"Wherever you like, Dear. Speaking of snow, we're lucking out—I shouldn't have any problem getting to Wayland."
"How far is Wayland from Boston?"
"Depends on what time it is—half an hour, usually. I take 495 right around the city, no problem. Umm . . . Sweetums?"
"Yes?"
"I was wondering if you would do something for me. I know I'm being awful, but—well—it's that snakeskin. It gives me a chill when I look at it." She put one hand on her stomach. "It's so—deadly."
Oliver walked over to the steps and pulled out the thumb tacks that held the snakeskin. "Can't have you getting a chill," he said.
"Oh, thank you. I just can't help it—how I feel," she said.
"Of course you can't." Oliver rolled the skin into a coil and put a thick rubber band around it. He hefted it in his palm. "I'll take it down to the basement. He sealed it in a Ziploc bag and stored it in a toolbox.
The next day, Jennifer left at noon to see her parents. Oliver had a pint at Deweys with Richard and went to bed early. He lay there, not used to sleeping alone, and thought about the relationship. It was like living with Charlotte again, but Jennifer was more fun. She was a natural mother—not at all bothered by pregnancy. All in all, the relationship was pretty good, but he avoided comparing Jennifer to Francesca.
In the morning he got up and took coffee to Crescent Beach as though his life hadn't changed during the last two weeks. There was an inch of snow—not enough to keep Francesca away. As he approached the beach he saw a shiny patch on the driftwood log. A Ziploc bag was taped to the log where they usually sat. The bag looked as if it had been there several days.