And then we heard something else, the sound muffled a bit by windows and walls, but there it was: somebody was coughing. Not just coughing-think of a dark room without doors and a person trapped inside, trying to fight his way out. It went on and on, a full minute at least, and when it finally ended, the silence felt permanently shattered, like the eerie quiet after somebody breaks a glass.

“Jesus Christ almighty.” Joe shuddered, his face gone a little gray. He rose to place his empty mug in the sink. “If I ever sound like that…” He rubbed the back of his head. “He shouldn’t even be here. What was Hal thinking?”

“Where else should he be?”

Joe braced his back against the sink. “The hospital, for instance? Someplace near a hospital?” The coughing started up again, and once again we held fast; there wasn’t anything else you could do but ride it out, which only made me feel worse-sorry for Harry, sorry for myself, sorry for Joe, and guilty as hell besides.

“God, listen to that. He may actually die here, you know. Right in that cabin, tonight.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants.”

Joe folded his arms over his chest. “Probably it is. Actually, no. I have no idea what he wants. The great Harry Wainwright. How should I know what a guy like that wants?”

“He’s dying, Joe. He’s sick and he’s dying. What does it matter?”

The question caught him off guard; I wished I hadn’t asked it, or at least asked it the way I had, so impatiently, as if everything were simple. Joe turned his back to me and began to wash out the mugs.

“Joe, I’m sorry. Let me do that.”

He put the mugs in the drying rack and pointed his eyes out the window. Was he doing it too, sending his mind out there to say good-bye?

“Forget it,” he said finally. “It’s all done.” He turned then and dried his hands on a towel. “You know, it’s actually a good thing he owns the place. At least that way we’re not responsible if anything does happen.”

“I know you, and that’s not what you’re thinking.” I stood and went to him. “Know something else? You’re a good man, for doing this. You were before, you always have been, and you are now.” He wasn’t looking at me, so I made him do this, with a kiss that tasted of tea and Scotch. “Now off to bed with you. It’ll be a big day tomorrow.”

“You coming?”

“In a bit. I thought I’d fix a basket and take it over to their cabin.”

His eyes tightened on my face. “Luce-”

“A basket, Joe. What’s the harm?”

“That’s not what I was talking about.” His voice was soft. He gingerly brushed my cheek with his thumb and showed me: it came away wet. I couldn’t have said how long I’d been crying or even why.

“Mystery tears,” I said. “For this place. For Harry. For all of us, really. Not bad tears.” I tried to smile and found I could. “Just the tears of a tired wife.”

He brushed some strands of hair from my face. “Hal knows where the kitchen is. Let them fend for themselves. Come to bed.”

I leaned my head into his chest. His shirt smelled like fish, and smoke, and the antiperspirant he’d always used, lime and something cinnamony-what Joe smelled like, after a day.

“You know, I think Jordan and Kate…” I said, and didn’t finish.

I felt his back and shoulders tense a little: a bear keeping watch on his cub, I thought, and loved this about him, as I always had. “Did Kats say something to you?”

“No.” I breathed into his shirt. Maybe this was what I’d really been thinking about, all along. “It’s just a feeling, really. Mother’s intuition. Kind of a vibe she’s giving off, you know?”

“A vibe, huh.”

I poked a finger into his chest. “Don’t laugh.”

“Who’s laughing?” He nodded above me. “Jordan and Kate. I guess I’ll have to think awhile on that. Or not. Their business, I guess.”

“She’s still our Kats. It’s okay to take an interest.” I leaned in a little more. “Does the age thing bother you?”

“We don’t even know if there’s anything going on, Luce.”

“Supposing there was. He’s thirty. I checked.”

“You checked.”

I heard myself sigh. “The employment files, Joe.”

“You’re kidding. We actually pay him?”

“Yes, and frankly I can’t believe how little. That boy is long overdue for a raise. Though I guess that’s a moot point now. Quit fooling around.”

“Okay.” He gave my shoulders a bit of a squeeze. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Good. It shouldn’t. It’s Jordan we’re talking about here. And we love Jordan, do we not?”

He thought another moment. “I have to say I’m a bit surprised, though. I never really saw her with someone like that. You know, somebody from up here.”

It was my turn to laugh. “God, Joe.” I pulled away and looked into his puzzled face. “You can still be the thickest man alive.”

He frowned good-naturedly, his eyes wide and dark, still uncomprehending. “What are you talking about?”

Twenty years. How could he not know?

“I chose you, didn’t I?”

From the sound of Harry’s coughing I knew that somebody, Hal probably, would be up most of the night to tend to him, so I made a thermos of strong coffee and assembled some fried chicken and rhubarb pie left over from dinner, put it in a basket with plates and cups and napkins, and stepped outside.

The moon was down, and the air was cool and still. I found my way along the trace between the two rows of cabins, nearly all of them dark by now, their occupants snoring away. The only exception was cabin twelve, which had been booked by a bunch of lawyers on some kind of retreat; approaching, I heard the low, rough voices of men talking and drinking on the porch, and smelled the dry sweetness of cigar smoke. It was an aroma I secretly liked, even as I knew I would hear about it the next day from the other guests. “Was somebody smoking a cigar last night?” someone would ask in the dining room, loud enough that the offender, if he was in the room, would have the opportunity to publicly repent. As far as I knew, though, it was still perfectly legal to smoke a cigar in the Maine woods-Joe had smoked his share until I’d finally gotten him to quit-and none of my business. I thought I might stop in to tell them they might want to keep their voices down, but as I passed, the talking ceased; three of them waved from the porch and gave me a polite and nearly simultaneous “good evening,” like a group of tipsy teenagers trying to sound sober. A bunch of good boys, these lawyers, and so I waved back and continued on my way.

Cabin ten, where I’d put Hal and his little girl, was dark, January long since tucked in, but the porch light was on at number nine, where Harry and Frances were staying. As I came around the corner I saw Hal, sitting in an Adirondack chair in a cone of light and swirling insects, reading a magazine with his boots up on the railing. A cigar would have done something about those bugs, and I thought of asking the lawyers if they could spare one. But then Hal looked up with an expression of sudden alertness and put one hand over his brow to peer into the darkness beyond the lighted porch.

“Franny?”

I stepped up to the rail with my basket. “Evening, Hal.”

Hal unfolded his long limbs from the chair and came over to meet me, bending at the waist to kiss me quickly on the cheek. “Where you been keeping yourself, Luce?”

“Oh, you know.” I tried to smile. “Things to do. Sorry I couldn’t meet you when you arrived.” The cabin behind him was dark and silent, and I kept my voice low. “How’s your father doing?”

Hal took a breath and scratched his head. “Asleep, finally. Though to tell you the truth, I’m not even sure it’s really sleeping, what he’s doing. He just kind of goes away for a while. I’m taking the first shift while Franny gets a little shut-eye.”

I held up the basket for him to see. “I brought you something to tide you over.”

“That’s not the fried chicken, is it?”