But they did hide from death. All afternoon, channel surfing in her bedroom. It was taboo to ask someone how long they had been a guest at The Precipice. But judging from how many friends Shannon had, how many people knew him on a first name basis, or owed him a favor, Margaret guessed he had been there a while. Hiding from death the way a soldier hides in a foxhole. Except Shannon’s foxhole was a gallon of mint chocolate chip on Sunday, his cheat day.

That was part of it too, she thought. Part of what made her think Shannon may have been a mere tourist. The man ate cleaner than anyone she had ever known during the best of times. She felt downright lousy consuming hordes of hot fudge covered Twinkies, bacon wrapped Moonpies, and lemon drops by the fistful, in front of him. But he never...

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