Chapter 10
Harry woke early on Monday. It was dark and the rain that had been a soft background to their Sunday had been replaced by a heavy drencher. It pounded down on the barn’s tin roof and pinged off the glass of the skylight. Stiff gusts of wind slapped it against the seaward windows like a thousand ball bearings dumped on a sheet of steel.
He didn’t need to reach out to know that he was alone in Becky’s big bed; it felt different when she wasn’t there.
Saturday night after the dinner, he’d kidn*pped the stout white candle from the table.
Becky had accused him of malfeasance aforethought and he hadn’t denied the charge. But she’d also cooed with pleasure when he’d relit it in her hayloft apartment. He’d made love to her—there was no longer any way he could just call it s*x—trying
