18
I must have slept, because some time later I was awake and headlights were moving across the ceiling of the cottage. The beams slid from the open and empty closet to the corner above my head and stopped there. The calling of frogs and insects rose to a higher pitch, as if they were offended by the intrusion. My throat was dry, my skin damp and hot, and it took me a moment to catch my breath. In the kitchen below, I heard a cough, a brief conference, and then the front door opening.
I sat up and looked at the pool of light on the wall and ceiling above me. I crossed to the window. Just there, where the driveway curved uphill on its approach to the front of the big house, a car sat idling. I couldn’t see anything of it past the glare of the headlights, attended by flitting moths. The ca
