It’s funny how you can recognize other people. It’s not always the hat, or the voice. Sometimes it’s the angle of a leg when they sit. That’s the way I knew who it was sitting on the bench down by the pond. It was a cold day. The sun had come out but the cold was left over from the night. There was a gray shell of ice on the water by the shore. Out beyond that the…

Read the full story

Once I knew a cop in Hingham who thought that it was the metal in guns that somehow short circuited the minute electrical impulses of the brain and made people act stupidly. This same guy also ate seaweed, kept a swarm of stray cats he had picked up on the job, and worked out for about three hours every day at the gym. Obviously he did not have a lot of time to think his theories through. But…

Read the full story

I wiped my hands and answered the phone by the third ring. Mary Ellen did not say hello. She said, “What did you say to your daughter?” I said, “Which one?” “The only one who listens to you.” “That’s not true. Susie listens to me. She just disagrees with everything I say. She takes after you in that regard. And I had a pretty good conversation recently with Sarah about her plan to go to Europe next summer.”…

Read the full story

Becky was not happy to see me. It was in her face and eyes. She said, “I can’t. I have another appointment at three.” I said, “I’ll wait. I’ll wait if you’ll talk to me.” She had nodded and closed her door. Detective Wise had come by to speak with her that morning and I suppose he might have been a little rough with her. I assumed as much. He had been pretty blunt with me in…

Read the full story

Perhaps I could have gone to Burley’s for Thanksgiving. His mom is a wicked cook and still directs the kitchen traffic at home. But Becky’s request had struck me as something I had to do. Besides. It couldn’t be that bad. She’s a perfectionist. I was willing to bet she’d cook two turkeys, just to make sure she got one right. She did that with a lasagna she made for me in July. And I’m not that stupid.…

Read the full story

November is a bleak month in Boston. The leaves come off the trees. The women are wearing coats. It rains a lot. They’ve invented Thanksgiving and football to raise it up from the dead, but it’s still pretty sad. I had tried to avoid thinking about Des, but it was a waste of effort and time. It meant lying in bed, wide-awake, with the same thoughts turning up. Wednesday night I found myself sitting in the dark with…

Read the full story

It seems to me that if a novel isn’t about a man and a woman then it ought to be about why it’s not about a man and a woman. I’ve come to this conclusion rather slowly over the years. Still, the thought irritates me. It’s a little too pat. Wasn’t this just the kind of thing Chekhov liked to say? Appropriately, this was what played in my mind as I drove up interstate 93 toward Lebanon on…

Read the full story

I have a couple of things on my mind. Detective Wise said ‘Keep it in your hat.’ My father always said ‘Keep it under your hat.’ Same thing I suppose. But I have something in my head that I don’t want there. I was happier before I knew it, and I wasn’t very happy then. It’s a nice little cap. It’s a Donegal tweed my daughters gave me a while back. Des took it off my head more…

Read the full story

The thought process went something like this: I ought to start looking for reasons why Desiree had disappeared by looking at the present. Her past in California, or in Texas, might have something to do with it, but she had disappeared little more than two weeks ago. What had happened to her in the last few weeks to make this happen now? The most obvious thing was moi. Perhaps this whole thing was in fact my fault after…

Read the full story

I see here that I have written very little of Desiree. Almost nothing. The catalogue of small habits and qualities that I have taken note of in my thoughts are not here at all. What was I thinking? Haven’t I proved this matter over and again? If it’s not written, it’ll be forgotten. Did I think that my love for her was enough? Stupid man. What was the first thing, then? After we met, I had given her…

Read the full story