Chapter 5: What the Boy Said

Rupert walked up the drive with his coat open and snow on his shoulders.

He didn't look at the house, and he didn't look at the broken rack on the porch.

He looked at me.

"Where is she?" he said.

"Who?"

"Marcy. Her car's in the ditch, and she's sitting in it with her son. Why did you make them leave in the snow?"

"I told them to leave. I didn't tell them to drive into a ditch."

"You didn't give them anywhere to go."

"They had four cars and a houseful of friends," I said. "Cal, can you pull her out?"

Cal was already going down the steps.

"I'll bring the tractor," he said.

He glanced at Rupert once on the way, a short, flat look, and went on.

Birdie had stopped in the kitchen doorway with the casserole.

"I'll just put this in the oven," she said, and went back inside, though I noticed she left the door open.

Rupert lowered his voice.

"Give her a key. Only until Sunday. The boy has been looking forward to this for a month."

"No."

"She's lost a husband, Greta."

"And she's walked through my house in my grandmother's robe, and now her brooch is gone from the dresser."

"You can't know she took it."

"Then you can ask her to turn out her pockets."

He took a step back, and for a moment his face did something that wasn't anger.

"You don't understand her," he said. "I can't explain it. You'd have to have been there."

"I'm trying to understand."

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