Chapter 11

That night, Samuel did not leave the cottage. He slept in the room that Lucas and I used to sleep in. I didn't know what he was thinking. It wasn't as if he'd cared about us before, so why was he acting like a loving, mourning husband and father now? Early next morning, Samuel drove to the town and bought a scythe and other gardening tools. When he returned to the cottage, he rolled up his sleeves and began weeding the yard. It was July, right smack in the middle of summer. The sun was high, and the air was stiflingly hot, with no hint of a breeze. And yet, Samuel didn't seem bothered by the 100-degree heat as he continued weeding the yard and trimming the overgrown hydrangeas and briars. He drank from a disposable water bottle when he was thirsty and ate white bread he'd bought from the town to fill his stomach. Using a rag, he cleaned the cottage interior, which had not been dusted or straightened for the last three years. The only thing he didn't wipe was the chalk-drawn silhoue