The shed was charred and waterlogged by the time the firemen were through—still, it was standing. Jenny had wondered about Will’s carelessness, but afterward, as they’d stood there watching the last of the embers, Will had denied having anything to do with the fire. He’d stood there and chomped on an apple as he explained to Jenny how he’d made certain to carefully put out the fire before he’d left that morning. When he was done with the apple, he threw the core into the still-burning embers in the fireplace. People said whenever the pips of an apple popped noisily in a fire it was a sign that true love was nearby. But on this day there was only the sizzling sound of what had been burned and destroyed and the call of crows overhead.

Elinor Sparrow accused Will of arson. Her lips twitched as they always did whenever a liar was near, but the charges were soon dismissed. There was no proof and no witnesses, and the judge was Catherine Avery’s first cousin, Maurice. It wasn’t until fifteen years later, after Stella had already been born and they lived in the apartment on Marlborough Street, that the fire was mentioned again. Will and Jenny had been watching a newscast about brushfires sweeping through the California canyons; house after house had burned to the ground and Jenny said something about the blaze being impressive.

The shed went up quicker than that, Will had said.

That was when Jenny knew her mother had been right. He’d stood there and watched Rebecca’s shed burn, then lied right to Jenny’s face. She’d lost that little portrait she loved and he’d never even bothered to tell her the truth. So why should she be certain now, as she sat across from him in a jail cell, that the truth wasn’t once again melting in Will’s mouth as he proclaimed his innocence, so that every word came out twisted in an odd, untrustworthy shape.

“I regret it, you know,” Will said as Jenny was leaving, in a hurry to get to the Rabbit School before the news of Will’s arrest began to filter down to Stella.

There were so many possible reasons for Will’s apology, Jenny couldn’t begin to guess what he was referring to exactly.

“Regret what?”

“Hurting you.”

It was a glimmer of truth that blinked like a firefly, then quickly faded. But, frankly, Jenny felt she had no one but herself to blame for what had gone wrong. She’d been a headstrong girl who’d refused to listen to anyone, a fool, intoxicated by spring fever and her own misguided certainty about love.

“What’s done is done. Anything else you want to admit to me while we’re at it?”

“Not a thing,” Will said, so quickly that it was evident, even to Jenny, he was lying. All the same, she kissed him good-bye. The fact of the matter was, she regretted it, too.

JENNY RAN ALL THE WAY to the Rabbit School, crossing against red lights, nearly getting herself run down in the process. But she needn’t have bothered to hurry. By nine that morning several girls in ninth grade were already discussing the article in the Herald which had mentioned Will Avery by name. By ten, two detectives had stopped by to question Stella. By the time Jenny arrived, Stella had a migraine and had taken refuge in the headmistress’s office. Her blond hair was unbraided and falling down her back, her lips were stained with lipstick, her face was drawn. When Jenny arrived, she found her daughter huddled in an overstuffed chair that stood on wooden claws. Scores of students had sat in this same chair facing parents who’d been called in and informed their daughters weren’t working hard enough, or they were sticking their fingers down their throats to rid themselves of calories; they had failed geometry or cut their arms with razor blades. Now it was Stella who sat there, their perfect star. Stella, who didn’t look up, but instead continued to play with her bracelet, so there was a hollow, pinging sound in the room.

On this occasion, the headmistress, Marguerite Flann, had little to say. She left them alone so that Jenny could try to explain what had happened.

“Don’t bother,” Stella interrupted. “I know why you’re here. The police came by to question me. I know what they’ve done to Daddy.”

“They had no right to question you without a parent here.” Jenny was outraged, but she couldn’t help but take a moment to steal a look at her daughter. “Are you wearing red lipstick?”

“It was only an informal questioning. They told me I didn’t have to say anything. But I told them the truth. Actually, it’s scarlet.”

Jenny sunk into the headmistress’s leather chair. Scarlet.

“So what was the truth?” she asked Stella.

“I told them that I could see how this woman was going to die, and that I only saw it with some people, but I was so sure about her that I made Daddy promise he’d go to the police. They didn’t believe me. They thought I was covering for him.”