The cottage looked all shut up, but his big utility vehicle was parked in the driveway. I wondered if it might be possible to siphon gas out of it.

"Let's just sit in the car for a few minutes," I said. "Give him a chance to look us over."

"Okay," Mum said, turning off the motor.

We sat watching the house for any sign of activity, but no one peeked back at us through the blinds.

After a few minutes, my mother said, "I don't think there's anybody there."

"I know."

"I feel funny lurking out here."

"Well, let's go knock."

"You think so?"

"Sure, why not?" As we got out, I added, "But I think you should leave the gun in the car."

"I'll put it in my purse."

We cautiously climbed the porch and rang the bell, listening to the faint chimes within.

"Hello?" my mother called hopefully.

There was nothing. It was kind of a relief. I'd been tricked into meeting Mr. Cowper during one of my mother's confrontations, and to his credit, he was cordial, but chilly. What was odd was how desperately coquettish she had been, flattering him and making her painstaking pursuit seem like a casual visit. It was pathetic. He went along with the small talk, humoring her like a doctor in an asylum, and I could feel his sympathy for me like a chintzy gift from a rich relative. When he started asking me how I was doing in school, and Mum began to boast about what a genius I was, I felt physically ill-it was the sensation that he and I were watching her with the same pity.

In the distance I could see the bulbous water tower by the highway. It made me wonder how long we'd have water pressure… and electricity, for that matter. A lump rose in my throat. My anxiety was interrupted by Mum's plopping down on the steps.