Cork let himself into Molly’s cabin with the key under the back steps. After he hung his coat by the back door, he went upstairs and took four Advil from the container in the bathroom cabinet. He hurt all over. There was a large, blood-oozing, purple lump on his forehead and a headache that made him see white. His ribs felt as if Parrant had just given them another healthy beating. He’d torn the stitches in his hand.
He wanted to look carefully through the contents of the black bag, but he knew in his present condition he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He had to lie down for a while. He looked for a place to hide the bag and finally made room under the logs in the woodbox next to the fireplace. Then he made his way upstairs and lay down on Molly’s bed and promptly went to sleep.
When he woke, he smelled wood smoke. He sat up, pleased to find that the headache was gone although the lump on his head was still tender and so were his ribs. There was blood on the sheets from his hand and the ooze from the lump on his forehead had stained the pillowcase, but he was no longer bleeding. Outside Molly’s bedroom window, the sky was nearly dark. Cork realized he’d slept for hours.
Downstairs he found Molly sitting in the main room, reading. A blaze in the fireplace made the corners of the room flicker with shadow. Cork hesitated near the kitchen door, where the tantalizing aroma of potato soup was strong. Molly sat in her easy chair, in the small circle of lamplight. She wore jeans and a red wool sweater and red wool socks. Her red hair was done in a long braid that hung loosely over her shoulder. She glanced up and eyed Cork, who stood uncertainly in the quivering light on the far side of the room.
“Smells good,” he said.
Molly closed her book, marking her place with a playing card, the ace of spades. Cork saw she was reading The Road Less Traveled. She folded her hands on the book and waited for an explanation.
“I need you,” he said. “I haven’t been able to breathe since I left you. I need you, Molly. As much as I need air.”
“Cork,” she whispered, and rose from the chair.
He stepped toward her, into the stronger light of the lamp.
When she saw his forehead, her face mirrored his hurt. “Oh, Cork, what happened?”
“A log. I don’t for the life of me know why they call fir a softwood.”
Molly reached up and touched the lump.
“Ouch!”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“It’s not bleeding, but I think I should put something on it. Maybe ice.”
“It’s fine.” He looked down uneasily at the braided rug under his stockinged feet. “I’m sorry, Molly. I’m sorry for everything.”
“I know.” She touched his cheek. “Let’s talk about that later. Right now I’ll get some hot soup into you.”
Cork put his arms around her waist. “I don’t deserve you,” he said. “I never did.”
“You’ve got a lot of time to work on it,” she answered.
After they’d eaten, Molly went out to lay a fire in the sauna.
“It’s a beautiful night out there,” she said when she swept back in. “Let’s go, Cork.”
The moon was rising, turning the vast flat of the lake a ghostly blue-white. A few isolated pinpoints of light marked the far shore, but Cork felt as if the night belonged to Molly and him alone. They stepped into the small dressing room of the sauna. Molly had lighted a Coleman lantern and turned it low. The heat from the stove just beyond the inner door made the temperature in the room pleasant. Molly eased off his coat, then removed her own. She undid the buttons of his shirt and kissed his chest.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
Cork lifted the bottom of her sweater, and she raised her arms to let him slide it off her. She wore no bra. He gently touched her breasts with his palms, then bent and kissed them. Her skin was moist and smelled faintly of the smoke from laying the fire. Cork appreciated the scent.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said.
He kissed her fingers, every one. She pulled her hands away and moved them to the brass button of her jeans. Cork watched her hands as they opened the jeans with a soft sizzle of the zipper. She eased the jeans past her hips, her thighs, her calves, until they were a puddle of denim at her feet. She pulled them off and kicked them free. Reaching back, she undid her braid, and shook out her red hair. The room seemed terribly warm to Cork.
“I don’t deserve this,” he said.
“What life gives us, good or bad, we seldom deserve.” She took a blanket that had been folded on a bench behind her and arranged it on the floor. She knelt on it and watched as he undressed to his red-plaid flannel boxers. She laughed. “New?”
“They’re warm.” He shrugged.
Then Molly saw something that made her give a little cry.
He looked down at the deep bruising over his ribs. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? Come here.”
He stepped near her on the blanket. She put her lips to the bruise. “Better?” she asked.
“Much,” he said.
She stood and pressed her breasts against him and gave him a long kiss. Then she slipped her fingers into the elastic of his flannel boxers and began to draw them down. Looking at him through a whisp of her red hair, she promised, “I’ll be gentle.”
“Not too,” he replied hoarsely.
“You didn’t see who hit you?” Molly asked.
Cork shook his head. “It happened too fast.”
“I don’t understand. If they were after the bag, why didn’t they just take it?”
“That’s something I don’t understand either,” Cork said.
Molly stepped down from the high seat in the sauna, took a dipper from a bucket, and threw water over the hot stones. The water hissed and steam shot up into the air, and Cork felt the sweat pour from him. It felt good to sweat so freely. Cleansing. Molly sat back down beside him.
“Unless,” she said.
“Unless what?”
“Unless they managed to take what they wanted while you were unconscious.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Cork said.
“How long were you out?”
“I don’t know. Not long, I think.” He wiped his face with his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair, which was as wet as if he were in the shower. “There’s something else, though. When I was out, I dreamed I heard a couple of gunshots. And when I found the rifle in the blackberry bramble, I could tell it had just been fired.”
“At you?”
Cork made a show of feeling himself. “No new holes.”
“Shooting at who, then?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense. Maybe it’ll all be clearer once I’ve had a look in that bag.”
“Do you think the oil stain in the snow means it’s Tom Griffin?”
“I’ll definitely have a talk with St. Kawasaki.”
“But you don’t really want it to be him, do you?”
Cork glanced at her. Her face ran with sweat. Her red hair clung to her flushed cheeks.
“You want it to be Sandy Parrant,” she said.
“Yes,” Cork admitted. “I want it to be Parrant.”
“I’m worried,” she told him, and touched his shoulder. “I wonder what knowing the kinds of secrets that are in that bag might do to a person. Not just you. Anyone. I wonder if Wally Schanno didn’t have the right idea.”
“Schanno destroyed evidence,” Cork said.
“And maybe he saved a lot of good people needless pain.”
“Was that his motive?” Cork asked her pointedly. “Look, I don’t know how to get to the truth without going through that bag. If you have a better idea, I’m willing to listen.”
Molly stared into the grating of the stove, where the fire blazed with a searing red-orange flame.
“You see?” Cork said.
“Where’s the bag?” Molly asked.
“Hidden.”
“Here?”
“In the woodbox. It was just a precaution. Probably not even necessary. Even so, I don’t want to stay here with it. After I’ve had a chance to look through it, I’ll take that bag somewhere else.”
“No,” Molly said. “If you’re off somewhere in the night, I’ll worry. As long as we’re together, I’m not afraid for you.”
He listened to the crackle of the fire as it heated the stove, the rocks, the air all around him. He glanced at Molly. It was weak of him, he knew, but he didn’t want to leave.
“All right,” he agreed. “As long as we’re together.”
She leaned to him and kissed him. “Time to cool off. I cleared the hole in the ice. The water will feel wonderful. Here.” She handed him socks she’d laid out earlier so that his wet feet wouldn’t stick to the ice.
They ran together out of the sauna. The deck was slippery with ice, and Cork had to catch himself on the railing to keep from falling. Molly ran ahead, surefooted and graceful, and dropped into the hole with a frigid splash. She came up quickly and Cork helped her out.
“Your turn.” She laughed, steaming in the moonlight.