Miles said quietly as he stepped back, “They look like a Norman Rockwell painting.”

It was true, with their heads pressed together, the swing gently going back and forth, but any words Katie would have said stuck in her throat. She nodded and looked toward the mountains, blurred and softened by the fog, like fine smoke. Her mom had told her that looking at the mountains on a morning like this was like reading without reading glasses.

“Even in the winter, when it’s so cold your toes are curling under and the mountains look weighted down with snow, they’re still so beautiful it makes you want to cry just looking at them. And down at Gatlinburg—”

“Katie, what the kids were talking about . . .”

She turned to face him then. The emergency room doctor hadn’t stitched Miles’s face, just pressed the skin together using Steri-strips. She’d told him to rub on vitamin E and there wouldn’t be a scar on his handsome face, unless he wanted to look dangerous, and she’d waggled her eyebrows at him. Katie said, “I guess this means you don’t want me to tell you about the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.”

“Not right this minute, no.”

“Okay. You mean us getting married?”

“Yes,” he said. “Maybe we should give it some thought.”

Katie had firmly believed, up until, say, just four minutes ago, that she’d rather be incontinent than get married again. But now?

“Katie? Miles? I brought some cinnamon nut bread for the kids.”

Her mother had excellent timing, Katie thought. She always had, particularly when there’d been horny boys around during high school. She’d given them enough time to overhear the kids talking, enough time to think about it, even say it out loud. They were both smiling when they turned to see Minna coming with a platter that smelled delicious from twenty feet away.

“I’m starving,” Miles said, surprised. “I hadn’t realized.”

“Glad I had some clothes for you, Miles. Katie’s dad was tall like you, so at least your ankles aren’t showing. Sweetie, those jeans are nearly white they’ve been washed so many times, but you look just fine. Now, I’m going to take these goodies to the kids. They’re having a hard time, you know.”

“Can we have some first, Mom?”

“Sure. Take as many slices as you want. You two just go into the living room and I’ll take care of the kids.”

Minna waltzed back into the living room a few minutes later, and announced, “Sam and Keely aren’t happy campers. I don’t envy you having to separate them.”

And now, Katie thought, just a touch of the spurs. Katie grinned at her mother, knowing exactly what she was doing. Miles, however, didn’t.

“We’re not looking forward to it,” he said and sighed. He leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

Minna said, “Linnie called while you were in the shower, sweetie. She said the TBI is going nuts and they’re coming in force today about noon—that was so you could nap a little bit after that long night. Evidently one of the inspectors couldn’t wait to see exactly what had happened here in Jessborough, a town, he said, that’s never had anything more than some dippy DUIs and underage smokers in its extremely long life, until now. Linnie said not to worry, that the inspector really sounded excited. She also said the mayor and all the aldermen couldn’t wait to see you, to hear every gory detail, I expect.”

Katie said, “Oh yeah, Mayor Tommy will probably want a dozen meetings to thrash everything out.”

Minna nodded. “Well, it is the most excitement Tommy’s had since he caught his best friend making out with his girlfriend behind the bleachers back in high school. You really can’t blame him. Nor the aldermen. I’m an alderwoman, Miles, and so I’ve already gotten a dozen or more calls.”

“No,” Katie said. “You’re right, it’s been a long dry spell for Tommy.”

Miles called his sister-in-law, Cracker, told her it was finally over. He’d considered asking Cracker if she’d ever known Sam to be ill while Miles had been away, but decided against it. He knew to his soul that if Alicia hadn’t told him about taping Sam with blood on his palms, she wouldn’t have told anyone else. But she had given it to someone. Who? Perhaps her ancient priest, an old man who’d been kind and was failing physically and mentally. If she gave it to him then he must have passed it on to someone else, someone who’d given it to Reverend McCamy. They would never know now, and, truth be told, it didn’t matter. The video was now ashes buried beneath more ashes and shards of burned wood.