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smile were a little dull. Now, though, she had on a black skirt, her brown hair was up, her watery blue eyes dark with makeup, and her lips bloodred. “Hi, Charlie,” she said, as if we were old friends. A strong lavender scent spilled off of her. Her eyes sparkled at my father.
    “Hello, George,” she said to my dad, her voice full of a throaty mirth.
    “Hi, Yvonne.” He sort of stood awkwardly, but the lady came forward and turned her head to my dad and then he shocked me by kissing her on the cheek.
    My dad kissed her on the cheek.

chapter
    FOUR
    SCOTTY Beck’s idea of fun was for him to take his G.I. Joe, wrap it in a toy parachute, and hurl it out of an upstairs window. My assignment was to chase the plastic soldier down, so I stood in the backyard, loitering by a snowmobile that sat marooned in the grass. Through the windows I had a clear view of the adults sitting in the living room, drinking cocktails. Mr. Beck laughed a lot, and there seemed to be a connection between how much he laughed and how many times he went to pour himself another drink. He had the biggest, whitest teeth I’d ever seen on anything not wearing a saddle.
    “Here he comes!” Scotty yelled at me, waving to get my attention. I squinted up at him. The G.I. Joe came flying out, the chute all tangled, and fell to the ground like a shotgunned duck. “Cool!” Scotty called. I could hear him tearing through the house to join me. I walked over to where G.I. Joe lay stiffly on the ground, wrapped in his plastic shroud. It appeared that rigor mortis had already set in.
    “You want to throw it this time?” Scotty panted at me.
    “No,” I snarled, a flash of rage coursing through me.
    Scotty had such an innocent face, his white skin so perfectly unmarred, his features so baby soft, that I felt a little ashamed at the hurt I’d just caused. He blinked at me like a dog being scolded, not sure what he had done wrong.
    I held out my hand for the doll. “Okay, I’ll throw it.”
    I passed the living room on my way to launch G.I. Joe on another mission. Miss Mandeville— Yvonne —was sitting closer to my dad on the couch, and her hem had ridden up a little on her crossed legs. She was smoking a Virginia Slim, holding it at the end of a bent wrist. I felt my face flush.
    Dinner was lasagna. Mrs. Beck pulled it out of the oven like she was delivering a baby, turning to us proudly. “I’ll bet you two bachelors haven’t had lasagna in a long time,” she trilled. Mr. Beck laughed. Yvonne touched her hair and looked at my father.
    It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Mrs. Beck that, in fact, we’d had lasagna two nights ago, thank you very much; we had frozen lasagnas stacked up ten high in the game freezers. Yes, we’d had lasagna; we were awash in the stuff. I felt my dad staring at me, though, and when I met his eyes a tiny shake of his head told me to keep my mouth shut.
    “It looks very good, Mrs. Beck,” I said instead. I glanced over to gain some approval from my father, but Yvonne was touching his arm and asking him how we two men managed to feed ourselves, which was stupid because she knew full well we bought groceries; she rang them up for us.
    “I cook, some,” my dad muttered.
    “Yeah! Some !” Mr. Beck said through a mouth full of white teeth, laughing at his wit and then picking up his cocktail glass as if to show us why he thought he was funny.
    Yvonne touched her hair again and smiled at my dad. I looked away.
    “I saw a bear in the woods,” Scotty told me from across the table, cutting me out of the conversation with the adults. I stared at him.
    “Nuh-huh,” I said.
    “Sure did. With my dad’s binoculars. On the other side of the valley.”
    This made me angry for reasons that were not clear. “You did not see a bear.”
    My sharp tone quieted the grown-ups a little. “A bear?” Mrs. Beck repeated uncertainly.
    “There are some black bears around here, but they usually don’t come down this far,” my