Fiona picked a piece of popcorn off the leg of her pajamas and popped it into her mouth. Her feet tucked to the side, she occupied the right side of the couch next to Kira, who wore an afghan over her shoulders. The Engletons’ high-definition projector threw a six-by-six-foot image onto a screen that came down from the ceiling, making Meryl Streep’s head about four feet tall.

“I’ve seen this at least three times,” Fiona said, between bites.

“I love the last scene, when she’s in the car and her eyes and her smile tell you everything that’s going on and then she tells the driver to go.”

“The best.”

“And Anne Hathaway’s outfits.”

“Absolutely. And Stanley Tucci at the luncheon.”

“Makes me want to cry,” Kira said. “We should do this more often.”

“No argument from me.”

Fiona awaited the scene where Meryl Streep dumps jacket after jacket onto Anne Hathaway’s desk, knowing there was no dialogue.

“I thought we should get away,” she said.

“That sounds interesting. A weekend trip? Where to?”

“Maybe a week or two. Yellowstone, Glacier and back. Or maybe backpacking in the Sawtooths.”

“I thought this is like the peak of the fly fishing season. Isn’t this when you rake in the bucks?”

“I’m tired of fishing.”

“Since when?” Kira took her eyes off the movie for the first time.

Fiona reached down and paused the film on a freeze frame of Anne Hathaway looking befuddled.

“And we need to bear-proof this place before we go. Michael and Leslie would want me to do everything possible.”

“You’re sick of fishing? Then why were you out until eleven o’clock last night? And the night before? Why did you tell me how incredible it was? Whoever you are, what have you done with Fiona? Give her back, please.”

“Summer lasts, what, eight weeks?”

“Max.”

“And I haven’t taken five minutes for myself for the past two summers.”

“And you’re using me as an excuse?”

“Yes. I’m using you as an excuse.”

“In which case you’ll hate me in September when you realize how broke you are. In eight weeks you make about eight months of income. If you want to go, you should go without me.”

“Without you? No. Not going to happen.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” She placed the bowl onto the coffee table in front of them. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I can take it.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done, everything you’re doing for me.”

“But you feel I’m overprotecting you.”

“No. I don’t. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.” She studied Fiona. “Is it the bear? You’re worried about the bear? He attacks the garbage, not the house-sitter. You said so yourself.”

“It might be better to just get out of here until they catch it.”

“What is going on?”

“I just need to get out of here.”

“Then go. Really! I’ll be fine. You should go! You do nothing but work. You hold down three jobs. I don’t know how you do it. Take the time off. I can handle things here. I promise I won’t hide in the garbage cans at night.”

“It would have to be both of us,” Fiona said.

“But that’s impossible. Really. I started, what, seven weeks ago? It’s peak season. As if I’d get a two-week vacation. And no, you can’t make a call for me. Everyone has been so nice to me. But I can’t use it as an excuse forever. Right? Isn’t that what I’ve been told over and over? That I have to get beyond it. Well, I think I am. I’m not going to accept special treatment. I want to be treated like everyone else. I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m damaged goods. It happened. It’s over. And I want to get over it.”

“Good stuff,” Fiona said, unable herself to lose the sordid images of Kira’s abduction and sexual abuse that had been captured on video. Indelible. Inexcusable. Even knowing the monster who’d done it was dead did little to help.

“Seriously. I mean it,” Kira said.

“So we’ll stay.”

“I think you should go if you want to.”

“I’m good.”

“What’s going on? I don’t get you.”

“What if it wasn’t a bear?”

“Excuse me?”

“The sheriff has put together a pretty convincing case-circumstantial, but convincing-that the Berkholders’ kitchen attacker was not a bear. My photography played into that. Bears are dirty creatures. They leave tracks. None were found. The sheriff thinks some guy made it look like a bear-even brought a bear claw along with him-but that it was just a guy trying to steal food.”

“A guy.”

“Maybe living in the woods around here.”

“Now you’re creeping me out.” She stared at Fiona long and hard.

“That’s why the pajama party, isn’t it? That’s why you want to bear-proof the place? Bear-proof, or creep-proof?”

“I think we’d both be smarter to stick together and just get away from here.”

“Why would you lie to me?”

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t want to get you all worked up about something that’s probably nothing. And now you are.”

“The woods?”

“That’s what he thinks. This time of year-summer-people move into the national forest. Vagrants. Outlaws. People who can’t afford to have, or don’t want, an address. The sheriff’s office puts the number into the hundreds.”

“Hundreds?”

“Totally off the radar. Just out there camping somewhere.”

“And stealing food from people’s houses.”

“Cheaper than buying.”

“Every summer?”

Fiona nodded sadly.

“You don’t scare that easily.” Kira wore her suspicion openly. They were sisters now. Fiona wasn’t supposed to hide anything.

Fiona averted her eyes. “Don’t go there.”

“Where?”

“Please.”

“We’ll bear-proof it,” Kira said. “Maybe the handgun course comes in handy now.”

“You know how I felt about that.”

“Once my father gets a bug up his butt…”

“So you said.”

“The whole purpose of the course was to teach you to know what you’re shooting at before you so much as finger the trigger.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I sleep better knowing it’s there.”

“But I don’t. And think about it. It’s not right,” Fiona said. “A gun shouldn’t have that kind of power.”

“But it does, and if there’s a prowler…”

“You… me… both of us… We don’t need this. Not ever again. Why would we elect to stay here? Come with me. We kill some time while Walt-the sheriff-sweeps the woods. It’s safe again, and we return.”

“I won’t give him that power. Some faceless dude who’s stealing pancake batter? We talked about this. You convinced me: ‘Once a victim, never again a victim.’ I’m not giving some phantom the power to make me leave.”

“And if it’s not a phantom?” Fiona asked.

The two exchanged looks. For a moment it appeared Kira was about to ask a question, but she censored herself.

“He hit a house a half mile from here,” she said. “Who would be dumb enough to hit the next-door neighbor?”

“These guys are not rocket scientists.”

“You’re not telling me something. I can see it, and don’t try to convince me otherwise.”

“If you stay, I stay,” Fiona said.

“That’s bullshit. I’ll be fine.”

“What about moving back in with your par-”

“No way. Not even for a week. I’m done there. You know how I feel about that.”

“But one week?”

“I love them, but I’m not living with them. My father’s look is… tragic. He can’t help himself. It’s like it happened to him. It’s like secondhand smoke or something.”

Fiona reached for the DVD’s remote control. Kira leaned forward and placed her hand onto Fiona’s.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know you’re trying to protect me. I know how awful you’d feel if anything happened. But nothing’s going to happen. I’m in charge of my life now. I have a life now. You made that happen. You, the Advocates, my parents, this whole valley. But I’m not running from some dude stealing soup cans. ‘Once a victim, never again a victim,’” she repeated.