And sure enough, Sam said, "Me and your little friend here was just discussing you going into the army."

"Army?"

"Ira couldn't join the army, I told her. He's got us." couldn't join the army, I told her. He's got us."

Ira said, "Well, anyhow, Pop, I ought to be back from this thing in a couple of hours."

"You really have to take that long? That's most of the morning!" Sam turned to Maggie and said, "Sat.u.r.day's our busiest day at work."

Maggie wondered why, in that case, the shop was empty. She said, "Yes, well, we should be-"

"In fact, if Ira joined the army we'd just have to close this place up," Sam said. "Sell it off lock, stock, and barrel, when it's been in the family for forty-two years come October."

"What are you talking about?" Ira asked him. "Why would I want to join the army?"

"Your little friend here thought you'd gone into the army and got yourself killed," Sam told him.

"Oh," Ira said. Now the danger must have dawned on him too, for this time it was he who said, "We should be going."

"She thought you'd blown yourself up in boot camp," Sam told him. He gave another of his wheezy chuckles. There was something molelike and relentless about that way he led with his nose, Maggie felt. "Ups and writes me a letter of condolence," he said. "Ha!" He told Maggie, "Gave me quite a start. I had this half-second or so where I thought, Wait a minute. Has Ira me a letter of condolence," he said. "Ha!" He told Maggie, "Gave me quite a start. I had this half-second or so where I thought, Wait a minute. Has Ira pa.s.sed pa.s.sed? First I knew of it, if so. And first I'd heard of you. First I'd heard of any girl, matter of fact, in years. I mean it's not like he has any friends anymore. His chums at school were that brainy crowd that went away to college and by now they've all lost touch with him and he doesn't see a soul his own age. 'Look here!' I told him. 'A girl at last!' After I'd withstood the shock. 'Better grab her while you got the chance,' I told him."

"Let's go," Ira said to Maggie.

He lifted a hinged section of the counter and stepped through it, but Sam went on talking. "Trouble is, now you know she can manage fine without you," he said.

Ira paused, still holding up the hinged section.

"She writes a little note of condolence and then continues with her life, as merry as pie," Sam told him.

"What did you expect her to do, throw herself in my grave?"

"Well, you got to admit she bore up under her grief mighty well. Writes me a nice little note, sticks a postage stamp in one corner, then carries on with her girlfriend's wedding arrangements."

"Right," Ira said, and he lowered the counter and came over to Maggie. Was he totally impenetrable? His eyes were flat, and his hand, when he took her arm, was perfectly steady.

"You're wrong," Maggie told Sam.

"Huh?"

"I wasn't doing fine without him! I was barely existing."

"No need to get all het up about it," Sam said.

"And for your information, there's any number of girls who think he's perfectly wonderful and I am not the only one and also it's ridiculous to say he can't get married. You have no right; anyone can get married if they want to." only one and also it's ridiculous to say he can't get married. You have no right; anyone can get married if they want to."

"He wouldn't dare!" Sam told her. "He's got me and his sisters to think of. You want us all in the poorhouse? Ira? Ira, you wouldn't dare to get married!"

"Why not?" Ira asked calmly.

"You've got to think of me and your sisters!"

"I'm marrying her anyhow," Ira said.

Then he opened the door and stood back to let Maggie walk through it.

On the stoop outside, they stopped and he put his arms around her and drew her close. She could feel the narrow bones of his chest against her cheek and she heard his heart beating in her ear. His father must have been able to see everything through the plate-gla.s.s door, but even so Ira bent his head and kissed her on the lips, a long, warm, searching kiss that turned her knees weak.

Then they started off toward the church, although first there was a minor delay because the hem of her choir robe caught her up short. Ira had to open the door once again (not even glancing at his father) and set her loose.

But to look at Serena's movie, would you guess what had come just before? They seemed an ordinary couple, maybe a bit mismatched as to height. He was too tall and thin and she was too short and plump. Their expressions were grave but they certainly didn't look as if anything earth-shattering had recently taken place. They opened and closed their mouths in silence while the audience sang for them, poking gentle fun, intoning melodramatically. "'Love is Nature's way of giving, a reason to be living...'" Only Maggie knew how Ira's hand had braced the small of her back.

Then the Barley twins leaned into each other and sang the processional, their faces raised like baby birds' faces; and the camera swung from them to Serena all in white. Serena sailed down the aisle with her mother hanging on to her. Funny: From this vantage neither one of them seemed particularly unconventional. Serena stared straight ahead, intent. Anita's makeup was a little too heavy but she could have been anybody's mother, really, anxious-looking and outdated in her tight dress. "Look at you!" someone told Serena, laughing. Meanwhile the audience sang, "'Though I don't know many words to say...'" the processional, their faces raised like baby birds' faces; and the camera swung from them to Serena all in white. Serena sailed down the aisle with her mother hanging on to her. Funny: From this vantage neither one of them seemed particularly unconventional. Serena stared straight ahead, intent. Anita's makeup was a little too heavy but she could have been anybody's mother, really, anxious-looking and outdated in her tight dress. "Look at you!" someone told Serena, laughing. Meanwhile the audience sang, "'Though I don't know many words to say...'"

But then the camera jerked and swooped and there was Max, waiting next to Reverend Connors in front of the altar. One by one, the singers trailed off. Sweet Max, pursing his chapped lips and squinting his blue eyes in an attempt to seem fittingly dignified as he watched Serena approaching. Everything about him had faded except for his freckles, which stood out like metal spangles across his broad cheeks.

Maggie felt tears welling up. Several people blew their noses.

No one, she thought, had suspected back then that it would all turn out to be so serious.

But of course the mood brightened again, because the song went on too long and the couple had to stand in position, with Reverend Connors beaming at them, while the Barley twins wound down. And by the time the vows were exchanged and Sugar rose to sing the recessional, most of the people in the audience were nudging each other expectantly. For who could forget what came next?

Max escorted Serena back down the aisle far too slowly, employing a measured, hitching gait that he must have thought appropriate. Sugar's song was over and done with before they had finished exiting. Serena tugged at Max's elbow, spoke urgently in his ear, traveled almost backward for the last few feet as she towed him into the vestibule. And then once they were out of sight, what a battle there'd been! The whispers, rising to hisses, rising to shouts! "If you'd stayed through the G.o.dd.a.m.n rehearsal," Serena had cried, "instead of tearing off to Penn Station for your never-ending relatives and leaving me to practice on my own so you had no idea how fast to walk me-" The congregation had remained seated, not knowing where to look. They'd grinned sheepishly at their laps, and finally broke into laughter. the vestibule. And then once they were out of sight, what a battle there'd been! The whispers, rising to hisses, rising to shouts! "If you'd stayed through the G.o.dd.a.m.n rehearsal," Serena had cried, "instead of tearing off to Penn Station for your never-ending relatives and leaving me to practice on my own so you had no idea how fast to walk me-" The congregation had remained seated, not knowing where to look. They'd grinned sheepishly at their laps, and finally broke into laughter.

"Serena, honey," Max had said, "pipe down. For Lord's sake, Serena, everyone can hear you, Serena, honey pie..."

Naturally none of this was apparent from the movie, which was finished anyhow except for a few scarred numerals flashing by. But all around the room people were refreshing other people's recollections, bringing the scene back to life. "And then she stalked out-"

"Slammed the church door-"

"Shook the whole building, remember?"

"Us just staring back toward the vestibule wondering how to behave-"

Someone flipped a window shade up: Serena herself. The room was filled with light. Serena was smiling but her cheeks were wet. People were saying, "And then, Serena..." and, "Remember, Serena?" and she was nodding and smiling and crying. The old lady next to Maggie said, "Dear, dear Maxwell," and sighed, perhaps not even aware of the others' merriment.

Maggie rose and collected her purse. She wanted Ira; she felt lost without Ira. She looked around for him but saw only the others, meaningless and bland. She threaded her way to the dining alcove, but he wasn't among the guests who stood picking over the platters of food. She walked down the hall and peeked into Serena's bedroom.

And there he was, seated at the bureau. He'd pulled a chair up close and moved Linda's graduation picture out of the way so he could spread a solitaire layout clear across the polished surface. One angular brown hand was poised above a jack, preparing to strike. Maggie stepped inside and shut the door. She set her purse down and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "You missed a good movie," she said into his hair. "Serena showed a film of her wedding." chair up close and moved Linda's graduation picture out of the way so he could spread a solitaire layout clear across the polished surface. One angular brown hand was poised above a jack, preparing to strike. Maggie stepped inside and shut the door. She set her purse down and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "You missed a good movie," she said into his hair. "Serena showed a film of her wedding."

"Isn't that just like her," Ira said. He placed the jack on a queen. His hair smelled like coconut-its natural scent, which always came through sooner or later no matter what shampoo he used.

"You and I were singing our duet," she said.

"And I suppose you got all teary and nostalgic."

"Yes, I did," she told him.

"Isn't that just like you you," he said.

"Yes, it is," she said, and she smiled into the mirror in front of them. She felt she was almost boasting, that she'd made a kind of proclamation. If she was easily swayed, she thought, at least she had chosen who would sway her. If she was locked in a pattern, at least she had chosen what that pattern would be. She felt strong and free and definite. She watched Ira scoop up a whole row of diamonds, ace through ten, and lay them on the jack. "We looked like children," she told him. "Like infants. We were hardly older than Daisy is now; just imagine. And thought nothing of deciding then and there who we'd spend the next sixty years with."

"Mmhmm," Ira said.

He pondered a king, while Maggie laid her cheek on the top of his head. She seemed to have fallen in love again. In love with her own husband! The convenience of it pleased her-like finding right in her pantry all the fixings she needed for a new recipe.

"Remember the first year we were married?" she asked him. "It was awful. We fought every minute."

"Worst year of my life," he agreed, and when she moved around to the front he sat back slightly so she could settle on his lap. His thighs beneath her were long and bony-two planks of lumber. "Careful of my cards," he told her, but she could feel he was getting interested. She laid her head on his shoulder and traced the st.i.tching of his shirt pocket with one finger.

"That Sunday we invited Max and Serena to dinner, remember? Our very first guests. We rearranged the furniture five times before they got there," she said. "I'd go out in the kitchen and come back to find you'd shifted all the chairs into corners, and I'd say, 'What have you done done?' and shift them all some other way, and by the time the Gills arrived, the coffee table was upside down on the couch and you and I were having a shouting quarrel."

"We were scared to death, is what it was," Ira said. He had his arms around her now; she felt his amused, dry voice vibrating through his chest. "We were trying to act like grownups but we didn't know if we could pull it off."

"And then our first anniversary," Maggie said. "What a fiasco! Mother's etiquette book said it was either the paper anniversary or the clock anniversary, whichever I preferred. So I got this bright idea to construct your gift from a kit I saw advertised in a magazine: a working clock made out of paper."

"I don't remember that."

"That's because I never gave it to you," Maggie said.

"What happened to it?"

"Well, I must have put it together wrong," Maggie said. "I mean I followed all the directions, but it never really acted like it was supposed to. It dragged, it stopped and started, one edge curled over, there was a ripple under the twelve where I'd used too much glue. It was...makeshift, amateur. I was so ashamed of it, I threw it in the trash."

"Why, sweetheart," he said.

"I was afraid it was a symbol or something, I mean a symbol of our marriage. We were makeshift ourselves, is what I was afraid of."

He said, "Shoot, we were just learning back then. We didn't know what to do with each other."

"We know now," she whispered. Then she pressed her mouth into one of her favorite places, that nice warm nook where his jaw met his neck.

Meanwhile her fingers started traveling down to his belt buckle.

Ira said, "Maggie?" but he made no move to stop her. She straightened up to loosen his belt and unzip his fly.

"We can sit right here in this chair," she whispered. "No one will ever guess."

Ira groaned and pulled her against him. When he kissed her his lips felt smooth and very firm. She thought she could hear her own blood flooding through her veins; it made a rushing sound, like a seash.e.l.l.

"Maggie Daley!" Serena said.

Ira started violently and Maggie jumped up from his lap. Serena stood frozen with one hand on the doork.n.o.b. She was gaping at Ira, at his open zipper and his shirttail flaring out.

Well, it could have gone in either direction, Maggie figured. You never knew with Serena. Serena could have just laughed it off. But maybe the funeral had been too much for her, or the movie afterward, or just widowhood in general. At any rate, she said, "I don't believe this. I do not believe it."

Maggie said, "Serena-"

"In my own house! My bedroom!"

"I'm sorry; please, we're both so sorry..." Maggie said, and Ira, hastily righting his clothes, said, "Yes, we honestly didn't-" said, and Ira, hastily righting his clothes, said, "Yes, we honestly didn't-"

"You always were impossible," Serena told Maggie. "I suspect it's deliberate. No one could act so goofy purely by chance. I haven't forgotten what happened with my mother at the nursing home. And now this! At a funeral gathering! In the bedroom I shared with my husband!"

"It was an accident, Serena. We never meant to-"

"An accident!" Serena said. "Oh, just go."

"What?"

"Just leave," she said, and she wheeled and walked away.

Maggie picked up her purse, not looking at Ira. Ira collected his cards. She went through the doorway ahead of him and they walked down the hall to the living room. People stood back a little to let them pa.s.s. She had no idea how much they had heard. Probably everything; there was something hushed and thrilled about them. She opened the front door and then turned around and said, "Well, bye now!"

"Goodbye," they murmured. "Bye, Maggie, bye, Ira..."

Outside, the sunlight was blinding. She wished they'd driven over from the church. She took hold of Ira's hand when he offered it and picked her way along the gravel next to the road, fixing her eyes on her pumps, which had developed a thin film of dust.

"Well," Ira said finally, "we certainly livened up that that little gathering." little gathering."

"I feel just terrible," Maggie said.

"Oh, it'll blow over," Ira told her. "You know how she is." Then he gave a snort and said, "Just look on the bright side. As cla.s.s reunions go-"

"But it wasn't a cla.s.s reunion; it was a funeral," Maggie said. "A memorial service. I went and ruined a memorial service! She probably thinks we were showing off or something, taunting her now that she's a widow. I feel terrible." said. "A memorial service. I went and ruined a memorial service! She probably thinks we were showing off or something, taunting her now that she's a widow. I feel terrible."

"She'll forgive us," he told her.

A car swished by and he changed places with her, setting her to the inside away from the traffic. Now they walked slightly apart, not touching. They were back to their normal selves. Or almost back. Not entirely. Some trick of light or heat blurred Maggie's vision, and the stony old house they were pa.s.sing seemed to shimmer for a moment. It dissolved in a gentle, radiant haze, and then it regrouped itself and grew solid again.

PART TWO.

For the past several months now, Ira had been noticing the human race's wastefulness. People were squandering their lives, it seemed to him. They were splurging their energies on petty jealousies or vain ambitions or long-standing, bitter grudges. It was a theme that emerged wherever he turned, as if someone were trying to tell him something. Not that he needed to be told. Didn't he know well enough all he himself had wasted?He was fifty years old and had never accomplished one single act of consequence. Once he had planned to find a cure for some major disease and now he was framing pet.i.t point instead.His son, who couldn't carry a tune, had dropped out of high school in hopes of becoming a rock star. His daughter was one of those people who fritter themselves away on unnecessary worries; she chewed her fingernails to nubbins and developed blinding headaches before exams and agonized so over her grades that their doctor had warned of ulcers.And his wife! He loved her, but he couldn't stand how she refused to take her own life seriously. She seemed to believe it was a sort of practice life, something she could afford to play around with as if they offered second and third chances to get it right. She was always making clumsy, impetuous rushes toward nowhere in particular-side trips, random detours. making clumsy, impetuous rushes toward nowhere in particular-side trips, random detours.Like today, for instance: this Fiona business. Fiona was no longer any relation, not their daughter-in-law and not even an acquaintance, in Ira's opinion. But here Maggie sat, trailing a hand out the window as they whizzed down Route One toward home, and what did she return to (just when he was hoping she'd forgotten) but her whim to pay Fiona a visit. Bad enough they'd lost their Sat.u.r.day to Max Gill's funeral-a kind of side trip in itself-but now she wanted to plunge off in a whole new direction. She wanted to swing by Cartwheel, Pennsylvania, just so she could offer to baby-sit while Fiona went on her honeymoon. A completely pointless proposal; for Fiona did have a mother, didn't she, who'd been tending Leroy all along and surely could be counted on for the next little bit as well. Ira pointed that out. He said, "What's the matter with what's-her-name? Mrs. Stuckey?""Oh, Mrs. Stuckey Stuckey," Maggie said, as if that were answer enough. She brought in her hand and rolled up the window. Her face glowed in the sunlight, round and pretty and intense. The breeze had ruffled her hair so it stood out in loops all over her head. It was a hot, gasoline-smelling breeze and Ira wasn't sorry to have lost it. However, this constant opening and shutting of the window was getting on his nerves. She operated from second to second, he thought. She never looked any distance ahead. A spasm of irritation darted raggedly through his temples.Here was a woman who had once let a wrong number consume an entire evening. "h.e.l.lo?" she'd said into the phone, and a man had said, "Laverne, stay right there safe in your house. I just talked to Dennis and he's coming to fetch you." And then had hung up. Maggie cried, "Wait!"-speaking into a dead receiver; typical. Whoever it was, Ira had told her, deserved what he got. If Dennis and Laverne never managed to connect, why, that was their problem, not hers. But Maggie had gone on and on about it. "'Safe,'" she moaned. "'Safe in the house,' he told me. Lord only knows what that poor Laverne is going through." And she had spent the evening dialing all possible variations of their own number, every permutation of every digit, hoping to find Laverne. But never did, of course. it was, Ira had told her, deserved what he got. If Dennis and Laverne never managed to connect, why, that was their problem, not hers. But Maggie had gone on and on about it. "'Safe,'" she moaned. "'Safe in the house,' he told me. Lord only knows what that poor Laverne is going through." And she had spent the evening dialing all possible variations of their own number, every permutation of every digit, hoping to find Laverne. But never did, of course.Cartwheel, Pennsylvania, was so close it could practically reach out and grab them, to hear her talk. "It's on that cutoff right above the state line. I forget the name," she was saying. "But I couldn't see it anywhere on that map you got at the service station."No wonder she'd been so little help navigating; she'd been hunting Cartwheel instead.Traffic was surprisingly spa.r.s.e for a Sat.u.r.day. Mostly it was trucks-small, rusty trucks carrying logs or used tires, not the sleek monsters you'd see on I-95. They were traveling through farm country at this point, and each truck as it pa.s.sed left another layer of dust on the wan, parched, yellowing fields that lined the road."Here's what we'll do," Maggie told him. "Stop by Fiona's just for an instant. A teeny, eeny instant. Not accept even a gla.s.s of iced tea. Make her our offer and go.""That much you could handle by telephone," Ira said."No, I couldn't!""Telephone when we get back to Baltimore, if you're so set on baby-sitting.""That child is not but seven years old," Maggie told him, "and she must just barely remember us. We can't take her on for a week just cold! We have to let her get reacquainted first.""How do you know it's a week?" Ira asked.She was riffling through her purse now. She said, "Hmm?""How do you know the honeymoon will last a week, Maggie?""Well, I don't don't know. Maybe it's two weeks. Maybe even a month, I don't know." know. Maybe it's two weeks. Maybe even a month, I don't know."He wondered, all at once, if this whole wedding was a myth-something she'd invented for her own peculiar reasons. He wouldn't put it past her."And besides!" he said. "We could never stay away that long. We've got jobs.""Not away: in Baltimore. We'd take her back down to Baltimore.""But then she'd be missing school," he said."Oh, that's no problem. We'll let her go to school near us," Maggie said. "Second grade is second grade, after all, the same all over."Ira had so many different arguments against that that he was struck speechless.Now she dumped her purse upside down in her lap. "Oh, dear," she said, studying her billfold, her lipstick, her comb, and her pack of Kleenex. "I wish I'd brought that map from home."It was another form of wastefulness, Ira thought, to search yet again through a purse whose contents she already knew by heart. Even Ira knew those contents by heart. And it was wasteful to continue caring about Fiona when Fiona obviously had no feeling for them, when she had made it very clear that she just wanted to get on with her life. Hadn't she stated that, even? "I just want to get on with my life"-it had a familiar ring. Maybe she had shouted it during that scene before she left, or maybe later during one of those pathetic visits they used to pay after the divorce, with Leroy bashful and strange and Mrs. Stuckey a single accusatory eye glaring around the edge of the living room door. Ira winced. Waste, waste, and more waste, all for nothing. The long drive and the forced conversation and the long drive home again, for absolutely nothing. glaring around the edge of the living room door. Ira winced. Waste, waste, and more waste, all for nothing. The long drive and the forced conversation and the long drive home again, for absolutely nothing.And it was wasteful to devote your working life to people who forgot you the instant you left their bedsides, as Ira was forever pointing out. Oh, it was also admirably selfless, he supposed. But he didn't know how Maggie endured the impermanence, the lack of permanent results-those feeble, senile patients who confused her with a long-dead mother or a sister who'd insulted them back in 1928.It was wasteful too to fret so over the children. (Who were no longer children anyhow-not even Daisy.) Consider, for instance, the cigarette papers that Maggie had found last spring on Daisy's bureau. She had picked them up while she was dusting and come running to Ira. "What'll we do? What are we going to do?" she had wailed. "Our daughter's smoking marijuana; this is one of the telltale clues they mention in that pamphlet that the school gives out." She'd got Ira all involved and distressed; that happened more often than he liked to admit. Together they had sat up far into the night, discussing ways of dealing with the problem. "Where did we go wrong?" Maggie cried, and Ira hugged her and said, "There now, dear heart. I promise you we'll see this thing through." All for nothing yet again, it turned out. Turned out the cigarette papers were for Daisy's flute. You slid them under the keys whenever they started sticking, Daisy explained offhandedly. She hadn't even bothered to take umbrage.Ira had felt ridiculous. He'd felt he had spent something scarce and real-hard currency.Then he thought of how a thief had once stolen Maggie's pocketbook, marched right into the kitchen where she was shelving groceries and stolen it off the counter as bold-faced as you please; and she took after him. She could have been killed! (The efficient, the streamlined thing to do was to shrug and decide she was better off without that pocketbook-had never cared for it anyhow, and surely could spare the few limp dollars in the billfold.) It was February and the sidewalks were sheets of glare ice, so running was impossible. Ira, returning from work, had been astonished to see a young boy shuffling toward him at a snail's pace with Maggie's red pocketbook dangling from his shoulder, and behind him Maggie herself came jogging along inch by inch with her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on her footing. The two of them had resembled those mimes who can portray a speedy stride while making no progress at all. In fact, it had looked sort of comical, Ira reflected now. His lips twitched. He smiled. she was shelving groceries and stolen it off the counter as bold-faced as you please; and she took after him. She could have been killed! (The efficient, the streamlined thing to do was to shrug and decide she was better off without that pocketbook-had never cared for it anyhow, and surely could spare the few limp dollars in the billfold.) It was February and the sidewalks were sheets of glare ice, so running was impossible. Ira, returning from work, had been astonished to see a young boy shuffling toward him at a snail's pace with Maggie's red pocketbook dangling from his shoulder, and behind him Maggie herself came jogging along inch by inch with her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on her footing. The two of them had resembled those mimes who can portray a speedy stride while making no progress at all. In fact, it had looked sort of comical, Ira reflected now. His lips twitched. He smiled."What," Maggie ordered."You were crazy to go after that pocketbook thief," he told her."Honestly, Ira. How does your mind work?"Exactly the question he might have asked her."Anyhow, I did get it back," she said."Only by chance. What if he'd been armed? Or a little bigger? What if he hadn't panicked when he saw me?""You know, come to think of it, I believe I dreamed about that boy just a couple of nights ago," Maggie said. "He was sitting in this kitchen that was kind of our kitchen and kind of not our kitchen, if you know what I mean...."Ira wished she wouldn't keep telling her dreams. It made him feel fidgety and restless.Maybe if he hadn't gotten married. Or at least had not had children. But that was too great a price to pay; even in his darkest moods he realized that. Well, if he had put his sister Dorrie in an inst.i.tution, then-something state-run that wouldn't cost too much. And told his father, "I will no longer provide your support. Weak heart or not, take over this G.o.dd.a.m.n shop of yours and let me get on with my original plan if I can cast my mind back far enough to remember what it was." And made his other sister venture into the world to find employment. "You think we're not his sister Dorrie in an inst.i.tution, then-something state-run that wouldn't cost too much. And told his father, "I will no longer provide your support. Weak heart or not, take over this G.o.dd.a.m.n shop of yours and let me get on with my original plan if I can cast my mind back far enough to remember what it was." And made his other sister venture into the world to find employment. "You think we're not all all scared?" he would ask her. "But we go out anyway and earn our keep, and so will you." scared?" he would ask her. "But we go out anyway and earn our keep, and so will you."But she would die of terror.He used to lie in bed at night when he was a little boy and pretend he was seeing patients. His drawn-up knees were his desk and he'd look across his desk and ask, kindly, "What seems to be the trouble, Mrs. Brown?" At one point he had figured he might be an orthopedist, because bonesetting was so immediate. Like furniture repair, he had thought. He had imagined that the bone would make a clicking sound as it returned to its rightful place, and the patient's pain would vanish utterly in that very instant."Hoosegow," Maggie said."Pardon?"She scooped up her belongings and poured them back in her purse. She set the purse on the floor at her feet. "The cutoff to Cartwheel," she told him. "Wasn't it something like Hoosegow?""I wouldn't have the faintest idea.""Moose Cow. Moose Lump.""I'm not going there, whatever it's called," Ira told her."Goose b.u.mp.""I would just like to remind you," he said, "about those other visits. Remember how they turned out? Leroy's second birthday, when you phoned ahead to arrange things, telephoned telephoned, and still Fiona somehow forgot you were coming. They went off to Hershey Park and we had to wait on the doorstep forever and finally turn around and come home." we had to wait on the doorstep forever and finally turn around and come home."Carrying Leroy's gift, he didn't say: a gigantic, blankly smiling Raggedy Ann that broke his heart."And her third birthday, when you brought her that kitten unannounced even though I warned you to check with Fiona beforehand, and Leroy started sneezing and Fiona said she couldn't keep it. Leroy cried all afternoon, remember? When we left, she was still crying.""She could have taken shots for that," Maggie said, stubbornly missing the point. "Lots of children take allergy shots and they have whole housefuls of pets.""Yes, but Fiona didn't want her to. She didn't want us interfering, and she really didn't want us visiting, either, which is why I said we shouldn't go there anymore."Maggie cut her eyes over at him in a quick, surmising way. Probably she was wondering if he knew about those other trips, the ones she had made on her own. But if she had cared about keeping them secret you'd think she would have filled the gas tank afterward."What I'm saying is-" he said."I know what you're saying!" she cried. "You don't have to keep hammering at it!"He drove in silence for a while. A row of dotted lines st.i.tched down the highway ahead of him. Dozens of tiny birds billowed up from a grove of trees and turned the blue sky cindery, and he watched them till they disappeared."My Grandma Daley used to have a picture in her parlor," Maggie said. "A little scene carved in something yellowish like ivory, or more likely celluloid. It showed this old couple sitting by the fireplace in their rocking chairs, and the t.i.tle was etched across the bottom of the frame: 'Old Folks at Home.' The woman was knitting and the man was reading an enormous book that you just knew was the Bible. And you knew there must be grown children away someplace; I mean that was the whole idea, that the old folks were left at home while the children went away. But they were so children away someplace; I mean that was the whole idea, that the old folks were left at home while the children went away. But they were so extremely extremely old! They had those withered-apple faces and potato-sack bodies; they were people you would cla.s.sify in an instant and dismiss. I never imagined that I would be an Old Folk at Home." old! They had those withered-apple faces and potato-sack bodies; they were people you would cla.s.sify in an instant and dismiss. I never imagined that I would be an Old Folk at Home.""You're plotting to have that child come live with us," Ira said. It hit him with a thump, as clearly as if she had spoken the words. "That's what you've been leading to. Now that you're losing Daisy you're plotting for Leroy to come and fill her place.""I have no such intention!" Maggie said-too quickly, it seemed to him."Don't think I don't see through you," he told her. "I suspected all along there was something fishy about this baby-sitting business. You're counting on Fiona to agree to it, now that she's all caught up with a brand-new husband.""Well, that just shows how little you know, then, because I have no earthly intention of keeping Leroy for good. All I want to do is drop in on them this afternoon and make my offer, which might just incidentally cause Fiona to reconsider a bit about Jesse.""Jesse?""Jesse our son, Ira.""Yes, Maggie, I know Jesse's our son, but I can't imagine what you think she could reconsider. They're finished. She walked out on him. Her lawyer sent him those papers to sign and he signed them every one and sent them back.""And has never, ever been the same since," Maggie said. "He or Fiona, either. But anytime he makes a move to reconcile, she is pa.s.sing through a stage where she won't speak to him, and then when she she makes a move he has makes a move he has slammed off somewhere with hurt feelings and doesn't know she's trying. It's like some awful kind of dance, some out-of-sync dance where every step's a mistake." slammed off somewhere with hurt feelings and doesn't know she's trying. It's like some awful kind of dance, some out-of-sync dance where every step's a mistake.""Well? So?" Ira said. "I would think that ought to tell you something.""Tell me what?""Tell you those two are a lost cause, Maggie.""Oh, Ira, you just don't give enough credit to luck," Maggie said. "Good luck or bad luck, either one. Watch out for that car in front of you."She meant the red Chevy-an outdated model, big as a barge, its finish worn down to the color of a dull red rubber eraser. Ira was already watching it. He didn't like the way it kept drifting from side to side and changing speeds."Honk," Maggie instructed him.Ira said, "Oh, I'll just-"He would just get past the fellow, he was going to say. Some incompetent idiot; best to put such people far behind you. He pressed the accelerator and checked the rearview mirror, but at the same time Maggie reached over to jab his horn. The long, insistent blare startled him. He seized Maggie's hand and returned it firmly to her lap. Only then did he realize that the Chevy driver, no doubt equally startled, had slowed sharply just feet ahead. Maggie made a grab for the dashboard. Ira had no choice; he swerved right and plowed off the side of the road.Dust rose around them like smoke. The Chevy picked up speed and rounded a curve and vanished."Jesus," Ira said.Somehow their car had come to a stop, although he couldn't recall braking. In fact, the engine had died. Ira was still gripping the wheel, and the keys were still swinging from the ignition, softly jingling against each other. swinging from the ignition, softly jingling against each other."You just had to b.u.t.t in, Maggie, didn't you," he said."Me? You're blaming this on me? What did I do?""Oh, nothing. Only honked the horn when I was the one driving. Only scared that fellow so he lost what last few wits he had. Just once in your life, Maggie, I wish you would manage not to stick your nose in what doesn't concern you.""And if I didn't, who would?" she asked him. "And how can you say it doesn't concern me when here I sit in what's known far and wide as the death seat? And also, it wasn't my honking that caused the trouble; it was that crazy driver, slowing down for no apparent reason."Ira sighed. "Anyway," he said. "Are you all right?""I could just strangle him!" she said.He supposed that meant she was fine.He restarted the engine. It coughed a couple of times and then took hold. He checked for traffic and pulled out onto the highway again. After the gravelly roadside, the pavement felt too frictionless, too easy. He noticed how his hands were shaking on the steering wheel."That man was a maniac," Maggie said."Good thing we had our seat belts fastened.""We ought to report him.""Oh, well. So long as no one was hurt.""Go faster, will you, Ira?"He glanced over at her."I want to get his license number," she said. Her tangled curls gave her the look of a wild woman.Ira said, "Now, Maggie. When you think about it, it was really as much our doing as his.""How can you say that? When he was driving by fits and starts and wandering every which way; have you forgotten?" and starts and wandering every which way; have you forgotten?"Where did she find the energy? he wondered. How come she had so much to expend? He was hot and his left shoulder ached where he'd slammed against his seat belt. He shifted position, relieving the pressure of the belt across his chest."You don't want him causing a serious accident, do you?" Maggie asked."Well, no.""Probably he's been drinking. Remember that public-service message on TV? We have a civic duty to report him. Speed up, Ira."He obeyed, mostly out of exhaustion.They pa.s.sed an electrician's van that had pa.s.sed them earlier and then, as they crested a hill, they caught sight of the Chevy just ahead. It was whipping right along as if nothing had happened. Ira was surprised by a flash of anger. d.a.m.n fool driver. And who said it had to be a man? More likely a woman, strewing chaos everywhere without a thought. He pressed harder on the accelerator. Maggie said, "Good," and rolled down her window."What are you doing?" he asked."Go faster.""What did you open your window for?""Hurry, Ira! We're losing him.""Be funny if we got a ticket for this," Ira said.But he let the speedometer inch up to sixty-five, to sixty-eight. They drew close behind the Chevy. Its rear window was so dusty that Ira had trouble seeing inside. All he could tell was that the driver wore a hat of some kind and sat very low in the seat. There didn't seem to be any pa.s.sengers. The license plate was dusty too-a Pennsylvania plate, navy and yellow, the yellow mottled with gray as if mildewed."Y two eight-" Ira read out."Yes, yes, I have it," Maggie said. (She was the type who could still reel off her childhood telephone number.) "Now let's pa.s.s him," she told Ira."Oh, well...""You see what kind of driver he is. I think we ought to pa.s.s."Well, that made sense. Ira veered left.Just as they came alongside the Chevy, Maggie leaned out her window and pointed downward with her index finger. "Your wheel!" she shouted. "Your wheel! Your front wheel is falling off!""Good grief," Ira said.He checked the mirror. Sure enough, the Chevy had slowed and was moving toward the shoulder."Well, he believed you," he said.He had to admit it was sort of a satisfaction.Maggie twisted around in her seat, gazing out the rear window. Then she turned to Ira. There was a stricken look on her face that he couldn't account for. "Oh, Ira," she said."Now what.""He was old, Ira."Ira said, "These G.o.dd.a.m.n senior-citizen drivers...""Not only was he old," she said. "He was black.""So?""I didn't see him clearly till I'd said that about the wheel," she said. "He didn't mean to run us off the road! I bet he doesn't even know it happened. He had this wrinkled, dignified face and when I told him about the wheel his mouth dropped open but still he remembered to touch the brim of his hat. His hat! His gray felt hat like my grandfather wore!"Ira groaned.Maggie said, "Now he thinks we played a trick on him. He thinks we're racist or something and lied about his wheel to be cruel." him. He thinks we're racist or something and lied about his wheel to be cruel.""He doesn't think any such thing," Ira said. "As a matter of fact, he has no way of knowing his wheel isn't isn't falling off. How would he check it? He'd have to watch it in motion." falling off. How would he check it? He'd have to watch it in motion.""You mean he's still sitting there?""No, no," Ira said hastily. "I mean he's probably back on the road by now but he's traveling a little slower, just to make sure it's all right.""I wouldn't do that," Maggie said. wouldn't do that," Maggie said."Well, you're not him.""He wouldn't do that, either. He's old and confused and alone and he's sitting there in his car, too scared to drive another inch.""Oh, Lord," Ira said."We have to go back and tell him."Somehow, he'd known that was coming."We won't say we deliberately lied," Maggie said. "We'll tell him we just weren't sure. We'll ask him to make a test drive while we watch, and then we'll say, 'Oops! Our mistake. Your wheel is fine; we must have misjudged.'""Where'd you get this 'we' business?" Ira asked. "I never told him it was loose in the first place.""Ira, I'm begging you on bended knee, please turn around and go rescue that man.""It is now one-thirty in the afternoon," Ira said. "With luck we could be home by three. Maybe even two-thirty. I could open the shop for a couple of hours, which may not be much but it's better than nothing.""That poor old man is sitting in his car staring straight in front of him not knowing what to do," Maggie said. "He's still hanging on to the steering wheel. I can see him as plain as day."So could Ira.He slowed as they came to a large, prosperous-looking farm. A gra.s.sy lane led toward the barn, and he veered onto that without signaling first, in order to make the turn seem more sudden and more exasperated. Maggie's sungla.s.ses scooted the length of the dashboard. Ira backed up, waited for a stream of traffic that all at once materialized, and then spun out onto Route One again, this time heading north.Maggie said, "I knew you couldn't be heartless.""Just imagine," Ira told her. "All up and down this highway, other couples are taking weekend drives together. They're traveling from Point A to Point B. They're holding civilized discussions about, I don't know, current events. Disarmament. Apartheid.""He probably thinks we belong to the Ku Klux Klan," Maggie said. She started chewing her lip the way she always did when she was worried."No stops, no detours," Ira said. "If they take any break at all, it's for lunch in some cla.s.sy old inn. Someplace they researched ahead of time, where they even made reservations."He was starving, come to think of it. He hadn't eaten a thing at Serena's."It was right about here," Maggie said, perking up. "I recognize those silos. It was just before those mesh-looking silos. There he is."Yes, there he was, not sitting in his car after all but walking around it in a wavery circle-a stoop-shouldered man the color of a rolltop desk, wearing one of those elderly suits that seem longer in front than in back. He was studying the tires of the Chevy, which might have been abandoned years ago; it had a settled, resigned appearance. Ira signaled and made a U-turn, arriving neatly behind so the two cars' b.u.mpers almost touched. He opened the door and stepped out. "Can we help?" he called. opened the door and stepped out. "Can we help?" he called.Maggie got out too but seemed willing for once to let Ira do the talking."It's my wheel," the old man said. "Lady back up the road a ways pointed out my wheel was falling off.""That was us," Ira told him. "Or my wife, at least. But you know, I believe she might have been wrong. That wheel seems fine to me."The old man looked at him directly now. He had a skull-like, deeply lined face, and the whites of his eyes were so yellow they were almost brown. "Oh, well, surely, seems seems fine," he said. "When the car is setting stark still like it is." fine," he said. "When the car is setting stark still like it is.""But I mean even before," Ira told him. "Back when you were still on the road."The old man appeared unconvinced. He prodded the tire with the toe of his shoe. "Anyhow," he said. "Mighty nice of you folks to stop."Maggie said, "Nice! It's the least we could do." She stepped forward. "I'm Maggie Moran," she said. "This is my husband, Ira.""My name's Mr. Daniel Otis," the old man said, touching the brim of his hat."Mr. Otis, see, I had this sort of, like, mirage as we were driving past your car," Maggie said. "I thought I noticed your wheel wobbling. But then the very next instant I said, 'No, I believe I imagined it.' Didn't I, Ira? Just ask Ira. 'I believe I made that driver stop for no good reason,' I told him.""They's all kindly explanations why you might have seen it wobble," Mr. Otis said."Why, certainly!" Maggie cried. "Heat waves, maybe, rippling above the pavement. Or maybe, I don't know-""Might have been a sign, too," Mr. Otis said."Sign?""Might have been the Lord was trying to warn me.""Warn you about what?""Warn me my left front wheel was fixing to drop off."Maggie said, "Well, but-""Mr. Otis," Ira said. "I think it's more likely my wife just made a mistake.""Now, you can't know that.""An understandable mistake," Ira said, "but all the same, a mistake. So what we ought to do is, you get into your car and drive it just a few yards down the shoulder. Maggie and I will watch. If your wheel's not loose, you're free and clear. If it is, we'll take you to a service station.""Oh, why, I appreciate that," Mr. Otis said. "Maybe Buford, if it ain't too much trouble.""Pardon?""Buford Texaco. It's up ahead a piece; my nephew works there.""Sure, anywhere," Ira said, "but I'm willing to bet-""In fact, if it ain't too much trouble you might just go on and carry me there right now," Mr. Otis said."Now?""I don't relish driving a car with a wheel about to drop off.""Mr. Otis," Ira said. "We'll test the wheel. That's what I've been telling you.""I'll test it," Maggie said."Yes, Maggie will test it. Maggie? Honey, maybe I should be the one.""Shoot, yes; it's way too risky for a lady," Mr. Otis told her.Ira had been thinking of the risk to the Chevy, but he said, "Right. You and Mr. Otis watch; I'll drive.""No, sir, I can't allow you to do that," Mr. Otis said. "I appreciate it, but I can't allow it. Too much danger. You folks just carry me to the Texaco, please, and my nephew will come fetch the car with the tow truck." folks just carry me to the Texaco, please, and my nephew will come fetch the car with the tow truck."Ira looked at Maggie. Maggie looked back at him helplessly. The sounds of traffic whizzing past reminded him of those TV thrillers where spies rendezvoused in modern wastelands, on the edges of superhighways or roaring industrial complexes."Listen," Ira said. "I'll just come right out with this-""Or don't carry me! Don't," Mr. Otis cried. "I already inconvenienced you-all enough, I know that.""The fact is, we feel responsible," Ira told him. "What we said about your wheel wasn't so much a mistake as a plain and simple, um, exaggeration.""Yes, we made it up," Maggie said."Aw, no," Mr. Otis said, shaking his head, "you just trying to stop me from worrying.""A while back you kind of, like, more or less, slowed down too suddenly in front of us," Maggie said, "and caused us to run off the road. Not intending to, I realize, but-""I did that?""Not intending to," Maggie a.s.sured him."And besides," Ira said, "you probably slowed because we accidentally honked. So it's not as if-""Oh, I declare. Florence, that's my niece, she is all the time after me to turn in my driver's license, but I surely never expected-""Anyhow, I did a very inconsiderate thing," Maggie told him. "I said your wheel was falling off when really it was fine.""Why, I call that a very Christian Christian thing," Mr. Otis said. "When I had caused you to run off the road! You folks been awful nice about this." thing," Mr. Otis said. "When I had caused you to run off the road! You folks been awful nice about this.""No, see, really the wheel was-""Many would've let me ride on to my death," Mr. Otis said."The wheel was fine!" Maggie told him. "It wasn't wobbling in the slightest."Mr. Otis tipped his head back and studied her. His lowered eyelids gave him such a haughty, hooded expression that it seemed he might finally have grasped her meaning. But then he said, "Naw, that can't be right. Can it? Naw. I tell you: Now that I recollect, that car was driving funny all this morning. I knew it and yet didn't didn't know it, you know? And I reckon it must've hit you-all the same way-kindly like you half glimpsed it out of the corner of your vision so you were moved to say what you did, not understanding just why." know it, you know? And I reckon it must've hit you-all the same way-kindly like you half glimpsed it out of the corner of your vision so you were moved to say what you did, not understanding just why."That settled it; Ira took action. "Well, then," he said, "nothing to do but test it. Keys inside?" And he strode briskly to the Chevy and opened the door and slid in."Aw, now!" Mr. Otis cried. "Don't you go risking your neck for me me, mister!""He'll be all right," Maggie told him.Ira gave Mr. Otis a rea.s.suring wave.Even though the window was open, the Chevy was pulsing with heat. The clear plastic seat cover seemed to have partially melted, and there was a strong smell of overripe banana. No wonder: The remains of a bag lunch sat on the pa.s.senger seat-a crumpled sack, a banana peel, and a screw of cellophane.Ira turned the key in the ignition. When the engine roared up he leaned out toward Maggie and Mr. Otis and said, "Watch carefully."They said nothing. For two people who looked so little alike, they wore oddly similar expressions: wary and guarded, as if braced for the worst.Ira put the car in gear and started rolling along the shoulder. He felt he was driving something that stood out too far on all sides-a double bed, for instance. Also, there was a rattle in the exhaust system. shoulder. He felt he was driving something that stood out too far on all sides-a double bed, for instance. Also, there was a rattle in the exhaust system.After a few yards, he braked and c.o.c.ked his head out the window. The others had not moved from where they stood; they'd merely turned their faces in his direction."Well?" he called.There was a pause. Then Mr. Otis said, "Yessir, seem like I did see a bit of jiggling motion to it.""You did?" Ira asked.He quirked an eyebrow at Maggie."But you didn't," he said."Well, I'm not certain," Maggie told him."Excuse me?""Maybe I just imagined it," she said, "but I thought there was a little, sort of, I don't know..."Ira shifted gears and backed up with a jolt. When he was alongside them once more he said, "Now I want you both to watch very, very closely."He drove farther this time, a dozen yards or so. They were forced to follow him. He glanced in the side-view mirror and saw Maggie scurrying along with her arms folded beneath her bosom. He stopped the car and climbed out to face them."Oh, that wheel is loose, all right," Mr. Otis called as he arrived.Ira said, "Maggie?""It reminded me of a top, just before it stops spinning and falls over," Maggie said."Now listen here, Maggie-""I know! I know!" she said. "But I can't help it, Ira; I really saw it wobble. And also it looked kind of squashy.""Well, that's a whole different problem," Ira said. "The tire may be underinflated. But that wheel is on tight as a drum, I swear it. I could feel it. I can't believe you're doing this, Maggie." "The tire may be underinflated. But that wheel is on tight as a drum, I swear it. I could feel it. I can't believe you're doing this, Maggie.""Well, I'm sorry," she said stubbornly, "but I refuse to say I didn't see what I saw with my own two eyes. I just think we're going to have to take him to that Texaco."Ira looked at Mr. Otis. "You got a lug wrench?" he asked."A...sir?""If you've got a lug wrench, I could tighten that wheel myself.""Oh, why...Is a lug wrench like a ordinary wrench?""You probably have one in your trunk," Ira told him, "where you keep your jack.""Oh! But where do I keep my jack, I wonder," Mr. Otis said."In your trunk," Ira repeated doggedly, and he reached inside the car for the keys and handed them over. He was keeping his face as impa.s.sive as possible, but inwardly he felt the way he felt anytime he stopped by Maggie's nursing home: utterly despairing. He couldn't see how this Mr. Otis fellow made it from day to day, b.u.mbling along as he did."Lug wrench, lug wrench," Mr. Otis was murmuring. He unlocked the trunk and flung the lid up. "Now let me just..."At first glance, the trunk's interior seemed a solid block of fabric. Blankets, clothes, and pillows had been packed inside so tightly that they had congealed together. "Oh, me," Mr. Otis said, and he plucked at a corner of a graying quilt, which didn't budge."Never mind," Ira told him. "I'll get mine."He walked back to the Dodge. It suddenly seemed very well kept, if you overlooked what Maggie had done to the left front fender. He took his keys from the ignition and unlocked the trunk and opened it. the left front fender. He took his keys from the ignition and unlocked the trunk and opened it.Nothing.Where once there'd been a spare tire, tucked into the well beneath the floor mat, now there was an empty s.p.a.ce. And not a sign of the gray vinyl pouch in which he kept his tools.He called, "Maggie?"She turned lazily from her position by the Chevy and tilted her head in his direction."What happened to my spare tire?" he asked."It's on the car.""On the car?" the car?"She nodded vigorously."You mean it's in use?""Right.""Then where's the original tire?""It's getting patched at the Exxon back home.""Well, how did ...?"No, never mind; better not get sidetracked. "So where are the tools, then?" he called."What tools?"He slammed the lid down and walked back to the Chevy. There was no point shouting; he could see his lug wrench was not going to be anywhere within reach. "The tools you changed the tire with," he told her."Oh, I didn't change the tire. A man stopped and helped me.""Did he use the tools in the trunk?""I guess so, yes.""Did he put them back?""Well, he must have," Maggie said. She frowned, evidently trying to recall."They're not there, Maggie.""Well, I'm sure he didn't steal them, if that's what you're thinking. He was a very nice man. He wouldn't even accept any money; he said he had a wife of his own and-" thinking. He was a very nice man. He wouldn't even accept any money; he said he had a wife of his own and-""I'm not saying he stole them; I'm just asking where they are."Maggie said, "Maybe on the..." and then mumbled something further, he wasn't sure what."Pardon?""I said, maybe on the corner of Charles Street and Northern Parkway!" she shouted.Ira turned to Mr. Otis. The old man was watching him with his eyes half closed; he appeared to be falling asleep on his feet."I guess we'll have to unpack your trunk," Ira told him.Mr. Otis nodded several times but made no move to begin."Shall we just unload it?" Ira asked."Well, we could do that," Mr. Otis said doubtfully.There was a pause.Ira said, "Well? Shall we start?""We could start if you like," Mr. Otis told him, "but I'd be very much surprised if we was to find a wheel wrench.""Everybody has a wheel wrench. Lug wrench," Ira said. "It comes with the car.""I never saw it.""Oh, Ira," Maggie said. "Can't we just drive him to the Texaco and get his nephew to fix it properly?""And how do you think he would do that, Maggie? He'd take a wrench and tighten the lug nuts, not that they need it."Mr. Otis, meanwhile, had managed to remove a single item from the trunk: a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. He held them up and considered them.Maybe it was the dubious expression on his face, or maybe it was the pajamas themselves-crinkled and withered, trailing a frazzled drawstring-but at any rate, Ira all at once gave in. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l," he said. "Let's just go to the Texaco." withered, trailing a frazzled drawstring-but at any rate, Ira all at once gave in. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l," he said. "Let's just go to the Texaco.""Thank you, Ira," Maggie told him sweetly.And Mr. Otis said, "Well, if you sure it ain't too much trouble.""No, no..." Ira pa.s.sed a hand across his forehead. "So I guess we'd better lock up the Chevy," he said.Maggie said, "What Chevy?""That's what kind of car this is, Maggie.""Ain't hardly no point locking it with a wheel about to fly off," Mr. Otis said.Ira had a brief moment when he wondered if this whole situation might be Mr. Otis's particularly pa.s.sive, devilish way of getting even.He turned and walked back to his own car. Behind him he heard the Chevy's trunk lid clanging shut and the sound of their feet on the gravel, but he didn't wait for them to catch up.Now the Dodge was as hot as the Chevy, and the chrome shaft of the gearshift burned his fingers. He sat there with the motor idling while Maggie helped Mr. Otis settle in the back seat. She seemed to know by instinct that he would require a.s.sistance; he had to be folded across the middle in some complicated fashion. The last of him to enter was his feet, which he gathered to him by lifting both knees with his hands. Then he let out a sigh and took his hat off. In the mirror Ira saw a bony, plated-looking scalp, with two cottony puffs of white hair snarling above his ears."I surely do appreciate this," Mr. Otis said."Oh, no trouble!" Maggie told him, flouncing onto the front seat.Speak for yourself, Ira thought sourly.He waited for a cavalcade of motorcyclists to pa.s.s (all male, unhelmeted, swooping by in long S-curves, as free as birds), and then he pulled onto the highway. "So whereabouts are we headed?" he asked. male, unhelmeted, swooping by in long S-curves, as free as birds), and then he pulled onto the highway. "So whereabouts are we headed?" he asked."Oh, why, you just drive on past the dairy farm and make a right," Mr. Otis told him. "It ain't but three, four miles."Maggie craned around in her seat and said, "You must live in this area.""Back-air a ways on Dead Crow Road," Mr. Otis told her. "Or used to, till last week. Lately I been staying with my sister Lurene."Then he started telling her about his sister Lurene, who worked off and on at the Kmart when her arthritis wasn't too bad; and that of course led to a discussion of Mr. Otis's own arthritis, the sneaky slow manner it had crept up on him and the other things he had thought it was first and how the doctor had marveled and made over his condition when Mr. Otis finally thought to consult him."Oh, if you had seen what I have seen," Maggie said. "People in the nursing home where I work just knotted over; don't I know it." She had a tendency to fall into other people's rhythms of speech while she was talking to them. Close your eyes and you could almost fancy she was black herself, Ira thought."It's a evil, mean-spirited ailment; no two ways about it," Mr. Otis said. "This here is the dairy farm, mister. You want to take your next right."Ira slowed down. They pa.s.sed a small clump of cows moonily chomping and staring, and then they turned onto a road not two full lanes wide. The pavement was patchy, with hand-painted signs tilting off the gra.s.sy embankment: DANGER LIVESTOCK MAY BE LOOSE DANGER LIVESTOCK MAY BE LOOSE and and SLOW THIS MEANS YOU SLOW THIS MEANS YOU and and HOUNDS AND HORSES CROSSING HOUNDS AND HORSES CROSSING.Now Mr. Otis was explaining how arthritis had forced him to retire. He used to be a roofer, he said, down home in North Carolina. He used to walk those ridgepoles as nimble as a squirrel and now he couldn't manage the lowest rung of a ladder. him to retire. He used to be a roofer, he said, down home in North Carolina. He used to walk those ridgepoles as nimble as a squirrel and now he couldn't manage the lowest rung of a ladder.Maggie made a clucking sound.Ira wondered why Maggie always had to be inviting other people into their lives. She didn't feel a mere husband was enough, he suspected. Two was not a satisfactory number for her. He remembered all the strays she had welcomed over the years-her brother who spent a winter on their couch when his wife fell in love with her dentist, and Serena that time that Max was in Virginia hunting work, and of course Fiona with her baby and her mountains of baby equipment, her stroller and her playpen and her wind-up infant swing. In his present mood, Ira thought he might include their own children as well, for weren't Jesse and Daisy also outsiders-interrupting their most private moments, wedging between the two of them? (Hard to believe that some people had children to hold a marriage together together.) And neither one had been planned for, at least not quite so soon. In the days before Jesse was born, Ira had still had hopes of going back to school. It was supposed to be the next thing in line, after paying off his sister's medical bills and his father's new furnace. Maggie would keep on working full time. But then she found out she was pregnant, and she had to take leave from her job. And after that Ira's sister developed a whole new symptom, some kind of seizures that required hospitalization; and a moving van crashed into the shop one Christmas Eve and damaged the building. Then Maggie got pregnant with Daisy, another surprise. (Had it been unwise, perhaps, to leave matters of contraception to someone so accident-p.r.o.ne?) But that was eight years after Jesse, and Ira had more or less abandoned his plans by then anyhow. and Ira had more or less abandoned his plans by then anyhow.Sometimes-on a day like today, say, this long, hot day in this dusty car-he experienced the most crushing kind of tiredness. It was an actual weight on his head, as if the ceiling had been lowered. But he supposed that everybody felt that way, now and again.Maggie was telling Mr. Otis the purpose of their trip. "My oldest, closest friend just lost her husband," she was saying, "and we had to go to his funeral. It was the saddest occasion.""Oh, gracious. Well, now, I want to offer my sincere condolences," Mr. Otis said.Ira slowed behind a round-shouldered, humble-looking car from the forties, driven by an old lady so hunched that her head was barely visible above the steering wheel. Route One, the nursing home of highways. Then he remembered that this wasn't Route One anymore, that they had drifted sideward or maybe even backward, and he had a dreamy, floating sensation. It was like that old spell during a change of seasons when you momentarily forget what stage the year is going through. Is it spring, or is it fall? Is the summer just beginning, or is it coming to an end?They pa.s.sed a modern, split-level house with two plaster statues in the yard: a Dutch boy and girl bobbing delicately toward each other so their lips were almost touching. Then a trailer park and a.s.sorted signs for churches, civic organizations, Al's Lawn and Patio Furnishings. Mr. Otis sat forward with a grunt, clutching the back of the seat. "Right up-air is the Texaco," he said. "See it?"Ira saw it: a small white rectangle set very close to the road. Mylar balloons hovered high above the pumps-three to each pump, red, silver, and blue, twining lazily about one another.He turned onto the concrete ap.r.o.n, carefully avoiding the signal cord that stretched across it, and braked and looked back at Mr. Otis. But Mr. Otis stayed where he was; it was Maggie who got out. She opened the rear door and set a hand beneath the old man's elbow while h