Justine
The morning after the fire was one of almost impossible beauty. The skies were a scrubbed and perfect blue, and the sun starred the new snow with millions of tiny lights, winking and sharp like diamonds. But the chaos of the night was written in the tire treads and footprints that dirtied the road and in the blackened husk of the old house. The smoke seeping from the ruins tainted the air even inside the lodge.
Matthew had made up three of his upstairs guest rooms. Melanie and Angela fell asleep in one of them around dawn, the thin summer blankets pulled up to their chins. Maurie and Patrick took the other two. Justine and Matthew were still awake when, at nine, the last of the fire trucks drove away, leaving the lake to its accustomed quiet once more.
Matthew went to the bar an
