Lizzie had in fact promised her entire day to Julia. Her friend had found a tattoo artist in Richmond who didn't check IDs. Yet as much as it pained Lizzie to bail on her—the girls hadn't spent meaningful time together since their encounter with Rex Benbow—her father's increasing frailty left her no real choice. Lizzie was a good girl, at heart, and she did not wish to disappoint him.

Bill insisted that his daughters spruce up for the occasion. Lizzie squeezed into the somber ankle-length skirt she'd worn to her grandmother's funeral, while Rebecca wore a checkered gingham dress with a baby-blue sash that reminded Lizzie of the Judy Garland impersonators at the Easter parade. "You two look fit for an audience with the queen," declared Bill, his voice already dysarthric from disease. "Okay, we're off," he added, as he wheeled himself onto the front porch. "We'll be back home for lunch."

"And if you're not?" Myra asked.

Lizzie's father let the question evaporate into the air. He navigated his motorized wheelchair onto the asphalt and then jolted his way up the Benbows' slate path. His daughters followed. Dead leaves of various hues coated the Benbow yard. Two doors away, Mrs. Greenbough's Irish setter stood alert at the perimeter of an invisible fence, yapping at a birdbath beyond her reach. Lizzie suffered under the grasp of her pantyhose, which made her feel like an old woman.

Rebecca pressed the doorbell.

A long silence yielded to footsteps, but the door did not open. Rebecca looked at her father for guidance, and he signaled for her to ring the bell again. Once more, a long silence ensued. Lizzie was already marshalling the courage to suggest that they return home when a voice from within said, "Please, go away." Instantly Lizzie recognized Rex Benbow's flat inflection, and she nearly lost control of her bladder. "My grandmother is old and sick," added Benbow. "We don't want any trouble."

"We're not here to make trouble," replied Bill. "I'm your neighbor, Bill Sucram. My daughters and I wanted to welcome you to the block. That's all."

They waited. From behind the door, they heard the sound of Benbow's voice—but muffled and distant, likely addressed to his grandmother.

"I'm not leaving until you shake my hand," called Lizzie's father. "Let us show our good will, and we'll go home."

Lizzie bargained mutely with a god she didn't actually believe in, offering up all aspects of model citizenship if the sex offender didn't open the door. "He wants to be left alone, Dad," she argued. "Please. You can't force yourself on him." Yet a second later, Lizzie's prayers were answered by a chorus of multiple deadbolts unlocking.