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sympathetically, resting his foot on the front bumper of the Ford. “I heard he was pretty sick.”
    Warren couldn’t believe this, how friendly they were all being.
    â€œYeah,” said Bobby to Mr. Preston. “My mom called me. So I’m gonna stay a while, I guess. Maybe take a few days, go camping.”
    Warren had known he was back in town, of course. Wanda had heard, and Wanda had told Warren. But he hadn’t expected to see him. Except maybe on the street, by accident.
    â€œSo,” said Bobby, “you’re still into cars, are you, War?”
    â€œYeah,” said Warren. “Still into cars.”
    Everybody had felt real bad when Bobby got sent to jail. And Warren could understand that. But the fact of the matter was, when all was said and done, Bobby was guilty. He never even tried to pretend he wasn’t. And so he’d deserved to go to jail, hadn’t he? Warren couldn’t understand why Wanda got so mad whenever he pointed this out.
    â€œYou got some grease on your new shirt,” said Wanda reproachfully, and he looked down and saw that she was right. But she came over to him and took his arm and hugged it to her breast, and Warren felt good about that.
    â€œYou make a cute couple,” said Bobby, with another grin.
    Into Warren’s head came a picture from high school, of Bobby and Wanda necking in the hallway. He’d felt disgusted to see this, because he didn’t like public displays of affection, but it had made him hard, too. Everything made him hard then, he reminded himself, staring at Bobby. He wondered what it was like to be in jail.
    â€œYou want to stay for supper, Bobby?” said Mrs. Preston.
    Warren couldn’t believe his ears.
    Bobby looked at Wanda. “Does my ex have any objection?”
    Wanda shrugged, and let go of Warren’s arm. “I don’t care one way or the other,” she said.
    â€œWhat are you having?” said Bobby to Mrs. Preston.
    â€œ ‘Portuguese Fish Soup,’ ” Warren blurted.
    â€œCan’t pass that up,” said Bobby. “Whatever the hell it is.” He grinned again, but his eyes were funny, and Warren saw with a little shock that he really didn’t look at all like he’d looked in high school. There was this layer of watchfulness over him; and he kind of glowed empty, even with the sun shining right on him.
    â€œGood,” said Mrs. Preston, beaming at her former son-in-law.
    Nothing good, thought Warren, staring down at Wanda’s shiny brown hair, can possibly come from this.
    He looked at Bobby, who was leaning against the side of the garage with his arms crossed, looking back at him, and he had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling, right in the middle of his gut. He gazed searchingly at Bobby, trying to see him clear, becoming more and more apprehensive without having any idea why; wanting to protect himself, and Wanda—and Bobby, too, for that matter—from whatever stupid mess Bobby might be heading into.
    Warren was always having bad feelings. It was in his nature. But even at his gloomiest, his most pessimistic, the thought of Bobby killing somebody would never have entered Warren’s worried mind.

Chapter 1
    O N THE SUNSHINE Coast that year, summertime was long and hot and dusty, and the world smelled of raspberries and roses.
    For weeks the sky remained utterly clear, and the air was hot and still.
    The waters that lapped at the western shoreline were such a deep blue they looked as if they might stain the skin. The nearer islands in the Strait of Georgia were etched fine and clear, every tree and every rock sharp-edged; the islands somewhat farther away were soft dark shapes against the sky; the most distant islands were purple shadows in the far-reaching sea.
    Old-timers said they’d never seen a summer like it. The trees by the roadside were heavy with dust thrown up from the gravel shoulders. Garden-watering was limited to every