"You think I I need it?" Cicero said. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him surprised before. There really was a first time for everything. "What would I need a gun for?" need it?" Cicero said. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him surprised before. There really was a first time for everything. "What would I need a gun for?"

"You operate a cash business," I told him, "in a public housing building."

"Thanks for the thought, but no," Cicero said. "I don't like guns."

"You don't have to like it," I said. "But in a place like this-"

"In case you weren't aware," Cicero interrupted, "many people who live in public housing are working parents. Or senior citizens. The rate of church attendance-"

"I get your point," I said, setting the gun down on the table, into a kind of psychological escrow between us. "It doesn't really matter where you live. You keep cash in your home, and people know that. That's a risk in any neighborhood."

"No," Cicero said. "People here look out for each other, and they respect what I do. I've helped many of them." He saw that I was about to speak again and raised his hands. "I understand the point you're making. I do. But I won't arm myself against my own patients."

"You open your door to strangers, no questions asked," I said.

"I open my door to people in need," he said. "The elderly, the indigent."

"Can you honestly tell me you've never treated someone who was injured in the commission of a crime, or couldn't seek treatment in an ER because they were wanted by the authorities?"

"I don't ask those kind of questions," he said.

"That's my point," I said.

"I'm not worried about that," Cicero said. "I'm a very good judge of people."

"Really?" I said. "Did you know I'm a cop?"

The words seemed to hang in the air between us for a long time.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he said.

I nodded.

He believed me. Behind his dark eyes, all the evidence was aligning. "When you first came here," he said slowly, "were you gathering information for an arrest?"

"Yes," I said.

"The cold was a pretext."

"Yes."

"I see," Cicero said. "Get out of here."

"What?" I said. There had been no change in his expression.

"You lied to me," Cicero said. "You came to me asking for help. I took you on faith, and you lied to me."

The literal excuse was on the tip of my tongue, that he'd never asked outright what I did for a living, but it sounded small and weak to my own ears.

"I lied for for you, too," I said. "I've sheltered you from arrest and prosecution." you, too," I said. "I've sheltered you from arrest and prosecution."

"Why?" Cicero said. "Because you pity me?"

"No, of course not," I said quickly. "I just didn't think you deserved to be in prison."

"In case you've been missing the subtle nuances, I'm already in a prison," Cicero said. "But catching subtle nuances isn't your strong point."

This was something different, a shift in tone.

"You think you weren't lying to me because you never said outright that you weren't a cop," he said. "You tell yourself you're not having an affair because you don't sleep with me anymore."

I felt as though I'd swallowed too much ice water. "Cicero," I began, but already I saw it was hopeless. "Will you at least keep the gun?"

"No," Cicero said.

I picked it up off the table, feeling heat crawling on my skin, under my face, on the back of my neck. He watched me.

At the door, I said, "Cicero, is this about what happened to your brother?"

"Goodbye, Sarah," he said.

Marlinchen surprised me when I came home that night by suggesting a gla.s.s of wine out under the magnolia tree. I was about to tell her that I didn't think it wise that she made a habit of wine at the end of the day, but she must have seen it coming, because she corrected me. "I meant wine for you, and I'd have a ginger ale or something," she said. when I came home that night by suggesting a gla.s.s of wine out under the magnolia tree. I was about to tell her that I didn't think it wise that she made a habit of wine at the end of the day, but she must have seen it coming, because she corrected me. "I meant wine for you, and I'd have a ginger ale or something," she said.

As we emerged from the French doors, I nearly collided with Aidan, who was out on the deck without the light on.

"What are you doing out here?" Marlinchen asked him.

"Just getting some air," Aidan said.

"Oh," Marlinchen said, accepting it. But I saw the narrow outline of his lighter in the front of his jeans, and I knew he'd been just about to sneak a cigarette. To cover his tracks, I spoke up. "You know what I was noticing yesterday?" I said, looking up at the roofline. "Your house."

"Oh, G.o.d," Marlinchen said, following my gaze. "Does it need some kind of expensive repairs?"

"No," I said. "I was just thinking that whoever did the repairs, after the lightning strike, did a really good job. I've seen it from all angles, and I can't even identify the spot where it was repaired. Where exactly was it hit?"

It was Aidan who spoke. "Lightning struck the house?" he asked. "When was this?"

"You must remember," Marlinchen said, surprised. "Back when we were kids. It was really loud."

But there was no recognition on Aidan's face. "It was that long ago?" he said. "I mean, are you sure I was living here then?"

Marlinchen nodded. "Oh, yes. This was before Colm was born. It was that night when Mother got so upset. She was crying, remember?" When it was clear that he didn't, she shook her head. "Boys. You can sleep through anything."

Just then, Colm's voice interrupted. "Marlinchen!" His disembodied voice floated through the window.

Marlinchen made a little face, as if to apologize for the interruption. "What?" she said loudly, leaning slightly toward the open window and her out-of-sight brother.

"We can't find Donal's, you know, his sign-up form!"

Whatever it was that Donal was registering for- a sports league or summer school- Marlinchen seemed to be familiar with it. "Duty calls," she said to us. "I'll be right back."

I stopped her. "Wait," I said. "You didn't answer my question, about what part of the house was struck."

Marlinchen paused, with her hand on the door. "Sorry," she said. "After all this time, I can't remember."

She went in. I turned back to Aidan.

"You know," I said, "if lightning really did strike your house, you shouldn't have been able to sleep through it."

"I believe you," Aidan said. "When I was living in Georgia, lightning hit a tree about a hundred yards from where I was working. That was loud enough to put the fear of G.o.d into me, and a hundred yards was a pretty safe distance."

"Maybe you weren't at home that night," I suggested. "Could it have happened during the time that you were in the hospital?"

"The hospital?" Aidan echoed.

"When you lost your finger," I explained. "That would have been around the same time, according to what Marlinchen says."

This did not clear up Aidan's confusion. "I don't think I was ever in the hospital," he said. "I mean, it was just a finger. It's grisly, but there's not much you can do for an injury like that. Stop the bleeding, save the finger if you can, amputate if you can't. It's not like you'd need the ICU."

"No," I said, seeing that he was right. But hadn't Marlinchen said that Aidan had gone away for a time?

Quick footsteps announced Marlinchen's return, and she emerged onto the back deck. "Ready?" she said to me.

We walked down to the magnolia tree, to sit in full view of the moonlit waters of the lake. Sitting cross-legged, I opened the wine bottle and poured some into a plastic cup. The first swallow burned a warm path down my throat.

"Other than his speech difficulties," Marlinchen said, "Dad was looking really good yesterday. Didn't you think so?"

"Sure," I said, although I had little basis for comparison, other than the photos I'd seen of younger, healthier Hughs.

I swallowed more wine and lay back, the dark form of the last magnolia blossom nodding above me. For a while, we didn't speak. A bulky, graceful black shadow swept overhead, not far from the lake's banks. An owl, hunting by night.

Then Marlinchen said, "Are you okay, Sarah?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked.

"You seemed a little"- she wavered one hand in the air-"a little off when you came in tonight."

When I didn't say anything, she spoke again, and this time more carefully. "You never talk about your husband," she said. "It's like he's dead, instead of in prison."

A single magnolia petal fell from the tree and lay between us, creamy white at its wide end, smudged magenta at the inner tip.

"When we talked about Shiloh," I said, "I just said he was in Wisconsin. I don't remember telling you he was in prison."

Even in the dimness I saw Marlinchen's face begin to stain its familiar pink.

"I was curious," she said. "I ran your name through a search engine."

"Fair enough," I said. "But you also could have asked me. I would have told you."

But my reference to Shiloh, that night, had been meant to deceive, I realized, and now I was ashamed of that. Unshaded, unadulterated truth was in short supply in the Hennessy household, and I hadn't really helped matters by adding half-truths of my own. Maybe somewhere in the moral calculus it had made a difference.

"I should have been up-front with you," I said. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said.

"I guess I don't talk about him because I don't talk with with him. He hasn't written to me for several months." him. He hasn't written to me for several months."

"That's awful," she said. "Why not?"

I picked up the magnolia petal and stroked it with my thumb. Its texture was somewhere between velvet and candle wax. "I remind Shiloh of things he'd rather forget," I said. "When I was looking for him, I found out something about him he didn't want me to know, and it opened up an old wound for him."

"What did you find out?" Marlinchen said.

"That belongs to him," I said. "It's not mine to share."

"So when he gets out, what'll you do?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said.

Sharp surprise registered on her features. I'd given the wrong response.

"You think adults always know the answers?" I said.

"Well, no," she admitted. "It's just that... you seem so certain about everything."

"No," I said. "Cops aren't really encouraged to second-guess themselves, but I make missteps all the time." I was thinking about Cicero, and the little .25 now resting in the glove compartment of my car. "You try to help people, and sometimes it seems they don't really want to be helped."

Marlinchen nodded as if she knew what I was saying, although I doubted she really could. "Have you ever thought about doing something else for a living?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Why not?"

"It's the only thing I'm trained for," I said.

She wasn't satisfied. "But why?"

"Why what?"

"It wasn't always always the only thing you're trained for. At some point you made a decision to get trained for it. That's why you dropped out of college, right? To go into police work?" the only thing you're trained for. At some point you made a decision to get trained for it. That's why you dropped out of college, right? To go into police work?"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "When I left school, the last thing on my mind was becoming a cop."

"What changed your mind?"

Those who go into law enforcement have a list of stock answers; generally, the same ones they give during the interview part of the application process: I want to help people, every day there's a new challenge, I hate the thought of working at a desk. I want to help people, every day there's a new challenge, I hate the thought of working at a desk. I didn't use any of them. I didn't use any of them.