"I crave the hot chocolate, but it'll have to be black coffee," Sarah said, grimacing at Anna. "I'm always watching my weight."

Anna laughed and shook her head, "You're a beautiful woman, Sarah. You don't have to worry."

Together the three of us walked toward the small renovated barn where Anna lived. It had been months since I had been here, and as I followed her inside, I was instantly struck by its rustic charm and comfort.

She had a big fire going in the fieldstone hearth, and her black Labrador, Blackie, lay stretched out on the rug in front of it. He got up when he heard us and came trotting over, nuzzling at Anna's legs and wagging his tail furiously at me.

"Hello, Blackie," I said, stroking his head. The Labrador looked past me to the door, his tail still wagging. I experienced a sudden pang as I realized he was expecting to see Trixy, who had always accompanied me wherever I went on the property.

I think Anna had probably realized the same thing. She looked at me, her eyes worried, and said in a brisk, cheerful voice, "Come on, give me your coats, and I'll get us the coffee. It's already made. Would you like anything to eat?"

Sarah muttered, "I would, but I won't."

"Just coffee, Anna, thanks," I said. I sat down on the sofa in front of the fire.

"Can I look around, Anna?" Sarah asked. "It's ages since I've seen your home."

"Sure, feel free. Go up to the sleeping loft if you like."

I leaned my head against the Early American quilt that covered the back of the big red sofa and closed my eyes, thinking of Lissa and Jamie. They had loved Anna, had loved to come here for milk and cookies and special treats. She had loved the twins in return, had always spoiled them, and had cared for them like they were her own.

Later, walking back up the hill to the house, Sarah said, "The barn looks great. Anna's done wonders with it. It's packed to the hilt with stuff, but somehow she's made it all work."

"Yes, she has," I murmured, shrugging further into my quilted coat, feeling the nip in the air all of a sudden.

"You know, Mal, she's very pretty, all that blonde hair, those soft brown eyes, doe eyes. Very appealing, really. But she could be absolutely stunning if only she wore a bit of makeup, especially eye makeup. Blondes always look so faded, so washed-out, if they don't do their eyes right."

"I know exactly what you mean, Sash. But I don't think she really gives a damn how she looks most of the time."

"No incentive, you mean?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't mean that." I hesitated thoughtfully, then said finally, "I think Anna's happy with herself. And with the way she looks these days. Healthy, full of vitality, no black eyes or bruises. She had a really bad experience with that guy she lived with, before she came here. And I think she gave up on men a long time ago. He used to beat her up constantly. He was extremely abusive, actually, and she was smart to get away from him when she did."

"I remember your telling me about it at the time. Well, I guess it's better to be on your own without a man than-" She broke off and stared at me, looking horrified, then grabbed hold of my arm. "I'm sorry, Mal, I'm so thoughtless."

I turned into her, put my arms around her, and hugged her to me. "You can't keep watching yourself, Sash, watching every word and what you say all the time. Life does intrude, I'm very aware of that."

"I'd give anything to make you feel just a little bit better," she murmured. "Anything, Mal, anything at all." She stood gazing at me, her dark eyes moist, brimming with emotion, all of the love and friendship she felt for me spilling out of her.

"I know you would, Sarah darling, and it is easier when you're around," I replied. I wanted to reassure her, and so ease her worry about me.

The stillness in the house was so acute it was tangible.

I stood in the middle of the long gallery, listening to that stillness, letting it wash over me, and I began to feel less agitated than usual.

Ineffable sadness dwelt within my heart, and yet I felt oddly comforted all of a sudden.

It was the house, of course.

It had always been a peaceful place, tranquil, benign, enfolding my family and me in its loving embrace. Ever since I had first set eyes on it, I had thought of it as a living thing, an entity rather than an edifice. I had never believed we had found the house all by ourselves, rather, that it had beckoned to us, drawn us to it, because it wanted us to occupy it, to love it and give it life.

And we had for a while.

My children had laughed here and run along its twisting corridors and played in its many rooms; Andrew and I had loved each other here and loved our family and our friends, and for a short time the house had truly lived again, had been happy. Certainly it had given us joy.

I walked from room to room, looking at everything for the last time before locking the outside doors and switching off the lights. Then I slowly climbed the stairs to my upstairs sitting room.

When I pushed open the door and went in, I saw that the room was dim and filled with shadows. It had grown much darker outside in the last hour or so since Sarah had left. But the logs spurted and hissed in the grate and threw off sparks, and there was a lovely warmth up here on this icy night.

I turned on a lamp and undressed, put on a nightgown and robe.

After pouring myself a vodka, I sat down in front of my portrait of the twins and studied it for a long time. I really had captured them on the canvas; this realization pleased me.

Eventually, my gaze settled on Andrew's portrait hanging over the fireplace. It was not quite as good as the one I had done of the twins, but the likeness was there, and I had caught his extraordinary blue eyes perfectly. They were exactly right.

I finished my drink, poured another one, lingered over this, then drained the glass suddenly, in one big gulp.

Rising, I went into the bathroom. I turned on the taps and ran a bath. When it was full, I took off my robe, threw it across the bath stool, and walked across to the sink.

My art knife was there, where I'd put it earlier, its razor blade encased in a sheath of plastic. The blade was sharp, very sharp. I knew. I had used it for cutting thick paper, posterboard, and sometimes canvases. It would do the job nicely.

I had read somewhere that this was a painless way to die, if one can think of dying as painless. Lying in a tub of water, slitting each wrist, bleeding gently until unconscious, until death came. Painless.

Picking up the knife, I examined it before stepping over to the bath. I placed it on the edge of the tub near the taps and lifted my nightgown.

As I began to pull it up over my head, I heard the faintest sound. It was laughter. Someone was laughing. In the next room. I was so startled I was frozen to the spot. Finally I let the hem of my nightie fall.

I went out into the sitting room.

Lissa stood there in the center of the floor wearing her nightgown.

"Mommy! Mommy!" she cried and laughed again, her light, tinkling laugh. It was the same laughter I had heard a moment ago.

"Lissa!" I took a step forward.

She laughed and ran out into the corridor.

I rushed after her, calling her name, shouting for her to stop, to come back, as I followed her down the stairs, along the entrance gallery and into the kitchen. She wrenched open the back door and flew out into the snow, laughing, saying my name.

It was dark outside.

I couldn't see her.

I stumbled around in the snow, calling and calling her.

Suddenly she was there, standing right next to me, tugging at my nightgown. "Hide and seek, Mommy, let's play hide and seek."

She ran away, ran into the house.

I chased her. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in gasps as I raced up the stairs. I saw her dash through the door of my upstairs sitting room, but when I got there the room was empty. I looked in the bathroom, hurried into the adjoining bedroom, only to discover I was alone.