It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked. “I’m not going to college, John. They found out Cris had some sort of criminal past, more child abuse stuff of course. Both had lived rather quietly until a scandal had opened up a can of worms for the son, allegations of child abduction, reported sightings of a white van around nearby elementary schools. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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