While I resent their invasion of my privacy, anything less than my full cooperation will lead to a search warrant and a deep dive into my past, and that I can’t afford, so I take them on the grand tour. Bedrooms, bathrooms, closets.

“What do you do?” I take another swig of water, a pause to cue up my backstory. “I’m an import analyst for Europa Global Logistics.” “Europa? As in Jupiter’s moon?” “Very good. Most people don’t know that.”

“I’m wondering why you seem so calm about this. Why having a dead body in your driveway doesn’t seem to rattle you. It would freak out most people.” “At my age, Officer, nothing much freaks me out anymore.” One side of her mouth twitches up. She has a finely tuned bullshit meter, and it’s telling her I’m not giving her the whole story, but she’s

Over the sixteen years since my retirement, I’ve slowly let down my guard. Now I’m so accustomed to being a small-town chicken farmer that I’ve started to believe that’s all I am. The way Ben’s just a retired salesman for hotel supplies, and Declan’s just a retired history professor. We know the truth, but we keep each other’s secrets, because we

On the platform, I see girls in miniskirts, boys in jackets with football logos, all of them thirsty for their next drink. I am stone-cold sober. I never drink before an operation, and that’s what this feels like. Operation Danny. It’s only dinner and maybe sex. And after that? I know how to disappear. It’s my specialty.

In the two years since I moved onto the adjoining property, he’s no doubt gleaned a number of details about me. He knows that I turn off my lights every night around 10:00 p.m., that I’m up early to feed and water my chickens. He knows I’m a novice at tapping maple trees, that I mostly keep to myself, and that I don’t throw loud parties. And today

On US Route 1, the coastal road that led back to the village, Jo drove past the curve where a bicyclist fell and fractured his skull last summer, past the cove where a teenage girl drowned. When you live your whole life in one town, you know all the places where tragedy has occurred, because bad memories are as permanent as gravestones.

Jo looked at the bar, where she’d worked for a few summers pouring wine and shaking cocktails for the hordes from away, sunburned tourists who’d said her little seaside village was quaint and asked what folks did here in the winter. Well, this is what we do here, she thought. We gain weight and drink too much and get on each other’s nerves.

As I stand in line waiting to pay for the groceries, I could be mistaken for just another farmer or housewife or retired teacher. For years, I taught myself not to stand out, not to draw attention, and now it comes effortlessly, which is both sad and also a relief.