“Where’s Dale?” Louis rubs his eyes as he walks through the worn kitchen, his too large shoes scuffing along the linoleum that has cracked and settled in conformity to the sagging, see-saw floor below it. The drum stove is out, cool, and the room has grown cool and damp as well. The room smells musty, old, and Lara is not sorry to pass through it without having some chore or other to take care of. Her thoughts race, falling over each other. She must take the boys away; this much she cannot deny.