“My stay continues to be wonderful,” Doran said without turning around.
“You beat me to it,” said Emily, looking out at the dark lake, the deck, the forest.
“You’re a good girl.”
A breeze swept through the grass, and Emily shivered. She settled on the cold stair. “Do you remember meeting Harpo Marx?”
“I haven’t seen his films in quite some time. I do remember seeing my first one. It was A Night at the Opera. I laughed so hard I had to hold my stomach, to keep everything in. I was unspooling, I thought.”
“But you met him here,” said Emily. “That’s what everyone said.”
“I don’t remember that,” said Doran. “Was he a guest?”
“Apparently.” Maybe they hadn’t met. Maybe their stays hadn’t coincided after all. Emily let out a long breath.
“What are you working on all the time?”
“My resear
