True to her nature, Cathy had already offered John snacks and drinks of water twice by the time Lucy bounded down the stairs at 3:58. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. Was he planning on spending more time with her once in the country? The streets choked with beggars and the dying. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart.
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