ruly am." Billy took a deep drag.

"I see you drinking on the street, I'm going to lock you up."

"I am much obliged." Billy began to cough. He went outside, and Officer
Allen waved his arm as if to clear the air. There was a polite silence
punctuated by Billy's coughs which grew fainter as he moved down the
sidewalk. Officer Allen left with a newspaper and a supply of
Marlboros.

Gert was sitting on the porch when Patrick arrived home.

"Morning, Gert." She looked him over and smiled broadly.

"Good morning. I've a job for you, if you've a mind to do it."

"Well, I was going to work on the Unified Field Theory, but . . . " The
Big Bang Theory. He started to smile and found himself turning red.

"Aren't we in a good mood," Gert said.

"What needs doing?"

"The attic. I've been cleaning, and I need some boxes brought down to
the shed. They're too heavy for me." She led him up two flights of
stairs and pointed out a group of boxes. "Fred is coming to haul them
away some time next week. It's time to get rid of things."

"No problem. Is that where you keep your gold?" Patrick pointed at a
small iron bound chest secured by a black lock. "Right out of Treasure
Island," he said.

"Other treasures," Gert said. "Could you move it over there by those
books? Good. Just cover it with the same sheet. Thank you." Patrick
made ten trips to the shed, feeling better with each trip. Entering the
attic was like going back in time; emerging in the sunlight and walking
across the lawn was a return to the present, a promise of future.

"I'll cut the grass before it gets hot," he said.

"Now Patrick, I want you to keep track of your time."

"No need, Gert. I mean--if you wanted me to paint the house or
something, that would be different." He liked Gert, but he didn't want
to be on call.

"Very well, Patrick. Perhaps you'll take a glass of lemonade." She
often seemed amused by him.

"I will," he said.

He took a nap in the afternoon and walked into town refreshed and
hungry. The Depresso was mostly empty. He ordered vegetarian chili,
cornbread, and a Heineken. "Thanks, Eve." She smiled enigmatically, her
mind elsewhere. She, too, was from Michigan, like Sue and Claude, an
odd coincidence. Patrick had never been in Michigan, but he imagined
deep woods. Eve swayed like a tall pine as she walked.

She was older than Willow. She had three children. Patrick had seen one
in her arms and the others swarming up her legs, outside