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detailed description by Zak of the backhoe operation and of each of the four rats he had stalked and killed, and from Giancarlo, a long summary of the rules of a swords-and-sorcery fantasy game he had invented, and a crop report, corn and carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, lettuce. She noted, however, that Karp drank two beers, as much alcohol as she had seen him consume at one sitting, and that, try as he might, his attention was drifting.
    â€œZik has a girlfriend,” announced Zak when they were clearing the table.
    â€œI do not!”
    â€œYes, he does. She has red hair. He loves her.” A snarling chase through the house, which Karp broke up by grabbing each boy under an arm and dragging them out to the porch, where he plopped the three of them down on the rusty glider.
    â€œIt’s true,” Zak insisted.
    â€œIs it true, Giancarlo?”
    â€œNo. I have a friend and she’s a girl, but she’s not a girlfriend. I’m too young to have a girlfriend.”
    â€œI see. When had you planned to start?”
    â€œWhen I’m sexually mature, Dad,” said Giancarlo, which reduced his brother to choking giggles.
    After this had subsided, Zak said, “Billy Ireland taught me how to drive the truck. I can put it in second.”
    â€œReally? Does your mom know about this?”
    â€œOh, you know—Mom knows everything.”
    Later, when the boys were in bed, Karp sat on this same glider with his wife, who was drinking Rémy out of a juice glass. The night was humid and warm, but there was a comfortable salt breeze from the Sound. Crickets sawed away in the surrounding trees, invisible in the country dark, real darkness, which Karp always found disconcerting after the City’s perpetual glow. They had turned off the lights in the house. Then a light appeared from the small window under the barn’s eaves. It came from the small apartment occupied by the dog trainer.
    Which reminded Karp. “What’s this I hear about Ireland letting Zak drive the truck?”
    â€œOh, it’s just on the property. He’s thrilled about it. You know how he is.”
    â€œIt’s still dangerous.”
    Marlene shifted to look directly at him. “No, it’s not, and you don’t really think so, either. You’re pissed off about something at work and you are about to start a wrangle to get your ya-ya’s off at me.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œEverything’s perfect at the office?”
    â€œYeah, it’s fine.”
    â€œOh, bullshit!”
    â€œMarlene, forget it. I’m just tired.”
    â€œWhat are you tired about? I thought you conquered crime up there. You’re not a kid ADA running around Centre Street with fifty open cases. You have a nice office, a glamorous secretary, minions at your beck and call . . .”
    â€œMarlene, be serious. I’m chief assistant district attorney of New York County. There are a lot of pressures . . .”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œNothing.” Long pause. A release of breath. “Jack’s calling me off the congressman.”
    Marlene raised her eyes to heaven and her palms upward. “Thank you!” And to him: “Why do I always have to worm it out of you?”
    â€œBecause it’s my problem, okay? Why should I bring that shit home?”
    â€œIt’s not your problem. It’s our problem, because when you’re pissed off at that fucking office, you snarl, and pick nits, and get on everyone’s nerves. My nerves, to tell the truth. The boys are so glad to see you, you could whip them with coat hangers and they wouldn’t mind. So give! What’s with the congressman?”
    Karp cleared his throat. His childhood memory did not recall a single scene in which his father had talked business with his mother, and despite the years he had lived with Marlene the process remained uncomfortable, unnatural.
    â€œWell, you’ll recall we