She went back over to the house, stood outside staring up at it, entirely framed now and sheathed in plywood. It was the first step of the process her father always called “closing in,” where they sheathed the house, put in the windows and doors.

Helen continued to study the unfinished house; it looked more like an abstract painting of a house than an actual house. The shape was there, the geometry that said house. She tried to envision the house finished, sided with clapboards, the windows in, a warm light glowing behind them. She tried to imagine Nate peering down at her from up in the library: Nate holding a book in one hand, waving to her with the other. But soon that image was replaced by another figure: Hattie in her white dress, hands pressed against the window glass, peering down, waiting for Helen. Helen blinked, looked up at the unfinished plywood nailed to the studs.

She remembered Nate’s words last night: I love the places your imagination takes you.

She went into the dark house, half expecting Nate to be there, but he wasn’t. Only their empty sleeping bags, burned-out candles.

She went to work, getting out the tools she’d need to start cutting out the windows. She started on the first, the relatively small bathroom window, drilling holes in all four corners, just inside the two-by-sixes that made up the window frame. Then she guided the blade of the reciprocal saw along the inner edge of the frame. She popped the rectangle of plywood out, and she had an open window. The edges were a little woggly here and there, but it didn’t matter; once they got the window in and put up the trim and siding, it would look perfect. Most of their windows had been delivered and were being stored under one of the pop-up canopies. According to Nate’s schedule, they should have put them in two weeks ago.

    Nate. Where the hell was Nate?

She set down her tools, went outside and did a walk around the perimeter of the yard, calling. Then down to the trailer. No sign of him.

She imagined him coming back from a walk, smiling, teasing her for having been worried.

Helen went back up to the house and went to work on the second window, telling herself she was sure he’d be back by the time she finished. Then, still no sign, she started on the third. With each section of plywood cut out, more sunlight poured into the house, chasing the shadows away. She felt her body relax as she got into the work. Helen was nearly finished with the fourth window when she decided this was ridiculous. She needed to find Nate. She’d take the truck and drive into town—maybe he’d walked down to the store? If she didn’t find him there, she’d drive to Olive’s, see if she and her dad could help her search.

She was on her way out the door to get the keys from the trailer when she saw Nate coming up from the direction of the bog.

Thank God!

But as he got closer, she saw that he was all scratched up, soaking wet, walking slowly, and he seemed to be favoring one leg.

She heard George Decrow’s warning: The best thing you can do, you and your husband, is leave right now. Leave and don’t ever go back.

Helen ran to meet him.

“Nate! My god! What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, snappish, looking away. “I fell into a deep spot in the bog.”

“What were you doing out in the bog?”

“There was a deer,” he said. “A pure white doe. An albino. I woke up this morning and went outside, and there she was, right in our backyard. I tried to get a picture on my phone, but she bolted. So I followed her into the woods.”

“You followed a white deer into the woods?” It sounded absurd. Like the beginning of a fairy tale. Maybe the deer would lead to a well where there would be a magic talking frog.

He shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, made-up, but it happened. She was only a little ways ahead of me, and I stayed right behind her. She led me in a big circle, and we ended up at the bog. She walked right out into the middle. It was the craziest thing—she knew just where to step, avoiding the deep parts, finding footing. Me, I was stumbling, in up to my knees in places. The bog sucks you down, holds on to you.”

    Helen nodded. She knew what he meant, that sucking feeling like something underneath was grabbing hold, pulling at your feet, wanting to keep you there.

“But I kept following her. I got great photos on my phone, a video even. But then I went to get closer and must have stepped into a spring; I thought I was safe because I was still a ways away from the center. But the ground just wasn’t there anymore. It was deep. I couldn’t feel the bottom at all. Coldest water I’ve ever been in, too.”

She thought of Hattie’s bones lying down at the bottom of the bog, of a skeletal hand reaching up for Nate as he flailed around in the water…

She didn’t get you. She didn’t get you this time.

Helen shook the thought away. “But you’re okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Can’t say the same for my phone, though.” He held up his iPhone with a shiny, dead black screen. “I’m pretty sure the swim killed it. I’ll try sticking it in a bag of rice, but I’m afraid it’s a little beyond that.”

“You should go get a hot shower, dry clothes,” Helen said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Sounds good,” Nate said. He started to leave, then turned back to her. “I wish you could have seen that deer, Helen,” he said wistfully. “She was the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I hope she comes back.”