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so recently moved in.
    “Was anything taken?” he asked.
    “We don’t think so, but you’re the only one who’ll be able to say for sure. The police are going to come back and interview you later. We did see that the drawer was yanked out in that table between the armchairs, and there wasn’t anything in it but we didn’t know if that meant something was missing or you just hadn’t filled it yet.”
    “No, it was empty,” he said.
    He walked into the room, his shoes scuffing across the brown paper, and sat on the edge of the bed and continued gazing around him. Barbara watched from the doorway. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
    “Yes, fine.”
    “Really the police made more mess than the burglar, I think. And the ambulance people.”
    “Well, it was nice of you to clean up,” he said. His lips moved woodenly, as if they too were not quite his own.
    “Louise was the one who rented the carpet shampooer; Louise and Dougall. You might want to offer to pay them back; you know they’re not rolling in money.”
    “Yes, certainly,” Liam said.
    “Are you sure you’re all right, Liam?”
    “Of course.”
    “I’d be happy to get you something before I go.”
    She was going?
    “A cup of coffee, or tea,” she said. “Or maybe a bowl of soup.”
    “No, thanks,” he said. The thought of food made him want to gag.
    “Okay, then. I’ll put your insurance card here on the bureau. Don’t forget to take your pills.”
    “I’ll remember.”
    She hesitated. Then she said, “Well, so, Kitty should be here around six. And meanwhile you have my number in case anything goes wrong.”
    “Thank you, Barbara.”
    She left.
    He sat motionless until he heard the front door shut, and then he lifted his feet onto the bed and lay back. His pillowcase smelled of some unfamiliar detergent. And the pillow inside was unfamiliar as well—filled with feathers or goose down, something that sank in and stayed there.
    He knew that he should be thankful to Barbara for even this much. It wasn’t as if she were responsible for him any longer.
    But hadn’t she promised to check the lock on the patio door?
    Outside his window he saw pine boughs, almost black even in daylight, and a sky as blue as bottle glass. No stars, of course. Nothing connected with that night.
    He must get up. He had things to do. He would fix himself a nice lunch and force himself to eat it. He would find out which box his linens were in and set them out on the daybed for Kitty. Maybe finish his unpacking, too. Break down the last of the cartons for the recycling bin.
    But he went on lying there, looking not at the window now but at the bedroom door, and summoning up the image of a hulking figure emerging from darkness. Or a small, slight, sneaky figure. Or maybe two figures; why only one?
    Nothing came. His mind was a blank. He had heard that expression a thousand times, mind was a blank, but only now did he understand that a mind really could be as blank and white and textureless as a sheet of unused paper.
    Noah’s Compass: A Novel

3
    Kitty arrived with a duffel bag almost bigger than she was. She carried it slung over her shoulder, and the weight forced her to stand at a steep slant in the doorway—a tiny person in a halter top and minuscule denim shorts, with chopped-looking, sand-colored hair and a quick, alert little face. “Poppy!” she said. (She was the only daughter who called him that.) “You look like you’ve been run over!”
    Even so, she shucked off her bag and heaved it into his arms. His knees buckled as he received it. “What’s in here, the kitchen sink?” he asked, but secretly, he was pleased. She must be planning to stay a while.
    He stood still for a fleeting kiss on the cheek and then followed her into the living room, where she threw herself into an armchair. “I am so, so tired of old ladies,” she said. “There’s not a patient in that office who’s under ninety, I swear.”
    “Oh, and, ah, is that how you dress