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Karen and Pickles. She could lie on Anders’ side of the bed and hold Karen’s hand in the dark until she fell asleep. This time she would be ready, she would know what to do.
    “No, it’s okay. I’ve got my family here, even if they’re asleep. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about all this, right? Of course I’m thinking about this.” Her voice was remarkably calm on the other end of the line.
    “Sure.”
    “And I’ve got all these questions now.”
    “Of course,” Marina said, unable to think of a single question she’d be capable of answering.
    “Well, why does she say in the letter that she’s keeping his few possessions for his wife? Does she think that I’m going to come by and pick up his watch?” Her voice wavered a bit and just as quickly she regained control. “Don’t you think she’d mail them?”
    His camera, wallet, passport, watch, maybe the field guides and maybe some clothing but she doubted that. Dr. Swenson would return the things that she deemed important, which is to say she would set them aside and forget them. “Maybe she just thought she would give them to the next person who came down there. It would be safer. I imagine a lot of things get lost in the mail.” It occurred to her then that this letter could have been lost, or it might have come three days ago, or a month from now. How long would they have waited passively for news of Anders while they went about their lives?
    “But what if she isn’t sending the things because he still has them?”
    Marina rubbed her thumb and index finger into the corners of her eyes. She was trying to pull herself up from sleep by using the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I’m not following you.”
    “What if he isn’t dead?”
    Marina pressed her head deep into the pillow. “He’s dead, Karen.”
    “Why? Because we got a letter from some crazy woman in Brazil who nobody’s allowed to talk to? I need more than that. This is the worst thing that’s ever going to happen to me. It’s the worst thing that’s going to happen to my boys ever in their entire lives, and I’m supposed to take a stranger’s word on it?”
    There had to be an equation for probability and proof. At some point probability becomes so great it eclipses the need for proof, although maybe not if it was your husband. “Mr. Fox is going to send someone down there. They’re going to find out what happened.”
    “But say he’s not dead. I know you don’t believe it but just say. Say that he’s sick and he needs me to come and find him. In that case there isn’t any time to wait for Mr. Fox to reassemble his committee to find someone else to send to Brazil who has no idea what he’s doing.”
    Slowly Marina’s sight adjusted to the darkness. She could make out the shapes in her bedroom, the dresser, the lamp. “I’ll talk to him. I promise. I’ll make sure he gets this done right.”
    “I’m going to go down there,” Karen said.
    “No, you’re not.” It was all a form of shock, Marina understood that. Maybe tomorrow Karen wouldn’t remember this conversation at all.
    The phone was quiet for a long time. “I would,” she said. “I swear to God if it wasn’t for the boys.”
    “Look,” Marina said, “this isn’t something that any of us can figure out now. You’ve got to get some rest. We have to give Mr. Fox a chance to find out what he can.”
    “I gave Mr. Fox everything I’ve got,” she said.
    That afternoon Marina had thought that Karen would never speak to her again, that she would always blame her for bearing the news. The fact that she was the person Karen Eckman called in the middle of the night felt something like forgiveness, and for that forgiveness she was deeply grateful. “What time did you take the sleeping pill?”
    Marina waited. She watched the glowing second hand pass the three, the six, the nine.
    “Karen?”
    “You could go.”
    So now Marina understood what this conversation was about. When Karen said it, a