1966

There is no such thing as silence in the woods. Vivian Silver trusted
this, as she followed the man she'd met only hours ago down the pine-dark
path of his property. She watched his lean figure and became hypnotized by
his uneven gait, the majesty of his long narrow back. He hadn't once
turned around to make sure that she'd kept up, and this did not surprise
her. Just as she knew that there was no such thing as silence in the
woods, she also somehow trusted that as carefully as she was watching him,
he was listening even more carefully for her quick footfalls and the
high-pitched swish of her navy blue windbreaker. She could feel him
listening, and that was good enough.

She walked on and heard skitters of invisible creatures, the wind through
the thinning pines. There was a sense of clarity that accompanied the
quiet, and this was something Vivian already knew to look for in a man.
When one held back from her, she couldn't help but pay attention.
The path finally opened up into a clearing, and because the sun had just
set, the land-his land-was the darkest of greens, a shade brought on by
October in New Hampshire when the day holds on to the richness of color
even when light is gone.

There in the distance, just as he'd promised, was a pond.

She couldn't quite see the water. He was blocking her view with his body,
but she could smell the wet sand and fallen leaves, the swampy, reedy
darkness. And although it was unquestionably autumn, Vivian could feel the
brazen heat of summer, the lovely shock of a dive. She could also hear the
slice of blades on ice, the scrape and shriek of skating. On sensing this
body of water, she brie...