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she’d even had a different name.
    Mrs. Borkel slid some papers across the counter and his mother read them without looking up.
    â€œSomething like this doesn’t come along often,” Mrs. Borkel said. “It’s a chance for you. You’ve had a rocky beginning, but if you work hard even you can make something of yourself. Do you know the Roebucks?”
    â€œI know who they are,” said his mother.
    â€œGood, then you know what it would mean to work for them. They’re looking for a live-in to cook and clean and help the nurses take care of their son. As you’ll see in the evaluation forms, managing Kevin falls within some of the training you received last year. The position doesn’t start until summer, but I want you to consider it. This could be good for you and Ivan. Roebuck Construction employs many people, and succeeding at this job would mean a great deal to your future with Ace.”
    His mother stared into the papers on the counter. “Would I be working for Ace or for Buck and Amy?” she asked.
    â€œYou’d be working for Ace, but you’d be living at the Roebucks’ twenty-four-seven. Like I said, you don’t need to decide right now, Dart, but how does this opportunity sound to you?”
    â€œI’ll think about it.”
    â€œYou’ll need to make a formal application and go over for an interview. I’d suggest doing it this week. I mean, I’m looking out for you here, Dart. I’m trying, but there are also others to consider.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Borkel.”
    His mother adjusted her baseball cap, and Ivan stood up and stepped toward the door.
    â€œDart,” said Mrs. Borkel, “did you hear that Blake Bookchester is up for parole?”
    â€œWho says?” asked his mother without turning around.
    â€œBlake’s father said if he can find a sponsor they’ll release him from prison.”
    â€œThat has nothing to do with me,” said his mother, and they walked out.

Evolution
    B uck Roebuck lived four miles from town with his wife, Amy, their fourteen-year-old son, Kevin, Buck’s father, and Amy’s grandmother. Behind their three-story home, a pond lay wide and deep. A dock made of wood planking extended over the water to a painted gazebo. Nearby, a tethered boat floated, its oars slanting out of the oarlocks like the back legs of a cricket. Though the surface of the water seemed as smooth as glass in the dim morning light, an unseen current beat one of the oar-shafts against the side of the boat in a slow, hollow drumming.
    Buck paid little attention to the hypnotic noise or the extraordinary tranquility of the morning. There was a creature living in the pond that he needed to get rid of, and for this reason he was pacing back and forth along the dock, waiting for the conservation agent from the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. Wispy strands of fog clung to the water’s surface, and the sound of his boots pounded through it. He didn’t like it when people were late, and being an unusually large man, with thighs as big around as his wife’s waist, his impatience could be understood from a long way away.
    Buck had dug the pond four years ago, and a great variety of living things immediately appropriated it for their own use. Innumerable tunnels, paths, and flyways led to the water’s edge, and what at one time had belonged only to his wife’s vision of the future now belonged to more creatures than anyone could fully fathom. At least eight kinds of fish now thrived somewhere beneath the surface. Buck had caught a three-pound bass himself, and no one would ever call him a fisherman; with a construction company to run, he simply didn’t have the time.His seventy-eight-year-old father, Wallace, had once caught an enormous orange carp, and no one would call Wally a fisherman either.
    Since no one had stocked the pond, Buck sometimes wondered how the fish arrived