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After I’d glanced at the kitchen I went through into the small hall that separated the larger (but still small) bedroom on the right from the smaller (tiny) bedroom and the bathroom on the left. At the end of the hall there was a door to the little back porch.

This was a very basic accommodation, but it was quite clean. There was central heating and cooling, and the floors were level. I ran a hand around the windows. They fit well. Nice. I reminded myself I’d have to keep the venetian blinds drawn down, since I had neighbors.

I made up the double bed in the larger bedroom. I put my clothes away in the freshly painted chest of drawers. I started a list of other things I needed: a mop, a broom, a bucket, some cleaning products . . . those had been on the back porch. I’d have to get my vacuum cleaner out of the house. It had been in the closet in the living room, so it should be fine. I’d brought one of my phones to plug in over here, so I would have to arrange with the phone company for them to route calls to this address. I’d loaded my television into my car, but I had to arrange for my cable to be hooked up here. I’d have to call from Merlotte’s. Since the fire, all my time was being absorbed with the mechanics of living.

I sat on the hard couch, staring into space. I tried to think of something fun, something I could look forward to. Well, in two months, it’d be sunbathing time. That made me smile. I enjoyed lying in the sun in a little bikini, timing myself carefully so I didn’t burn. I loved the smell of coconut oil. I took pleasure in shaving my legs and removing most of my other body hair so I’d look smooth as a baby’s bottom. And I don’t want to hear any lectures about how bad tanning is for you. That’s my vice. Everybody gets one.

More immediately, it was time to go to the library and get another batch of books; I’d retrieved my last bagful while I was at the house, and I’d spread them out on my tiny porch here so they’d air out. So going to the library—that would be fun.

Before I went to work, I decided I’d cook myself something in my new kitchen. That necessitated a trip to the grocery store, which took longer than I’d planned because I kept seeing staples I was sure I’d need. Putting the groceries away in the duplex cabinets made me feel that I really lived there. I browned a couple of pork chops and put them in the oven, microwaved a potato, and heated some peas. When I had to work nights, I usually went to Merlotte’s at about five, so my home meal on those days was a combination lunch and dinner.

After I’d eaten and cleaned up, I thought I just had time to drive down to visit Calvin in the Grainger hospital.

The twins had not arrived to take up their post in the lobby again, if they were still keeping vigil. Dawson was still stationed outside Calvin’s room. He nodded to me, gestured to me to stop while I was several feet away, and stuck his head in Calvin’s room. To my relief, Dawson swung the door wide open for me to enter and even patted my shoulder as I went in.

Calvin was sitting up in the padded chair. He clicked off the television as I came in. His color was better, his beard and hair were clean and trimmed, and he looked altogether more like himself. He was wearing pajamas of blue broad-cloth. He still had a tube or two in, I saw. He actually tried to push himself up out of the chair.

“No, don’t you dare get up!” I pulled over a straight chair and sat in front of him. “Tell me how you are.”

“Glad to see you,” he said. Even his voice was stronger. “Dawson said you wouldn’t take any help. Tell me who set that fire.”

“That’s the strange thing, Calvin. I don’t know why this man set the fire. His family came to see me . . .” I hesitated, because Calvin was recuperating from his own brush with death, and he shouldn’t have to worry about other stuff.

But he said, “Tell me what you’re thinking,” and he sounded so interested that I ended up relating everything to the wounded shifter: my doubts about the arsonist’s motives, my relief that the damage