Chapter One
2007
It was odd how quickly nature reclaimed the land. Emily stepped out of the car and headed into the grass. Where the house used to be, there was only meadow nowher family's own piece of rolling Berkshire hills.
Ahead, the trees stretched black and bare against the sky. Though it was the end of October, she'd hoped to catch at least a few scarlet maple leaves and pick the last apples of the season. She glanced at Clay, wandering aimlessly with his hands in his coat pockets. There was something about the way he looked, angled against the wind in his wool jacket, that reminded her of an old Bob Dylan album her dad used to have. Dylan if he were half-Korean and had come to New York for a finance job instead of rock and roll. Her hair blowing across her face, she started toward him, then stopped as her eyes fell on a rusted metal rod sticking up out of a block of cement.
Trying to orient herself, she began slowly mapping out the first floor: were the walls still standing, she'd be in the kitchen right now. She could see the whole room in her headthe big wooden table, the fireplace, the old fridgecould practically even see her brother, Thomas, slicing mushrooms at the counter. What would he think of that guy over there? She saw herself leading Clay into the room. Hey, her brother would say, wiping his hands on his pants before reaching out to shake, really great to meet you. Thomas would set Clay at ease immediately, and before she knew it the two of them, her brother and her boyfriend, would be cooking together, experimenting and laughing at the stove. At some point, her mother would come in all aflutter, carrying a basket of herbs and flowers from the garden. My God! When did you get here? I never heard you pull intrying to mask her surprise as she registered Clay's Asian American features. Your father's upstairs, of course, working. Don't bother him just yet.
According to the laws of science, neither mass nor energy is created or destroyed; the total amount in the universe always remains constant. And fundamentally, Emily understood this. But, as she moved through the knee-high grass, which used to be the kitchen and used to be animated by four livesone of which was no longer being livedshe could not fathom where it had all gone. Was the energy still there? And what of Thomas? How did the laws of conservation apply to him?
Following the pattern of cement blocks, she circled the periphery of the house, mentally rebuilding and refurnishing each room. There was the bathroom with the pedestal sink, where she'd fallen and chipped a tooth while she and Thomas were horsing around; her bedroom where she retreated to write poetry and listen to music, but mostly to get away from her mother; and the living room with the couch in front of the fire.
For the first time, the actual destruction of the house didn't have the feeling of something that had happened to her personally. It felt instead like an epic or a myth. And it was mythic, really, the way her father had destroyed everything: his house, his family, and of course most tragically, his son. In retrospect, it all seemed inevitable, as if fate had destined things to be so and had never offered the possibility of them happening any other way.
"So, I guess we'll put the reception tent here. Right?" Clay was standing several yards away, sweeping his arm to include the relatively flat area where they were both standing.
She looked at him blankly. There was something incongruous about the sight of him on this property. He didn't seem to belong here, and that concerned her.
"Em?"
"Sure. That makes sense."
He watched her for a moment before coming over. "What's up? Do you want to wait for your mom?"
"I don't know." She gazed up the road and shivered.
He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing his hands up and down her back to generate warmth. She looked into his face. She loved that face, she knew she didthe soft curves of the nose and chin, those beautiful eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. This is an amazing person, she told herself, a unique and amazing person.
They'd come here the first time a few years ago, after they'd been together about a year. She'd brought other boyfriends before Clay, and something about being on this property with them had forced her to stop lying to herself about them. But with Clay, it was the oppositea sure sign that what they had was real. He hadn't felt the need to act formal and somber as they walked up the hill and through the woods, nor had he felt a compulsive need to lighten things and make her laugh. He'd simply been himself, which meant what it always meant: letting her be without leaving her alone.
She watched him walk away and lower himself to the ground. Exactly a week ago, she and Clay had been strolling through Central Park. It was a perfect fall day, crisp and bright, and the entire city was reveling in it. But when the two of them arrived at the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, they found themselves alone. Clay suggested they climb up on the mushroom as they often saw children do, and laughing, she agreed. As she began to pull herself up, however, she noticed that he hung behind, jangling his keys in his pocket.
"Don't worry," she told him, "nobody's going to see you."
He looked at her with a funny smile. "I'm not afraid of looking dumb. It was my idea in the first place."
Once they were both up there, lying back on the bronze surface, they stripped off their jackets and used them as pillows. After a couple of minutes, he took her hand and slipped a delicate pearl ring onto her finger. He watched her face with anticipation.
"Emily, will you marry me? I would kneel, but . . ." Indicating the absurdity of their location, he gave her a quick apologetic smile.
"What?" she said, still stunned. "No way."
"I hope that's not your answer."
She laughed. "Yes!" she said, kissing him. "Of course I'll marry you. Definitely yes."
They had spoken about marriage many times, and for a while now, whenever they spoke of the future, they spoke of their being together as a given. But still, this was a surprise.
"Oh my god," she said, admiring the ring. "How long have you been planning this?"
"I didn't plan to do it here. I've been carrying the ring around for a week, trying to figure out something really imaginative. And then this just seemed better somehow."
"It's perfect."
"If the ring isn't right, there are lots of others. I talked to the woman at the store"
"Clay, stop," she said, grabbing his hand. "I love it. Really." She gazed up at the clouds moving slowly across the sky, thick and lumpy in their centers, thinning out and breaking up around the edges like flour sifted onto a blue counter. Right then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something flappinga plastic deli sack caught on a bush, thank you printed over and over in red down its wind-crinkled side.
Even now as she thought back on it, the ugliness of that sack dominated her memory of the day. She looked over at Clay, partially hidden among the weeds, contentedly fiddling with a piece of straw. Why had they talked so much about the ring? It was such a trivial detail. They'd clearly both been nervous. But why?
Car wheels scraped on gravel, and Clay stood up as the silver Mercedes pulled in next to their Honda. Her mother and Earl eventually go