The first and only time Lucien roasted a whole pig he had cranked the spit for hours. The pig barn had been his idea. The pig roast had been Catherine’s. She’d almost passed out from the smoke and the smell of hot grease, but all afternoon she’d stayed close to Lucien as he turned the carcass, the muscles in his arms ropey, shiny with pig fat, until the animal’s hide finally crackled and burst, the fat dripping and sizzling on...
