“What happened?”
“I can't use it safely.”
That answer changed Oliver’s posture.
“Is somebody looking for you?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Someone you owe money?”
“No.”
“Ex?”
Audrey gave him a look.
Oliver exhaled.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
She said.
“Actually, closer.”
He waited.
Audrey looked at Lucy through the kitchen doorway.
“Someone I used to trust.”
“Does he know you're here?”
“I hope not.”
Oliver stood.
“You have someone you can call?”
“Yes.”
“Call them.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“The roads are getting worse.”
“He may not reach Burlington tonight.”
Oliver looked toward the snow.
Wind pushed it horizontally across the side window now.
“You're not going outside.”
Audrey stood immediately.
“I can wait somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Bus station.”
“No.”
“Hotel.”
“Do you have one?”
“No.”
“Then sit.”
“I've already taken enough of your time.”
Lucy reappeared.
“The dishwasher is emotionally fine.”
Oliver looked at her.
“Wonderful.”
Lucy looked at Audrey.
Then at her father.
“What about Mom’s painting room?”
Oliver went still.
Lucy saw it.
Her expression changed.
Not fear.
Awareness.
She knew what she had said.
The room above Bluebird Corner had once belonged to Hannah.
Not officially.
The building permit called it a studio apartment.
To Oliver, it was Hannah’s room.
When they leased the cafe building twelve years earlier, the upstairs studio had been included.
Hannah was a painter.
Not professionally at first.
Then people began buying landscapes from the walls.
She worked there after closing.
Lucy learned to crawl on the old wooden floor.
There were still paint stains near the north window from the time Hannah knocked over an entire jar of cobalt blue while seven months pregnant.
Three years earlier, Hannah died in a highway collision outside Montpelier.
Black ice.
A truck crossing the center line.
No dramatic mystery.
No one to blame enough to make the grief simpler.
After the funeral, Oliver locked the studio.
He could not bring himself to rent it.
Could not empty it.
Could not use it.
He occasionally went upstairs to check the pipes, smoke detector, and heat.
That was all.
Lucy had never suggested anyone sleep there.
Not family.
Not visitors.
Nobody.
Now she said:
“It has a bed.”
Audrey immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“I’m not taking a family room.”
“It’s separate.”
Lucy said.
“There are outside stairs.”
Oliver looked at his daughter.
Then at Audrey.
“The outside stairs have their own entrance.”
“The room has a deadbolt.”
“Bathroom?”
“Yes.”
“Small kitchenette.”
He paused.
“I need to see ID.”
Audrey nodded immediately.
“Of course.”
She pulled out her wallet.
Driver’s license.
AUDREY BELL CARILE.
Vermont address listed in a town outside Burlington.
Oliver studied it.
“Carile?”
“Married name.”
“You're married?”
“Not anymore.”
He handed the license back.
“That’s all I needed.”
He took the spare key from a hook in his office.
Then looked at Lucy.
“Coat.”