"Oh," she said.

Her sandy hair, not worn as long as he was used to, looked stylishly tangled.

"Hi, Connie," he said.

"Come on in and join us," Freddie said heartily. To Paul it sounded forced. "I was just about to call, tell you you had an important visitor."

Paul could hear the lie in his voice and he knew that she could, too.

"Hello, Dad," she said.

Chapter Three.

"I want to see your kids in swim suits. If they don't suit up they're gonna be sorry 'cuz all the other kids're gonna be flapping around in the cool water, and they'll be high and dry, all alone. Sound good, kids?"

That's what the cop, McConlon, had said on the way to the Sundown, but fifteen minutes later he was staring into the brackish water of the motel swimming pool and nodding as though he'd found the situation to be exactly as expected.

"My guess?" he said. "The pump broke down and Mona hasn't gotten around to replacing it yet. But that's more than I know about swimming pool mechanical systems."

The Sundown Motel sat high off the road, at the end of a long, twisting driveway and in front of a green patch of woods. The building was a low-slung plaster bunker, two stories accented by an ugly metal balcony that had started to rust. It was dirty white with a little pink trim, vaguely Latin in design, as if trying to entice vacationers into thinking they'd stumbled upon a Mexican villa. But not trying too hard. The cars in the parking area looked as beaten down as Todd's.

All the way up Darrow Road, into the town and along the dubiously named Pleasant Run Avenue that twisted between tall pines and oaks and green brush, Officer McConlon-"Marty" to his new friends-had bragged about the legendary hospitality afforded guests of the Sundown Motel.

"We get lots and lots of out-of-towners that Mona Dexter puts up for like twelve bucks a night, don't know how she can do it," he'd told Todd and Joy. "And she'll let the bill slide till you cash that first paycheck. I'd like to know how many motels you folks ever stayed at lets you pay when you can afford it."

Todd couldn't think of a one, but the arrangement seemed less generous after his first look at the place. Stuck out five, six miles from the nearest half-ass highway, and not really even in the town, the sad-sack feel of the building and grounds dropped the value of the deal considerably in Todd's estimation.

It was while the Dunbars and Marty McConlon and three disappointed little kids were checking out the algae-infested swimming pool that the motel owner put in her appearance. She was petite, fit and tan, with high cheekbones and a charcoal pair of eyes. McConlon introduced her as Mona Dexter.

"Pool's off-limits. Broken," she said, her voice the sultry growl of a smoker past forty who could still command attention.

Joy sidled a step closer to Todd as Mona puffed on her cigarette and looked them over without seeming to make eye contact.

"No problem," the plump cop sang out. "Hell, when you're only paying twelve a night, a pool's just frosting on the cake."

"The cake costs fourteen a night," said Mona.

"Fourteen," repeated the cop. "I see. You must have raised the rate."

Todd had a hard time reading the other man's expression. The motel owner tapped out an ash on the cracked cement that passed for a pool deck, and crushed it with a slender sandal-clad foot.

"That's alright," said the cop into the silence. "Big family like yours, you'll want two adjoining rooms with connecting doors, and Mona's got a pair like that available for eighteen a night for both."

"It's twenty now, the adjoining rooms."

Mona and the cop exchanged glances that made Todd wonder, not for the first time, what was going on. He'd initially considered the possibility that the cop dragged travelers off the highway for a commission, but that hardly seemed likely now. It didn't look like Mona Dexter even wanted the business.

Three noisy kids thudding about on the other side of the paper-thin wall and Todd and Joy still had more privacy than they'd experienced since last leaving Parkersburg seven months ago. They'd spent all too many nights with his folks in West Virginia, with her sister's family near Knoxville, and with a childhood friend in Richmond. In every case, the whole family had been packed together in a single room. They'd also spent a handful of nights in the Olds, and had been forced to bunk down in homeless shelters on two horrific occasions.

A room to themselves, even in a seedy joint like this, was a luxury to which the Dunbars were unaccustomed.

Todd sat at the cheap desk, absently pawing through empty drawers while Joy showered. No motel stationery, no postcards, not even a Gideon Bible, but what had he expected for the nineteen-dollar-a-night rate for both rooms that Marty McConlon had haggled for them?

He felt itchy and trapped as he listened with mild annoyance to Little Todd and the squealing girls releasing their pent-up energy in the next room. Todd rapped on the shared wall in an effort to lower the volume a notch so he could concentrate on the creased sheet of paper he spread flat on the desktop. It held the awkward, almost childish scribbles that marked the writing effort of the typical male. A company name and address, a boss's name and a crude map.

Marty McConlon had made some phone calls from the motel office while the Dunbars were settling in, and had come back with the scrawled information that Jack Traynor of Corwin Corrugated out on Sennett Street would be expecting him at eight o'clock the following morning, Wednesday.

Just like that, Todd had a job after months of searching, and it wasn't the end of the good news. The cop had also placed a call to the Babylon Town Hall in something called the Drake Municipal Complex and found that the Water Department did indeed need someone to answer phones. It wasn't a sure thing yet, but it looked pretty good. Paid only seven dollars an hour to start, but there'd been plenty of times the family had survived with that much as a primary income.

Yeah, things were looking up. Which made Todd wonder why he felt so uneasy.

The bathroom door clicked open, startling him out of his tense mood. He hadn't even heard the shower water being turned off.

"I was thinking," Joy said, her voice so high and girlish that Todd knew he wasn't going to like where this was going. "The kind of money we'll be making, it's not going to be long before we can afford a house. I mean, it's a possibility, right? Maybe we could start looking now. You know, just window shopping at this point. Checking out neighborhoods and schools, that sort of thing."

Todd didn't know what to say, but he finally came up with, "Houses are expensive." He was speaking to his wife's twisted reflection in the mirror, and it came out more sullen than he meant it.

"Well, not a house then. A trailer. They don't cost much."

"It's the down payment that's beyond us. And credit checks are tougher these days. Besides, we're not talking about staying here."

Joy was rubbing her wet scalp with a thin towel, but she stopped to stare at him, her mouth opening and closing. Her robe, as threadbare as the towel, opened to partly expose one heavy breast. She pulled it tighter and notched it.

"Why do you always do that?" she asked him quietly.

He frowned his confusion at his wife's distorted image.

"Why are you always so eager to point out the downside? Why can't you for once be happy with not one job, but two?"

"You don't have the job yet. The cop said it wasn't a sure thing."

"See? That's what I mean."

Todd swiveled to face her. His anger was dissipating somewhat at the thought of their private room. The kids occupied and unseen. When was the last time that had happened?

"Come here," he said, burying his irritation as deep as he knew how.

Joy sighed as if beginning her litany of reasons why now wasn't the time or place, but she plopped into his lap. Her robe fell away, once again, from that heavy breast. His mouth met hers and he tried to gauge the degree of enthusiasm with which she returned the kiss. Her lips parted slightly and she flicked at his tongue with her own.

He liked the way she was breathing now. Soft, shallow hitches. Shower moisture from her hair dripped to his face. He tried to wipe it dry without killing the moment. One hand snaked to her naked breast as furtively as he'd done it in high school. She stopped his progress like she had on too many occasions back then.

"The kids," she said, still breathing hard enough to suit him. She pulled her face away and gripped her robe with one fisted hand. "The kids."

Todd wiped her shower water from the side of his face and shimmied his hips so she'd leave his lap. The moment was over.

As she stood and moved away he said out of plum irritation, "Don't you see anything funny about this town? Why would they roll out the red carpet like this, give us two jobs and connected motel rooms on credit?"

Not that he was expecting an answer. Joy would ignore him until his mood lightened.

Fine. Todd returned his attention to the cop's scribbled directions. Could there really be so much work in this burg that they had to recruit out-of-town labor? Was it like that anywhere in America today?

"Listen," Joy ordered.

He did, then shook his head. "I don't hear anything."

"Neither do I," said Joy before flying out the door in her robe. "The kids," she said again, tossing it over her shoulder.

Chapter Four.

Hello, Dad.

Not exactly throwing herself at her father's feet, but what had he expected? His daughter Connie had met Darby Kinston when both worked at Anchor/Tatum, Darby as an account executive in the trading department and Connie still in law school and spending the summer in the firm's compliance department. They'd bonded, two attractive young women thrown together at a stodgy investment banking boutique overrun with middle-aged men.

They weren't the only ones bonding at that time. Paul liked to think that his marriage was already unraveling when he began to take notice of the twenty-seven-year-old beauty and noticing she didn't seem to mind the attention.

As Paul exited I-75 and approached the inexplicably named South Dixie Highway he thought about how poorly he'd handled that day's surprise contact with his eldest daughter. And yet it had, in many ways, seemed consistent with their personal dynamics. Not so different than the awkward way he'd interacted with each of his daughters from their teenage years forward. It seemed that the space between him and them had always been filled with stilted discourse and uncomfortable silences.

The longest silence had started just over two years ago. Paul remembered it to the day: Darby informing him that she'd missed her period that month. It wasn't late; it was nonexistent. So she'd gone out and bought an early pregnancy test kit to confirm her suspicions and the world had changed irretrievably for both of them.

He was a father-to-be at fifty. A man with three grown-or nearly grown-daughters and a forty-eight-year-old wife who wasn't the one expecting. He'd had a lot of explaining to do and it looked like he'd failed on all counts.

There was hope, though, wasn't there?

He pictured Connie after she'd blundered into Freddie Brace's office earlier that day, no idea that she'd find her father there. Coming to a standstill, mouth open and fingers fidgeting with the case file she'd been caught in the act of returning.

After such painfully awkward introductory comments as "You look good," and "I like what you've done with your hair," Paul had tried this one: "Tuck is walking now."

Not expecting much from it, Tucker Highsmith being the girl's most unexpected little brother, but her face had broken into its first honest smile. "Really?" she'd said. "I'll bet he's cute. I'd love to see him again."

Maybe that was something to build a new relationship upon.

He gasped and jerked in his seat as his phone vibrated against his crotch where he'd laid it to be sure he was aware of incoming calls.

"Yeah. Hey, Freddie, what's up?"

"You sound...startled or something."

His lawyer didn't miss a thing.

"It's nothing. Just...driving. Wasn't expecting a call, that's all."

"Oh. Okay. Listen, I wanted to..." White noise could be heard washing over the other end of the line while Freddie tried to pick his way through his thoughts. "I just wanted to make sure you were cool with Connie dropping in. I mean, it's none of my business but things seemed a little..."

Again, struggling to put words to his thoughts, but this time Paul put him out of his misery with an interruption. "No, it's fine, Freddie. Connie and I, we just, she's still a little tender, that's all."

Paul crossed the South Dixie Highway and headed deeper into the woods. Fewer cars, more scrub land, narrower, twisting roads. A sharp crunch of static on the line.

Freddie said, "She loves you, man. You raised one hell of a daughter, one hell of a human being."

He raised her? Not really. He'd been stuck at work most of the time. It had been Meredith who'd taught all three of his girls to be decent and gracious and polite. To smile even when using diplomatic language to tell their old man to fuck off for what he'd done to their mother. To grow distant and formal while avoiding phone calls and courteously and succinctly responding to emails.

"Freddie..." Paul had slipped onto the barely marked Darrow Road. It grew so narrow after a couple twists, century oaks and elms crowding the shoulder, that he was thankful he'd never seen a big rig coming the other way. He pictured himself reversing all the way back to the highway. "I never meant all of this to happen." Meaning, he supposed, the cheating, the unplanned pregnancy, the legal troubles, the divorce, the estrangement with his daughters. "Jesus," he said as it all hit him at once. "I've really screwed up, haven't I?"

His phone barked static again.

"Things happen," Freddie replied after a moment. He sounded farther away than before. "Bad things to decent people. If that wasn't the case-"

"You'd be out of business."

"Exactly," said his lawyer with a sad laugh. "But listen, man. I just called to tell you...I'm there if you need me."

A long pause followed. Nearly as long as a few of the silences between Connie and himself back in Detroit, but not nearly as awkward.

"You're not billing me for this call, are you?" Paul asked.

"I hadn't planned on it. But you're making me second-guess myself on that, asshole."

Both men laughed comfortably.

"I appreciate that. I really do," Paul said. "Now you gotta hang up so I can call Darby and tell her I'm on my way. The whole town seems to be in a cell phone dead zone so I've got to call when I can."

"Uh huh. Tell me again why you moved to Babylon, Michigan?"

Paul wore a grin as he hung up. The same uninhibited grin he'd pasted on his face while exiting the Penobscot Building and leaving Detroit as a man who'd lost all he could possibly lose and was now in full, triumphant retreat. Headed back to his new life, the one he was trying to construct upon the brightly burning bridges of all of his fucked-up yesterdays.

Chapter Five.