful.”

She asked to speak to Hugh. I handed him the phone and went back to preparing our meal. When I was finished, I brought it to the table. Hugh continued talking to Frances while he ate. I was about to sit down when I realized I had to go to the bathroom.

That was one of the few annoying things about the house—there was no toilet on the ground floor. I trudged up the stairs again and walked down the hall. Approaching the bathroom, I stopped when I heard something inside: water running. The door was cracked. A moment’s hesitation before I pushed it open and felt for the switch on the wall. The light came on and I saw a thin thread of water running out of the faucet. I went over and turned it off and looked at myself in the mirror. Something else. Something else was wrong but it didn’t register for some moments. The doorknob. The old porcelain doorknob to the toilet had been warm when I touched it. I went back and put two fingers on it to be sure. Warm. How could that be if no one had touched it for hours? I took a deep breath and said a good throaty “Shit!” before I started out on my own investigation of the upstairs rooms. Although Hugh was downstairs, I still hated the idea of looking on my own but knew I must. I couldn’t be afraid of this house and I would be if I got spooked now and ran for cover. As I opened the door of our bedroom, my hand paused on the doorknob for a moment to gauge the temperature. Cool. No problem. Our bedroom, Hugh’s study, what would one day be the guest room and in time, the baby’s room, were only full of boxes and stacked-up furniture. Nothing more. No shadow men or dogs chewing bones. In Hugh’s room, I even got down on my knees and felt the floor under his desk where he said the bone had been. Nothing.

Then I did something that was strange but seemed right at the moment. I tipped my forehead till it was touching the floor. And I prayed. Or I said to someone powerful and important and in charge, “Please let everything be all right. Please let us be safe.” And then I went back downstairs to finish lunch with my love.

I watched as a red + sign slowly appeared in the middle of the blotting paper. Though I already knew, sensed, had felt it for days, it was still a storm in my head to actually see the physical proof. I was pregnant. The druggist told me these home tests were usually 98 percent sure.

I bought it at a pharmacy near my store. I’d put it in my purse and carried it around for three days, equally excited and frightened to use it. Every time I took it out and read the instructions again, turned the box over and over in my hands and shook it next to my ear as if it might have something to say, I ended up dropping it back into the bag and saying, “Later.”

After too many strange things happened—continued dizziness, fatigue, sudden nausea at the smell of coffee—I knew I had to find out what was going on inside me. At home Hugh had a book of medical symptoms. When I read those describing pregnancy—dizziness, fatigue, nausea—I closed the book and bit my lip. What would he say on hearing that it had happened so soon after we’d moved in together? Right in the middle of all the turmoil with Charlotte and his children. How would he react?

The day I decided to take the home test, we rode together into Manhattan on the train. Just past Spuyten Duyvil, I carefully curved our normal morning chitchat around to the subject of children. Hugh had been looking at a Sotheby’s catalog of rare musical instruments to be auctioned.

He drummed his fingers on the cover. “I love Fellini films and my favorite parts are when there’s a scene of a big family fest: a marriage or birthday party. Tables have been set up in an empty field and everyone’s eating, having a wonderful time. A bad local band is playing, children are running around. The wind is always blowing and crepe paper or balloons are flying around, and leaves…” Looking out the window, he blew breath against the glass and made a small patch of fog. He rubbed it away with the heel of his hand. “Sometimes you hear a train passing in the distance. A couple of sad toots.

“I want to be at those parties, with my five kids running around. They’ve eaten too much cake and are tired of sitting still. Or maybe they’re my grandchildren and I’ve got white hair and am beginning to get sleepy because I’ve had too much wine. I love the Italians. All those big families and their kids. I love kids. I’d be so happy if we had some. But of course only if you want them too.”