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  Tess begins to lift bags from her truck. She should help, but well, she's not quite ready to be out in the open yet. She wishes she was back at Richard's, away from the whole thing. If the phone rings, she's not going to pick it up. She lets Tess in, takes a few of the bags. "Are you thinking Rudy turned around, changed his mind?"

  "Probably, but Rudy's crazed on crack, meth, who knows what. That's not the end of it. Once Rudy takes you by the neck…"

  "Did Mark say what he was up to?" Tess shakes her head. They set the grocery bags on the table. Del watches for Mark from the window. "If he isn't back in five minutes…" Well, if he isn't, they'll have to go up the hill, take the dogs and find him. Or she'll call Richard. Tell him to come right away. Del watches Tess, too. While Tess puts the cold stuff in the refrigerator, she stays turned toward the road, always keeps the phone where she can reach it. Even through the bits of hardware, the tangled dreadlocks, the blue chain tattoos, Tess is a beauty, the same larger-than-life energy as Carla.

  Tess gives Del a determined look and raises one of her fists. "If Rudy does show up, I'm calling 911. I know from stuff at my mom's, after you call, it's still a long time before a trooper car gets here. Half an hour, even more."

  Another comforting bit of information. Even though Richard questions her judgment in this whole business, she wishes he was here. Richard would know what to do. Though in truth, so far, Mark seems cool-headed. Tess, too. They're all so much braver than she is.

  She doesn't want to intrude by helping to unpack Tess and Mark's bags. They're careful not to step into each other's spaces. No rings in the tub, no towels on the floor. Mark always smokes outside. Del busies herself instead with filling the kettle, getting down the herbal teas Tess has brought home from her health store job. She'll know which herb is the most calming.

  Here at the sink she must face toward the upper level of the living room where Mark and Tess and Charlie have set up to play and record. She looks at the dozens of cords snaking to mikes, the big black amps looming, the stands and four-track and drums and guitars and cases. Charlie's keyboard. Filling the table, the Mac with its giant monitor. Every single surface jumbled. She's learning to live with it. Each time she passes through, steps over the cords, she tells herself Mark's need to make music is more important than her need for order.

  Tess turns as she starts out for more bags, the phone once again in her hand. "I'm sorry. My being here is going to further complicate things. Not just Rudy, but now my mother's bound to come here. I want no contact with them. Best thing I can do is find another place to live."

  "Wait," Del says. She keeps herself from clutching Tess, Oh god, don't leave me. "Wait and see how it all goes." What will she do if Mark doesn't have a reliable housemate? She cannot live with him again, but it would be too lonely for Mark with no one here. She follows Tess to her truck. They watch Mark come down the hill from the direction of Aaron's cabin, the wrecking bar still resting on his shoulder. He looks lighter. Not the bearer of dangerous news.

  "I walked from the gravel bank up over the ridge and back down," he says when he reaches them. He takes the phone from Tess. "No sign of Rudy, no sign of Smithy's truck."

  They start for the house. "Did Rudy tear past the Roto-Rooter shed?" Mark's ahead of her. If he answers, she doesn't hear him. "Was the B & R owner there? Did he see the truck race by?" Mark disappears into the house. She looks at Tess. Tess nods yes. Shit, now she's going to have to deal with that. Have to listen to Roberts threaten to close off her right-of-way.

  The kettle is whistling when they go in. A rank odor hits her, the wet smell of something decaying in the dark.

  Mark has started up the steps to the loft. "I've got to chill for a while," he says.

  "Don't you want a cup of tea?"

  "I want to smoke."

  She takes a saucer from the drainer and places it on the highest step she can reach. "Here's an ashtray." She never wants to have another burn mark anywhere in this house. She hears the window open, his fan go on at top speed, the clank of the bar being placed on the floor. All right, he has to chill; they all need to chill. Del sniffs, sniffs, tries to follow her nose, but she can't quite pin it down. Possibly a dead mouse between the wallboard and the insulation. "Do you smell anything?" Tess doesn't answer. She's unloading the bags, a faraway look in her eye.

  Del smiles at her. She wants company, commiseration. "Tess? How about a cup of tea? Which one's the most soothing?"

  Tess looks over the boxes on the table. "Chamomile, but it's a lot like drinking hot yellow water. Or worse. No tea for me. Too hot."

  "Of course it's too hot. What was I thinking? But let's not open the windows for a while." She switches on the ceiling fan, then takes cubes from the freezer, makes a pitcher of ice water, squeezes in lemon. She pours them each a glass. Then she sits at the table, slides one of the ice cubes up and down her wrist. Such sensible purchases, all lined up in the cupboard.

  Tess sets the chicken thighs on the cutting board, trims away the extra flaps of skin and fat. "Fry these up for the animals," she says.

  There are important things Del wants to discuss with Mark. But she should wait until she sees what's going to happen with the Morlettis, what Tess decides to do. Still, if Mark's going to start working part time, he'll need a car. Maybe she'll ask Richard if she can use his winter-beater for a while, so she can loan Mark her car, keep it down here. After all it's old, closing in on 200,000 miles. But keep it in her name this time, under her insurance; not make the Tempo mistake again. Also Mark's gums. If he doesn't have the surgery, his teeth might start to fall out. The main thing though is the car: to go to work, the periodontist, meetings. He is doing well. She and Tess can't keep chauffeuring him around.

  Tess sits at the end of the table so both of them still have a clear view of the road. She holds her glass to her cheek, fans herself with the Pennysaver. Luke and Queenie lie on the hearth, the only cool place in the house. "Here's another thing," Tess says, her voice lowered to a whisper.

  "Another thing?"

  "The last few nights, we've had bats in the house."

  Del lowers her voice as well. "Bats? How many bats?"

  "Four. Too many to be coming in the door. We've been keeping that closed when it starts to get dark. I'm thinking that sliding panel in your closet may be where they're getting in. That's what I got this tape for." She pushes the roll back and forth between her hands.

  "Mom." From the loft, Mark's disembodied, weary voice. Del goes to the foot of the steps. "I'm going to try to sleep. Be better if we don't answer the phone. Even unplug it. Give it all time to cool down."

  The phone off? The phone on? Which will make her the most anxious? They don't want to be fumbling around if they need to call 911. Anyway, isn't it better to know what the Morlettis are up to? "I'll turn down the machine," she says, "but I have to leave the phones on."

  "I'm not going to talk to anyone," Mark says. "I'm not here."

  Tess joins in with a "Me either."

  Bats. Rudy. Carla. Tess, maybe moving out. Something rotting in an undisclosed location. What fun. "Okay. What I'm going to do is plug the machine into the phone in Tess's room, then I'm going to close the hall door. Tess, let's go up to my room. That way you can tell me about the bats. Bring the tape and the scissors and the dogs."

  A scan with the flashlight of the entire length of the storage space under the eaves does not reveal any hanging bunches. If there are any bats in there, if they're coming in the two vents at the ends, sealing the space around the panel should keep them out. If bats don't gnaw. Bats are okay fluttering high in the sky, eating bugs, but bats diving around in a dark bedroom, making ultrasonic bleeps are not. Tess and Del agree on this. It's not a fear of rabies so much as the kamikaze swoops that cause both of them to run around screaming. Creeps me out big time, Tess's closing summary.

  "Ready," Del says, extending another long strip of duct tape toward Tess's raised hand.

  Tess sticks it along the final side. "I c
an't help it; whenever a bat flies at me, I think he's going to sink a fang into my neck." Now every single edge is double-taped, even the groove along the floor. Tess scoots out of the closet on her rear.

  "Well, if any more come in, I'll call up the bat guy. I've seen his van parked in front of the P.O. Wild Life Control, pictures of bats on the sides. Get him to come over and deal with it." The phone. Del's heart seizes up. "Damn." Luke and Queenie rush to the window, bark. She hurries down to Tess's room, to be ready to pick up. Depending. Tess stands on the landing, shushes the dogs. Ring, ring, ring. One more and the machine will come on. Del waits with her hand on the receiver.

  "Tess?" It's Carla. "Tess, are you there? Pick up. Rudy said you're there. Jesus, pick up. It's about Rudy. Del? Mark? Somebody pick up."

  "I'm not here," Tess whispers from the hall.

  And as though Carla has heard, she says, "Tess, I know you're there. I need to tell you what Rudy's up to. He's gone berserk. I've already called the troopers."

  With that, Del lifts the receiver. "Carla, Mark and Tess aren't here."

  "Oh, thank god you answered. I'm out of my mind. Rudy just called, making all kinds of crazy threats about Mark, how he's going to…, well, terrible things."

  "How long ago?"

  "Two minutes. He said he saw Tess's truck going up your road, Tess and Mark. Where are they?"

  There's a soft click, the hollow sound of someone else on the line. Probably Mark. Or it could even be Rudy. Carla and Rudy in cahoots? "Carla, you say you already called the police?"

  "Yes, but I don't know where Rudy is, where he was when he called. He can't be too far because the tank was almost empty and I don't think he has any money." Carla coughs, a long ragged cigarette hack. "He came up here, tried to steal my medication—then he takes off in Smithy's truck. Steals the truck. Smithy's not here. He's in treatment." Tess now stands in the doorway flashing her hands back and forth: she is still not here. Carla's voice ups a few notches. "I think you should call the troopers too. Direct. Not 911. Their number's … got a pencil? … Their number's 731-6000." Del writes that down. "Get them to have a car keep an eye on your road. Where's Tess? Is Tess living with you? I thought Tess had gone back to Texas."

  Del sits down on the bed. "I have to think about what I want to do. I'm going to hang up. Call me again if you hear that the troopers have arrested Rudy. I'm going to hang up now."

  "Del…"

  Del puts down the phone. Tess comes in and sits on the bed beside her. Ghost-pale. "Rudy just called your mother and he's making threats to come here. He stole Smithy's truck. Your mother's already called the state police."

  Mark opens the hall door and comes in, the cordless in his hand, his Bugler can under his arm. "I heard most of it," he says. The three of them sit, look back and forth at each other. "Grokking it," Mark says. He takes the papers from the can and begins to roll himself a cigarette. "Okay if I smoke, stink up the room? In lieu of other tranquilization?"

  They nod. Breathe. Mark licks the paper, sticks the loose shreds in his pocket. Then he unlocks the window and cranks it open. Del wishes he wouldn't. Maybe what they need is a moat. Tess takes a saucer from beneath one of her African violets and sets it on the desk. For the first time Del takes a quick scan of Tess's setup. Both big windows lined with pots: jade, spider plants, cactus. One whole window blooming violets, deep pinks and purples, blues. Clearly well fed. The bookshelves stacked with paperbacks, an old set of Britannicas. A poster of three Jersey cows, their mouths caught in mid-chew. Jitterbug Perfume lies open on the floor. Aaron's room transformed: no moldy glasses, no upturned Chinese checkerboard brimming with butts, and she assumes no marijuana under grow-lights in the closet.

  The phone rings again. Tess puts her hands on her ears. Again the dogs rise. "Down," Mark tells them, and they both sink back onto the rug. Mark lights his cigarette and watches the machine.

  "Pick up the phone, Mark. Pick it up or I'm going to come over there with a Molotov cocktail and waste you, waste the whole fucking scene. Tess, I'm warning you, you better get the fuck out of there."

  Mark lifts the receiver, exhales. "Rudy," he says as he turns the machine down, lets it continue to record. "I'm listening." Even with the phone to Mark's ear, they can both hear the blasts of Rudy's rage. Mark listens and listens.

  Tess begins to rock back and forth. Del reaches out and squeezes her hand. At least for the moment, they know Rudy is somewhere else, not about to jump through the window. Rudy, Aaron's friend. She used to give the two of them rides mornings when they worked at the sawmill. Rudy, sitting in the back, a red bandanna wrapped around his head, inventorying what his girlfriend had packed him for lunch. How he'd sing "Truckin'," beat out the rhythm on the seat, when it was his favorite: peanut butter and marshmallow fluff.

  Mark swivels in the chair. "Yeah, I can see why it might look like that to you." Tess goes into the hall, walks up and down. "Tess isn't here." More listening. No longer can she hear screaming. Mark extends the cordless phone toward her, toward Tess. You want to listen in? Both of them decline like it's a fiery coal. "Nothing between Tess and me … I ran into her in Marwick. She dropped me off. Said she's heading back to Texas with some guy in the morning. Did Smithy loan you his truck?…Rudy, that doesn't sound promising … Sounds like you could be in a shitload of trouble … Hey, I thought we were past the Molotov threats … You need money?…You strung out?…Sounds to me like the best thing you could do is turn yourself in. Get yourself into some treatment … No, nada, I've got nada … No Xanax … I swear … You need money? Where are you?…Shit, Rudy, I'm telling you, it's going to go best if you turn yourself in … Go off for a little R & R, get straight … Is that your final answer … your final threat? Are you saying you want me to loan you enough money to get to the city, get yourself really fucked up? That you won't come over here and kill me if I do?…All right, all right, no more threats … Stay there. I'm going to do right by you." Mark hangs up the phone and pushes the blinking machine away from the edge. "Don't erase that message," he says. Then he leans toward them. Tess is bent over on the bed, her arms around her stomach. "Okay. Seems like we have to do what we have to do." They both look at him. "And by the looks of it, I'm the one who's going to have to do it, right?"

  They both nod. Mark lifts the receiver. "I'm going to tell the troopers exactly where Rudy is." Del hands him the number.

  Tess uncurls. "Then I'll call my mother. Jesusgod, here we go again."

  Mark dials. "Best for all of us," he says.

  Not how Rudy's going to translate it. Another betrayal. Del's hand goes to her mouth, her fingers zip her lips.

  Something wakes her. She doesn't move. She listens. Someone is there in the dark. Then she sees the sweep of movement above her head. She gropes for the lamp, but stops: lights will make it worse. She ducks low, gets her bearings, then goes down the steps, holding on to the wall. She looks back up the stairwell: no sounds, nothing diving through the dark. How best to deal with this without waking Tess and Mark? It's already been such a hard day: Rudy's arrest, Carla's calls every five minutes. Mark's sad interview, his loss of trust in Rozmer.

  Again Del leans onto the stairs and listens. Maybe she imagined the flutter of black above the bed. Hard as the day was, at least it looks as if Tess isn't going to bolt, and Mark's spirits have been lifted by the offer of her car once he gets a part-time job.

  She goes back up the stairs to the landing and looks toward her ceiling. Nothing is flying about, no squeaks. She feels around the wall for the switch and flicks it on. Ohgod. Back in darkness, she trips, almost falls, as she runs into the bathroom. Their bright eyes watching her, wings moving: three bats clinging to her ceiling light. She pushes a towel tight along the bottom of the door. But she doesn't scream, she doesn't scream and wake the whole house.

  She lowers the toilet seat and sits; the nightlight casts an orange glow over her toes. Okay, the hall door's closed and Tess has a blanket blocking her room, so at least the bats are confined.
Not too long until dawn. Then they'll flatten themselves, try to hide until another day falls into night. She's not afraid of them during their torpor-time. Tomorrow, if they're still in her room, Mark can carry them out. Her plan: to be up and gone early, back to her drawings, the order of her life at Richard's.

  She pulls a comforter and a sheet from the closet and makes a bed on the laundry room floor. Several rolled towels will do for a pillow. She cranks the window open: safe now that Rudy's locked up. Rain's coming, the sweet smell of summer grass going wet, that rustle of wind through the leaves. She settles on the floor. Maybe she'll sleep. At least all this stealing about in the night didn't rouse Queenie and Luke from their slumber in Tess's room. She looks up at the ceiling. Above, in her room, maybe the three bats are wheeling about in the dark, diving into the hall, desperately searching for an exit, feeling just as trapped as she does.

  She turns on her side, the floor hard under her hip. If they didn't come in by gnawing, how the hell did they get in? Could they have already been in the room before Tess taped the storage door? First thing in the morning, before she goes, she'll check the tape. Then she'll call the Wild Life Control man from Richard's, have him come and get rid of the bats for good.

  She turns to the other hip and begins to rehearse the words she'll use to tell him about her new plan: Mark's going to be starting a part-time job soon, so I've decided to let him use my car until he can afford to buy himself a vehicle. Too obviously prepared for the press. No matter how she composes her text, she knows his response will be some variation of "Hope springs eternal." Translation: Will you never learn?

  She pulls one of the towels from under her head and slides it beneath her hip. Definitely she wants to be gone before the drama of Tess's reunion with Carla tomorrow. The possible danger this reconnection will pose for Mark. The darkness is graying. The first bird sings: this tree belongs to me. In her little room at Richard's she'll let her pencil drop on the right place to begin. Like dowsing for water.