A small silver wash of light crept into the bedroom from the hallway. Courtney followed it, allowed the glow to lead her from the bedroom into the hallway and living room beyond. He was there again, standing sentinel at the big picture window. The near full moon backlit Zach; he was but a blank, black form. He’d changed — grown distant, like something seeped into his blood since they’d arrived at the house.

“Zach? Come to bed, babe.” Courtney approached, reached out with her fingers and touched his arm. Cold. “Zach?”

He turned, spilling his gaze over one shoulder. “That field, Court. The hollow field. Look, it’s swelling.”

She slid next to him, wrapping her hand around his naked forearm. From the picture window, they had a fine view of the field — a darkling plain of black under the white fragmented moon. In the center of their frame, about fifty yards up from the road, the field did swell, a mild slope maybe, but definitely a lump in the earth that wasn’t there a week ago. Courtney brought her free hand to her stomach and caressed her own swelling.

“You should get some sleep.”

Zach’s head bobbed absently.

Courtney crossed the room in front of him, but stopped at the hallway. He had only budged a few feet from where he previously stood. “Zach?” When he turned, Courtney flinched at the silver-grey wash of his skin. Just the moon, she thought.

“It’s beautiful, really, out here. I went to the field, touched some of that dirt this afternoon. I don’t ever want to leave.”

“Today, Mom. I told him I would leave today, after he meets with the realtor. Either he comes with me, or…” Courtney switched the cell phone to her other ear so she could work the fuel pump. “Sorry, I’m filling the car…no Mom, the gas fumes aren’t going to hurt the baby…love you, too. I’ll call when I — we get home.”