also had little money beyond her paycheck. Her principal financial resource was
32
Chris Knopf 33
her husband. His name was Roy, and he wasn't rich, but was sure trying to be. These efforts led to some complicated illegalities, with the ultimate outcome being not so great for Roy, now a resident of Sanger Medium Security Penitentiary in Upstate New York. Amanda, along the way, discovered she was an heiress, in addition to being the wife of a ruined banker, whom she eagerly divorced. While nowhere near as well off as Burton Lewis, she was still set for life, if she sensibly handled the money.
    Her choices thus far had been fairly sensible, if you overlook getting involved with me.
    "For breakfast we've got sautéed mushrooms and leftover shrimp ziti," I told her.
    "What happened to the bacon and eggs?"
    "They were to be purchased in Stonington, Connecticut, where we'd be now if the wind hadn't brought us here."
    "Tell me this place has a grocery store," said Amanda.
    "Surprisingly, yes. And it's within easy walking distance. Let Puccini get through the last act and we'll send out a foraging team."
    It took longer than that to get underway, but neither of us felt overly ambitious, the likely residue of the day before. We finally did, with Eddie on a long retractable leash, much to his disgust. I felt he shouldn't be totally free on foreign soil. Mostly in deference to the foreigners, not yet acquainted with his distinctive charms.
    I picked an indirect route so I could tour Amanda around some of the neighborhoods and tiny commercial clusters on Fishers' west end. I thought she'd like to see the buildings. Since much of her inheritance was in real estate, she'd become a developer, the hands-on type that ran the crews and battled suppliers and building inspectors. We helped each other out occasionally, but kept our construction careers separate, and thus our relationship slightly less complicated.
34 BLACK SWAN
    In keeping with the insular nature of the place, there was little to mark its place in time. The houses were mostly weatherbeaten, but well cared-for and comfortably settled within an abundance of domesticated and feral landscaping. I reckoned by the well-worn Saabs, Ford pickups, Chevy vans, Volvos and early-model Subarus, that the twenty-first century might have become established on the mainland without much notice here.
    I knew a few modern architectural extravagances dotted the west end, mostly on the water, but not much of that had infected the core.
    Meanwhile, Eddie's interest was fully engaged by the fresh smells and novel organic matter, some of which he sampled and occasionally spat back out. My part in this was to give him enough slack on the leash to enjoy the splendor without getting pulled off my feet by sudden, capricious changes in direction.
    The grocery store, in a low-slung, wooden-floored building, also sold beer, wine and liquor, and other necessities, like bait, line and nets, and yachting caps with the Harbor Club insignia. The woman at the checkout line looked at us carefully, but likely assumed if we'd made it all the way to her store, we probably had some business being on the island, questionable though it might be. We stocked up on as many provisions as we could carry in a pair of backpacks and were about to head down the short route when I noticed the pockmarked guy sitting in a pickup truck parked at the curb.
    I cinched up on Eddie's leash and gently guided Amanda out to the road. She was trying to say something to me, but I was concentrating on the pickup and didn't notice until she stopped talking. I asked her to repeat herself, which she did, though I missed that, too, when I looked back and saw the pickup back out of its spot and roll slowly down the road behind
32
Chris Knopf 33
her husband. His name was Roy, and he wasn't rich, but was sure trying to be. These efforts led to some complicated illegalities, with the ultimate outcome being not so great for Roy, now a resident of Sanger Medium Security Penitentiary in Upstate New York. Amanda, along the way, discovered she was an heiress, in addition to being the wife of a ruined banker, whom she eagerly divorced. While nowhere near as well off as Burton Lewis, she was still set for life, if she sensibly handled the money.
    Her choices thus far had been fairly sensible, if you overlook getting involved with me.
    "For breakfast we've got sautéed mushrooms and leftover shrimp ziti," I told her.
    "What happened to the bacon and eggs?"
    "They were to be purchased in Stonington, Connecticut, where we'd be now if the wind hadn't brought us here."
    "Tell me this place has a grocery store," said Amanda.
    "Surprisingly, yes. And it's within easy walking distance. Let Puccini get through the last act and we'll send out a foraging team."
    It took longer than that to get underway, but neither of us felt overly ambitious, the likely residue of the day before. We finally did, with Eddie on a long retractable leash, much to his disgust. I felt he shouldn't be totally free on foreign soil. Mostly in deference to the foreigners, not yet acquainted with his distinctive charms.
    I picked an indirect route so I could tour Amanda around some of the neighborhoods and tiny commercial clusters on Fishers' west end. I thought she'd like to see the buildings. Since much of her inheritance was in real estate, she'd become a developer, the hands-on type that ran the crews and battled suppliers and building inspectors. We helped each other out occasionally, but kept our construction careers separate, and thus our relationship slightly less complicated.
34 BLACK SWAN
    In keeping with the insular nature of the place, there was little to mark its place in time. The houses were mostly weatherbeaten, but well cared-for and comfortably settled within an abundance of domesticated and feral landscaping. I reckoned by the well-worn Saabs, Ford pickups, Chevy vans, Volvos and early-model Subarus, that the twenty-first century might have become established on the mainland without much notice here.
    I knew a few modern architectural extravagances dotted the west end, mostly on the water, but not much of that had infected the core.
    Meanwhile, Eddie's interest was fully engaged by the fresh smells and novel organic matter, some of which he sampled and occasionally spat back out. My part in this was to give him enough slack on the leash to enjoy the splendor without getting pulled off my feet by sudden, capricious changes in direction.
    The grocery store, in a low-slung, wooden-floored building, also sold beer, wine and liquor, and other necessities, like bait, line and nets, and yachting caps with the Harbor Club insignia. The woman at the checkout line looked at us carefully, but likely assumed if we'd made it all the way to her store, we probably had some business being on the island, questionable though it might be. We stocked up on as many provisions as we could carry in a pair of backpacks and were about to head down the short route when I noticed the pockmarked guy sitting in a pickup truck parked at the curb.
    I cinched up on Eddie's leash and gently guided Amanda out to the road. She was trying to say something to me, but I was concentrating on the pickup and didn't notice until she stopped talking. I asked her to repeat herself, which she did, though I missed that, too, when I looked back and saw the pickup back out of its spot and roll slowly down the road behind
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