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tracked across the rubbery yellow surface. As a toddler, Mattie had called them "home flies," a cute corruption of the phrase "house flies." He watched the fly reach the tar pit of pancake syrup. It struggled, broke free, cut a lazy circle in the air, then lit again in the same sticky spot.
    Renee entered the room. "Knock, knock."
    Jacob closed his eyes and sank against the pillows. The darkness behind his eyelids was far too inviting.
    "I hear you'll be going home in a few days," she said.
    "Home," he said.
    "You know what I mean."
    "The wonderful Dr. Masutu explained the formula to me. One week of hospitalization for every ten percent of body burn."
    "Then you should have been released last week."
    "The burns feel better," he lied. "They're trying to fix the stuff that's broken on the inside."
    "I took an apartment. The insurance company gave me some money until they sort things out. Donald set me up with one. I tried to pay but he said M & W would absorb it, since you own half of it."
    "Which apartments?"
    "Ivy Terrace."
    "Nice. We only opened them last year."
    "I didn't know you built them."
    "Didn't build them, really. I got a commission on the land sale, subdivided a few lots, went in as a silent partner. M & W just collects the rent."
    "I got a two-bedroom unit," she said, as relieved as he to avoid conversation. She opened a
National Geographic
.
    Jacob let his gaze crawl back to the window. He'd trusted his partner, Donald Meekins, to take care of her until he got out. Donald had phoned his hospital room but Jacob had refused to talk to him. He was afraid of what he might say. The cash flow would be tight for a couple of months, but at least they had insurance.
    He counted the houses on the hillside opposite the hospital. There were at least two good-sized tracts that were prime spots for development. With Kingsboro Hospital opening a new cancer wing and cardiac care facility, more wealthy seniors would be moving from Florida and New York to the North Carolina mountains. Those seniors needed homes, preferably close to health care services. M & W had built a country club outside of town, complete with an eighteen-hole golf course, but those homes had all been sold. New homes were needed for all the future cancer victims. Abnormal growth was a growth industry.
    "It's too quiet in here," Renee said.
    He heard a click and the television came on. One of those stupid morning shows,
Early NBC
or
ABC Sunrise
or whatever. He opened his eyes. At least he could focus on the screen instead of Renee. A man in a blue suit was interviewing a woman who kept pulling at the hem of her short skirt, wanting to show off her legs while still projecting wholesomeness and modesty. Cut.
    "I really like this commercial," he said. On the screen, a lizard spoke in an Australian accent, trying to entice the viewer into buying a particular brand of car insurance.
    "About the insurance," she said, as if the commercial had triggered an opportunity to bring up the subject. "I didn't want to do too much without you. But I needed a roof over my head."
    "She was worth a lot, wasn't she?"
    "You bastard. Don't start that again. We're going to have to deal with some things, and we may as well be civil about it."
    "The money, you mean."
    "Shut up. All I'm asking is that you sign the papers and let's get on with our lives. Whatever we can salvage, that is."
    "We probably saved a ton on the cremation, since the job was half-done when you turned the body over to the aftercare vultures."
    "I had to make arrangements. I couldn't wait--"
    "--for me to attend my own daughter's funeral?"
    Renee jabbed at the television remote and muted the sound. Jacob watched the silent interview guest fighting her hem line. The woman's knees were a little too knobby for his taste. Back when he had taste, that was. He turned his attention to the fly in the syrup.
    Wasn't there a saying about the fly in the ointment? Dr. Masutu's tranquilizer worked miracles, freed his mind to