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turned to her. “Right. But I mean I’m gonna show him in heaven .”
    Eva was startled. She had never said to Theo that John was in heaven. She knew Mark or Gracie or Gracie’s husband, Duncan, would never say such a thing either. Had someone in day care, hoping to be kind? Would one of the girls have thought this was the right thing to say, the comforting thing?
    She knew she should ask him more about this. She knew she should say something to him. But what? That if he were with John in heaven, he’d be dead too?
    Hardly that, of course.
    That she didn’t believe in heaven? That they didn’t believe in heaven?—since he was part of what she thought and believed.
    And then what?
    They were driving.
    They were driving! How could she instruct him in what death meant, in the horrible enormity of his loss, when they were driving down this sunny highway with the acid yellow of the mustard bright between the rows of pale, greening vines? When she was thinking only seconds ago about whether she should swing into the supermarket for lettuce, a lemon?
    What she said to him in the end was, “I think your dad would be happy that you’re such a good swimmer.”
    “Yah,” he said, and turned his head back to look up at what was passing above him.
    Eva blames herself for part of this. She thinks sending Theo away to Mark for those few days right after the accident, not letting him see her wildest grief, was a bad mistake. She thinks it’s made it all unreal to Theo—John’s death. That in some way he doesn’t accept it, he’s fighting off the knowledge of it. No wonder he collapses in on himself, Eva thinks. No wonder he falls silent. Imagine the work involved!
    But then she had said, “You’re my absolute hero, Theo.” She gripped the cool small knob of his bare knee. It tensed and jumped under her hand. “My superhero, not to put too fine a point on it.”
    He looked over at her and smiled vaguely. “I know that,” he said.
    W HEN MARK arrives with Daisy and Emily, he calls from the front hall and Eva emerges from the kitchen, drying her hands. The girls greet Eva distractedly and disappear upstairs to check their phone messages. Theo trails after them. He misses them when they’re away. And they miss him. They’ll let him hang around them tonight. By tomorrow things will be back to normal. In the kitchen, Eva puts water on to boil in a big pot. Then she goes to the butler’s pantry off the hall and pours a glass of wine for herself and Mark from the bottle he’s brought; and they go down the hall into the living room, where he’s lighted a fire, at her request—the air outside has started to get cool. The fire is popping noisily from time to time, spewing hot orange sparks onto the stone hearth, sparks that slowly dim and turn black. Mark sits in a chair near it, the poker in his hand, and Eva tucks her legs up under her on the couch.
    It’s odd, she thinks, to sit here with Mark in this big Victorian house, the heavy wood trim painted an elegant creamy white, the furniture so solid and comfortable. Their life together had been such a struggle financially, and the places where they’d livedwith each other had always had an improvised air: borrowed and secondhand furniture, threadbare couches covered with Indian spreads, tables made from solid-core doors, bookcases of cinder blocks and planks. And the bookcases themselves filled with paperbacks: hardcover books were an extravagance reserved for birthdays or Christmas. The money came later for both of them. For her, by marrying John; for Mark, as his work was more highly valued. And though they’re both well used to it now, it still feels a bit like playing a part to face him surrounded by all this ease.
    He has aged well, she thinks. That tall ranginess has filled in, bulked up, but there’s still a vaguely animal quality to him: his pale eyes in his long dark face, his slightly feral way of moving—smooth, almost stealthy. Even now, sitting forward to