The lake house was Harry's mother's idea.Not literally. She had been dead for twenty-two years and had never known the house existed. But Harry had bought it four years ago with money his mother had left him in a trust that had matured when he turned thirty, and he had furnished it with the same spare honesty he furnished everything, and he had told me once, on a phone call at eleven thirty from a warehouse in Atlanta, that it was the only place he had ever been able to think without hearing his father's voice in the architecture.We drove there the morning after the verdict.The press had found the warehouse address by seven a.m. Three vehicles on Holt Street by the time Harry looked out the window. He had looked at me across the kitchen table with Jo between us and said, "Lake house," and I had said, "Yes," and we had packed in forty minutes.The house was two hours north of Atlanta, on a lake I had not heard of before Harry described it, in a part of Georgia that had not been orga
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