discovered a string between the mattress and the box spring. When he pulled the string, he was surprisedâsurprised? No, try
astonished
âto find it was attached to a small switchblade.
When she got home from the clinic that nightâthe first shift sheâd taken since the detectivesâhe pointed at the switchblade, which heâd set on the middle of the kitchen table, and said, âWhat the fuck, Maggie? What the fuck is this?â
Sheâd shrugged. âItâs a knife,â she said. Gerome was crazy-eighting around her legs.
âI know itâs a knife,â he said. What alarmed him most was how dismissive she was, how suddenly calm.
âI could have died,â she said. She moved for the knife. Mark grabbed it before she could. âI could be dead right now.â
âIs this about the college girl?â
âRight now,â she said, âyou could be a widower.â
âIt wasnât even the same man,â he said.
âIt could have been.â
Mark shook his head. What she was saying was crazy. What she was saying was downright lunatic. âBut youâre not dead. Youâre here. Youâre right here.â
âBut what if I werenât?â she said. âWhat if I werenât here?â
When he told her no more knives, when he told her he drew the line at weapons in the bedroom, she shrugged again. âIf you donât give it back, Iâll just buy another one. Play it how you want.â It was maddening that she refused him the discussion.
Normal people didnât waste their days reading about other peopleâs misfortunes. Normal people didnât take a gross sort of pleasure in keeping up with local crime statistics. Normal people didnât walk the dog in a robe. Normal people didnât act like Maggie.
The semester would be over in a few weeks, at which point the two of them would make their annual drive east for a couple months at Markâs parentsâ farm. His hope was to finish several chapters of his latest manuscript, a history of anonymity, which he believedâif pulled off correctlyâmight put him on the academic map in a major way. But Mark didnât think he could wait another few weeks to make the drive. He was frightened by what Maggie was capable of. Heâd found the mace. Heâd found the application for a gun and that terrifyingly sharp little switchblade. But what might she bring home next? What might already be hidden that he hadnât yet found?
Mark understoodâa sort of hammer-to-the-skull-type realization, as Maggie walked out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with the knife and its distressing string attachmentâthat his wife must be removed from the city immediately. Distance needed to be created between Maggie and her desire for blades, guns, and even the Internet. A return to natureâto Wordsworthâs meadow, grove, and streamâwas essential for them both.
When Mark went out with the dog that night, he called his mother.
âWeâre coming this weekend,â he said.
In the background, he could hear his father knocking about loudly with the eveningâs dishes.
âIs it June already?â his mother said. âAm I losing my mind?â Then, before Mark could answer, she said to his father, âMark says theyâre coming this weekend.â Then, after a pause, she said to Mark, âYour father wants to know about classes.â
âWeâre going into finals,â he said. âIâll get a grad student to administer them. Itâs fine.â
There was another back-and-forth between his parents, along with more clanging and clattering of pots and pans. His mother again: âYour father says thatâs cheating the students.â Markâs father was a retired professor. Heâd been a trailblazer in the field of eco studies and was now emeritus faculty at the University of Virginia, something that filled