Roy jabbed his finger at the map open on the passenger seat and glanced at it again. The red circle he’d drawn was on Rural Route 22. It crossed Hwy 17C at an odd angle, having to skirt around railroad tracks at the edge of a culvert, so he knew it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out when he arrived, sign or not. As it turned out, there was a sign; it said, “Red Schoolhouse Road, RR22”. Roy turned right and felt the pavement surrender to dirt road, with just enough gravel covering to keep it from turning into mud ruts.

The phone rang. Roy reached into his breast pocket. “Cedar Realty, Roy Dresler speaking,” he said. It was a woman back in Crydersville whose house he was selling. She wanted to know if she were required to leave the appliances. “No, Mrs. Banks, but buyers can make an offer conditional on you leaving them that you can either accept or reject. It’s really up to you. Does that help? ...Okay. No, no problem, that’s what I’m here for. If there’s anything else, just let me know. See you Thursday. Bye-bye.” He hung up and tucked the phone back in his pocket.

The trees that lined RR22 were huge, ancient things still blessed with full heads of hair that had begun to sprout with April’s blessing. Their limbs shook and bent as she teased them, as if trying to make them bald again. Most of the properties on RR22 were large farms dating back to the middle of the 19^th century, but there were a surprising number of homes up the north side of the road. They increased in modernization as one drove along — a testament to one man’s gambling habits; each home a monument to a major loss — until at last one arrived at an old farmhouse sandwiched between two 1990s behemoths. This was the home of Hamlin Grady; or former home, actually, since he no longer inhabited it or any other place in the mortal world.

The Grady house was set back from the road about eighty yards, fed by a tree-lined avenue beside a duck pond that was now almost hidden behind one of the latest monstrosities. At one time it had stood alone and commanded the surrounding forty acres, and while it still held suzerainty over much of the land back of the new house lots, it had seen better days. For Hamlin Grady it had represented a home, an investment, and a means to support his gambling habit, strung out over decades. You learned a lot about the places you sold in the real estate game, and often, it was a tale of woe and decay.

Roy eased the car between the rows of trees that had once been someone’s pride and joy until he pulled up before the house. Even now, it was large and comfortable looking, and it would please someone. Stepping into the rain, he reconsidered staking the signs just at the moment and decided instead to attend to matters inside. Grabbing his briefcase, he made a dash for the door. Holding the case over his head, he fished the key Grady’s son had given him out of his pocket and let himself in.

Roy shut the door carefully against the wind and locked it. He was in the process of turning around when he was greeted with a yelp and the sound of a bucket of water hitting the floor. The sound of his own briefcase doing likewise followed as he spun to face the assault.

There was a woman standing in the hallway where it met the kitchen, her hands cupped to her mouth. Soapy water pooled around her bare feet as she stood, pants rolled up to her knees and sleeves to her elbows, cowering, wide-eyed. “What do you — who are you?” she squealed.

Roy backed to the door, hands raised, nearly as alarmed. He yapped, “I’m the realtor, I’m handling the sale of the property... Roy Dresler.”

Her hands slowly dropped from her face and she glanced around at the mess on the floor, still shaking.

“I didn’t know anyone was here,” Roy continued. “I should have knocked. I’m sorry.”

The woman drew her bare arm across her mouth as if wiping away the foul taste of her fear. “Sure and it’s alright, you’ve a right to be here, Mr. Dresler,” she said. “Maybe more than I, now that Mr. Grady’s passed on.” She stooped to pick up the bucket and the sponge, and hurriedly sopped up what water she could.

“I can come back at another time, if you’re busy,” Roy said. “I’m just here to photograph the interior for our web site.”

“I’m just cleaning the place in preparation for... for the sale,” the woman said. “I’m not surprised Mr. Grady’s son didn’t mention me. I used to look after Mr. Grady until... well, last week.”

“Oh,” Roy said. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, it was quick,” she sighed. She straightened, smoothed herself as much as she could. “And where are my manners. Here it is, pis— pouring down in buckets sideways, and I’m standing here in the hall like a muck savage. Would you like a cup of tea? Or maybe coffee.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Roy said.

“It’s no trouble,” she replied. “I’m dying for a cup myself. My name’s Laura, by the way.” She offered her hand and Roy shook it. “Can I take your coat?”

Roy eased out of his coat and gave it a couple of shakes over the mat before handing it to Laura with thanks. She hung it in the hall closet. “If you’ll trouble yourself to leave your shoes at the door, you can join me in the kitchen,” she told him, and picking up her bucket again, she headed there.

Roy undid his laces and followed her, being careful to avoid what was left of the spill. The kitchen was done in soft greens. It was tidy but had not been stylistically updated for some time. It showed the want of a woman’s touch — or at least, the touch of a woman with the authority to call the shots in that regard. The curtains were spotlessly clean but tired and ghostly. A faded border of gaudy flowers, the like of which Roy had not seen since childhood, ringed the room at ceiling level, and the appliances were likewise anachronistic, a smile-provoking avocado in colour. The only concessions to modernity were those appliances that had come along too late to be anything but unassumingly utilitarian; the microwave, a food processor. Function over style. Roy stepped outside his times just long enough to reflect that these things, too, would probably one day seem just as gaudy.

“Have a seat, please,” she urged him, and he did. Laura had emptied the bucket in the sink and began filling the kettle. It was one of those that sat on the stove, rather than being plugged in. Roy hadn’t seen one like it since his last visit to his aunt’s apartment. “I must look a fright,” she lamented. “And first impressions being so lasting.”

They weren’t exactly a matching pair, Roy had to admit — if only to himself. He himself was dressed in a smart business suit, navy blue with matching tie. Not a single strand of his black hair was out of place, in spite of the weather; gelled down to defy any errant hurricane. She, on the other hand, was dressed in faded blue jeans with paint spots and a pale blue blouse whose time had long ago come and gone. Presumably, that was why she’d chosen them for the task. Her clothes were wet with water and, in places, perspiration. His silence at her remark clearly unnerved her, and when she turned to look at him, he got his first chance to study her in the soft light of the open window.

“I don’t blame you,” she smiled, wanly. “Girls back home used to call me ‘Mousey’.”

He studied her quickly, in the blink of an eye. There was no time to do more, politely, and a response was expected of him. In truth, she looked the very definition of the word. Her hair was short and, at least at the moment, disheveled. It was a soft, muddy, reddish-brown, as if the compromise between two bolder hues that, evenly matched, had fought each other to a standstill and blandly settled their differences. Despite its brevity it was full and bracketed her face well enough to hide it until she turned her eyes on him. And yes, her eyes… She had the sort of eyes that left him wondering, as soon as she turned away, what their colour was… blue? Hazel? Grey? Along her cheekbones and across the bridge of her nose freckles sat like dandelions on an unkempt hillside. She was lean, but womanly; small, but sturdy. Summing her up instantly, he offered the requisite compliment. “No, you look fine,” he told her, managing a soft smile. And while it was what was required of the moment, it was not a lie, either.

She leaned on the counter, fidgeting. “You’re a fibber, but a kind one,” she smiled back.

“No, honestly,” he said. She glanced down, and around, and the room was quiet except for the wind outside and the water in the kettle slowly beginning to stir. He tossed out the first question that came to him. “Are you, uh, a relative? Of Mr. Grady’s?”

“Aw, no. No, just the girl who looked after him. My name’s Coughlin.”

“You sound Irish,” he said.

She nodded. “So was he, but he came over long ago. Just after the war. Worked for a while in the steel mills down on the Lake, then settled up here and ran a lumberyard. He wanted a girl from back home. I guess he didn’t trust the ones around here.”

“How about you?”

“How about me what?”

“When did you come over?”

“Oh,” she said. “Five years back. Sure and it sounded like the answer to a prayer back then.”

“I heard things were good in Ireland now,” Roy said.

“Right, and so they are, if you have an education. If you’re a farm girl from Macroom who’s spent most of her life looking after the other brats, the Celtic Tiger’s more apt to eat you than hand you a job.”

The kettle began to whistle, so she turned off the burner. She dropped a couple of tea bags in a pot and drowned them in the steaming water, and set the kettle down. Arms folded across her belly, she gazed out the window over the sink.

“So the streets weren’t paved with gold when you got here?” he grinned.

She blinked, and turned as if yanked from a dream. “Hmm? Oh. Well, they’re paved, at least. Which isn’t to say they’re not in Cork. Well, mostly, anyway. But then, you’ll notice this road’s not paved either.”

“So I guess it’s all about the same,” he said.

“Well, sure, I suppose it is,” she nodded. “Halverton’s about the size of Cork… the city, I mean, not the county… and Crydersville, that’s about the size of Macroom. And here I am, on a farm far away from both, just like I was before.” She lifted the lid off the pot and prodded the tea bags with a spoon. “Do you like your tea weak or strong?”

“Sort of in the middle,” he said.

“Another minute or two, Mr. Dresler,” she nodded.

“You can call me Roy, if I can call you Laura,” he said.

She regarded him for a moment, a bit guardedly. “Sure, that’ll be fine,” she allowed. She stirred the pot, as if to hasten the brew. “How do you take it?” she asked him.

“Uh, two sugars, no milk, please.”

“Coming up,” she said. She took two cups down and poured the tea. She fixed Roy’s and handed it to him, and then retreated to her counter.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked her. “You must have been working hard all morning.”

A look came over her as though the idea of sitting at the table had never crossed her mind, but made perfect sense now that it had. Still reserved, she sat opposite him, peering up at the window where the curtain billowed where it was open, just a crack. She set her elbow on the table and dropped her chin in her hand.

“You’ve really managed the place well,” he offered her, sipping the tea. “The pictures will look great.”

“I can’t quite believe I’m leaving here,” she murmured.

The implications of it all that had been needling the back of his mind now burst onto the stage. What was for him just one more sale, one more commission, was for her the end of an era, the loss of her home. Five years, she’d said.

“You must have been quite young when you got here,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes and fixed her gaze on him. “A gentleman never asks a lady’s age,” she told him. “Though it was a clever attempt. But there’s not a woman in the world would have fallen for it.” She smiled, and stirred her tea. “I expect you can do math, and you know I’ve been here five years. Very well, Mr. Dresler… Roy. I was twenty-one when I stepped off the plane. And I’m twenty-six now.”

“I’m thirty-two,” he reciprocated.

She suddenly smiled, dipping her head, which in turn made him smile. “What?” he asked her.

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just… there are thirty-two counties in Ireland,” she said, motioning to him, “and twenty-six in the Republic,” she told him, sweeping her fingers towards herself. “Just… a little funny, that’s all.”

“Ironic,” he said.

“Or coincidental,” she retorted.

“You said you were from Cork?” he asked her.

“I am.”

“Which… part of…”

“It’s in the south,” she told him. “South south. About as far south as you can go, though Macroom is inland a ways. It’s in west Cork, near County Kerry. Not that I expect you know where that is, either.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “Is it far from Dublin?”

“Diagonally down from it,” she said, with a small sweep of her hand. “Dublin’s in the east, facing Britain.”

“Was Mr. Grady from Cork?”

“No. Limerick. That’s just north of Cork, though.”

“How did you find out about this job?” Roy asked.

“Well,” Laura said, finally ceasing stirring her tea and drinking some, “he ran an advert in a few papers in Cork and Limerick. Probably a few others. Small papers, because he wasn’t looking for city girls. He wanted someone like me, farm folk. Picked me because he used to work with my great-grandpa.” She lifted her eyes from the window and looked at Roy. “And here I keep going on about myself. What about you? You’re the real estate fellow. That must be interesting work.”

“It has its moments. Like walking in on people unannounced,” he laughed.

“And your missus, is she in the business as well?”

Roy held up the back of his left hand, ringless. “I’m not married,” he said. He suspected she’d already discerned that but wanted to hear it from him directly. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that no man would miss the intent of that question either, but he kept it to himself.

“So you live in Crydersville?” she asked.

“No, my office is in Crydersville. I live in Trillium.”

“I’ve heard of Trillium, it’s supposed to be pretty posh,” she said, blushing a little.

“It’s a nice neighbourhood. I’ve only lived there a little over a year, though.”

Laura looked up at the window again. “Well, I’ll never live anywhere like that. Unless it’s Douglas or something.”

“Douglas?”

There was a loud bang from the other end of the house. “Jesus wept,” Laura barked, launching herself. Roy followed her. At the back of the house was a laundry room. The main door was open, and the screen door had somehow been caught by the wind and was banging itself stupidly against the wall outside.

“Let me, let me,” Roy offered, stepping past her. The door lunged at him and a jagged aluminum edge bit into the ball of his thumb. He winced, “Damn it!” and angered, seized the door and hauled it shut, bloodying the handle. Laura closed the main door behind him even as she leaned in to examine his hand.

“That’s rough,” she said, “let’s get it cleaned.”

“Yeah,” Roy sighed. Laura led him to the stairs and up into the bathroom. Harsh light and small speckles of red on porcelain fittings as she bathed his hand in warm water. He found it immensely soothing and it brought out the pouting six-year-old boy in him.

“There, you big poltroon,” she scolded him, spreading the elastic bandage across his palm. “You’ll probably live. Although, you did save me a whack, I’m willing to admit. And for that you’ve my thanks, sure.”

“You’re welcome,” he told her.

The bathroom window was open as well; the house was being given a thorough airing-out. Roy became aware of music, faint music from one of the other houses, almost at the edge of consciousness and audibility. There was a protracted silence in which they both seemed to hear it, and both wondered what it was, searching each other’s eyes.

“The Eagles,” he said.

She nodded. “New Kid In Town,” she confirmed. They listened for a moment, until suddenly she began clearing up the antiseptics. “I suppose I should get back to my cleaning up,” she said softly. “And I’m keeping you from your own duties.”

He was still sitting on the john, a bit startled at the change come over her. “I just need a few shots of the place,” he told her. “The major rooms, for the site.”

“You have the run of the place,” she informed him from the doorway. “It’s more your place now than it was ever mine…” She made her way down the stairs, leaving him sitting there.

His camera was in his briefcase and his briefcase was in the hall by the door. After a few confused moments he descended the stairs and picked up his case.

She came into the hall from the kitchen, the bucket refilled. He said, “I’m sorry, but, did I do anything to upset you?”

She turned so quickly that water overflowed the lip of the bucket. “No,” she told him. “No, it’s just that I need to get the place ready, or think of the state it’ll be in when you’re bringing people through.”

“Would you like me to wait to take the pictures?” he asked her.

She paused, considering.

“I mean, if you don’t want people coming through because you’re concerned about appearances, maybe I should wait till you’re ready to take the pictures for the same reason,” he suggested.

She licked her lips. “If… you wouldn’t mind coming back, …Roy …I’ll have the place in showing form on Friday.”

“Friday it is, then,” he said, putting the camera away. He fished one of his business cards out of his pocket. “Why don’t you give me a call when you’re ready on Friday, and I’ll work around your schedule. Well, as much as I can. Sometimes things come up.”

“It’s grand of you to hold off,” she said, quietly, taking the card and looking it over with unusual attention. “I’ll make it worth your while. The pictures will sell the place without you having to lift a finger,” she promised.

“I’m sure they will,” he agreed. “So… I guess I’ll see you on Friday.”

“That you will,” she said.

“Well, good-bye, Laura. It was nice meeting you. And thank you for the tea.”

“You’re surely welcome, and it was nice to meet you too,” she said. “…Roy.”

He took a last glance back at her, standing there scruffy with her vulnerability betraying her strength, and tossed her a wave and a smile before shutting the door.

He stared at the house for a few moments, and drove away.

The rest of Wednesday stretched out, and even though Thursday was a busy day for him, its still seemed uncommonly long. But finally it was Friday, and he found the time creeping by.

It wasn’t raining when he came to the Grady house that day, but the threat of it hung around like a sulking dog, waiting to snap at any joyous creature. And though he had the key, when Roy came to the front door this time, he knocked.

The door opened a crack and an eye appeared; identifying him, the owner of the eye opened the door fully. Laura Coughlin was a creature transformed. Like the house, she was now completely in order and nicely appointed. A pair of black slacks and a demure sweater attired her, and there was a faint air of lavender that might have come either from the house or been particular to her; it was hard to tell. “It’s nice to see you again,” Roy told her, stepping in.

“Thank you for holding off for a couple of days,” she reiterated. “You’ll find the place more photogenic today, I hope.”

“It was fine Wednesday, but I’m sure it’ll be irresistible today.”

“Would you… care for a cup of tea before you get started?” she asked him.

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” he said. “It probably won’t take me much longer to take the couple dozen photographs I need than it’ll take you to boil the water and steep the tea. Why don’t we kill two birds with one stone?”

She smiled, nodding nervously. “Grand so, that’s why you’re the realtor,” she told him.

He turned to move about the house, then stopped. “Um, are there any rooms I should… keep my nose out of?” he asked.

“No, help yourself,” she replied. “Everything important has been put away…” She spoke the words quietly, with a tiredness that seemed to have nothing to do with physical weariness.

“…Thanks,” he said, and took his camera from his briefcase. He headed up the stairs to the second floor.

The windows were open again, letting a fresh breeze roam the upper floor, and he realized the scent of lavender was absent. He crossed over into the master bedroom. He stopped for a moment to consider the bed where Hamlin Grady has breathed his last, alone, and then raised the camera. The small knickknacks that lined the dresser caught his attention… a small jade elephant, a hinged wooden box with a carved lid, a row of tiny perfume bottles, each wearing a hat, unopened in a glass case… surely the evidence there had once been a Mrs. Grady, all that was left of her in the man’s life. Roy felt a deep loneliness enfold him like cold water seeking to fill his lungs. He held his breath while he took a picture, moved across the room and took another, and then left.

There were two other bedrooms on the floor. The next had the curtains closed, and housed a large desk with a typewriter and a filing cabinet, and a single bed. There was an old television set in one corner. Roy got the impression it had once been a child’s bedroom but of late had been Grady’s den. A single photograph summarized the room and he moved on to the next.

This room smelled faintly of lavender, and bore a feminine air. There were pastel colours, womanly but subdued; a bit of lace and frill but nothing more than the declaration called for. Things were neat and orderly, and on the dresser were several framed photographs, with perhaps a dozen more tucked into the mirror above it. Roy glanced back down the stairs, and then stepped into the room.

The largest photograph showed an older couple, two young men, and three young women, bunched together and seemingly in mid-laugh. At the bottom was Laura – a slightly younger Laura with shoulder-length hair, but Laura all the same. Another photo seemed to show her graduating high school, dressed in a blue robe, holding a scroll, in the midst of a just over a dozen more similarly dressed young adults. There was Laura and another woman in one-piece bathing suits, sitting in a boat with rolling green hills in the distance behind them. The pictures tucked into the mirror were mostly portraits of couples or freckle-faced children. In spite of the fact that it would not show the room at its ideal angle, Roy made sure his back was to the dresser when he took the shot of this room.

The bathroom and hallway required a single shot each, and he descended the stairs. Laura was just pouring the water when he came into the kitchen.

He balked for a split second, then, daringly, he raised the camera. “Hold it,” she smiled, and she looked up. He snapped the picture.

She blinked, and then smiled. “What did you want to go doing that for, putting me in the picture? I thought you wanted to sell the place.”

“What could be a better recommendation than the woman of the house doing something warm and domestic in the kitchen? It’s the centre of the home,” he effused.

She set the pot on the stove. “Have you ever been to Ireland, Mr. Dresler?” she asked.

“Roy,” he reminded her. “No, no I haven’t, why?”

“I would have thought you’d kissed the Blarney Stone,” she said. “Besides,” she murmured, “I’m not the woman of the house.”

He swallowed and said, “Well, I’ll take a couple of shots of just the appliances. But they won’t do half as much to make the place look appealing.”

“I’ll stand out of your way,” she said, and did. He took a couple of shots from each end of the kitchen.

“Have you been to the living room and the sitting room yet?” she asked.

“Not yet. But after that, I should be done. I’ll take an external shot when I go. Sure wish it were sunny today.”

“Why don’t you wait in the sitting room,” she suggested. “We can sit and have a cup of tea in there. I’ll bring it in and meet you,” she told him.

“Which is the sitting room?”

“It’s the one with the television set in it,” she said.

“That sounds nice,” he agreed. “I’ll go take the pictures.”

The living room furniture was in good condition but it hadn’t been in style since before disco. Roy sighed and tried to draw attention to the size of the room and its light-gathering properties, hoping the possibilities they hinted at would overshadow the décor. After that, he moved to the sitting room. The drapes were closed and it was dark; even with the lights on the room seemed to soak it up. It looked like a cool refuge in the heat of summer, and he adjusted the camera to make the most of the room’s richness and took the shot. He set the camera on the coffee table and took a few moments to absorb the ambiance of the room. He pictured children sitting on the floor, watching black and white cartoon shows, and men taking their first steps on the moon, and he wondered how a room like that came to be one as empty as this. It didn’t seem right that it should. Well, maybe someone would come along now and fill it up with life again.

And Laura came in, carrying a pewter tray with the teapot, some cups, milk and sugar and a bag of sugar cookies. “Sure, and isn’t this lovely,” she congratulated herself. She sat herself on the chesterfield behind the coffee table, and Roy settled into the armchair beside it.

“Two sugars, no milk, is that right?” she asked, pouring the tea.

“Exactly,” he smiled.

“And there you are, Mister… Roy,” she corrected herself.

He took the cup with thanks and said, “You were right, it was worth waiting for.”

“The tea?” she asked.

He chuckled. “No, the work you did on the house. These pictures will help a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “But I’m only doing my job. What’s left of it,” she sighed.

“Do you… do you have something else lined up?”

She made a face and a far away look come over her. “I suppose so,” she said.

“Something in town?”

“Well… no. Wouldn’t that be nice. I never got into town all that much. Bess and me, we got in a few times to start with. Even made it into Toronto twice. But that was a long time ago…”

“Bess?”

“She was a Scots girl who was working just up the road a mite, looking after a pack of kids. We palled around, even though she was from Scotland. This far from home, it’s almost as good as Ireland. We had things in common, we understood the same things.”

“She not around anymore?”

“She met a fellah,” Laura said. “A programmer. She was living in town for a while and then they up and moved down to Markham. She called me on Christmas. Has a baby of her own now…”

“Sounds like she did alright,” he said.

“So it does.”

“I’ll bet you could find something in town. Crydersville, or even some other part of Halverton,” he told her. He reached for one of the cookies she’d set out.

“I suppose, if I looked hard enough, I could find some other old croak to look after, and then another and another ‘til I’m one myself,” she said, softly. “But I think, to be honest, I’ve had my fill, thanks all the same.”

“Maybe something else,” Roy said.

She smiled at him, the way you smile at a well-meaning child who just doesn’t understand yet. “And what could I do? Bag groceries? Sell overpriced coffee? It’s hard to make the rent. No… no, it’s back to Ireland for me, I think. And back to Douglas.”

“You mentioned him before. Is he your boyfriend back home?”

She laughed. “My boyfriend? Ah, no. Douglas is a town, in Cork. It’s not far outside the city. My brother Rob and his wife live there, in a big house with their two kids, one fresh out of the wrapper. They both work in the city, or they will when she goes back in a few months. And so Rob’s been on me to come on home and live with them, look after his brood. As if I didn’t have enough looking after him when he was snot-nosed.”

“You don’t want to go back?” Roy asked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “Ireland’s a wonderful place, truly. Greens like you’re never going to see here, that’s a fact. Friendly people. And there’s work, like I said, if you’ve an education. There’s nothing wrong with the place. It’s just…”

He studied her face as she thought things through. It was on his mind to urge her to go on, but he didn’t want to seem to pry. He simply sat, attentive, and hoped she’d go on.

She met his eye. “This was mine. This was for me. This was what I made, for myself. Sure, and Mr. Grady couldn’t have died at a better time for Rob, or a worse time for me. Me, within spitting distance of my citizenship. But I run out of gas just as the finish line comes in sight. And there’s Rob, oh, the old fellah’s dead, you’re not married, you did your bit, why don’t you come home. Mam misses you, Da misses you, sure I and Bridy and the kids that never met you miss you, come on home…” She sighed, deeply, and brought the cup to her lips and drained it. “Just seems like a horrid waste of five years, and all that paperwork.”

“Would you like to go to lunch?” he said.

She looked at him as if he’d asked in Spanish. “…Lunch?”

“Yes… with me. In Crydersville. There are a couple of good places, and it’s only a little way.”

“I don’t… I’m not really gussied up for it,” she complained.

“Laura you look fine. Honestly. Come on, get out of the house for an hour or two, it’ll help you think. You can think out loud if you want.”

“Don’t you have houses to sell?”

“This was my only appointment today. There’s paperwork at the office, but nothing that can’t wait. Come on, what do you say?”

She put her cup on the tray and glanced around. “Well… if you can promise me it’s no place too dear,” she cautioned. “I haven’t much to spare.”

“It’s on me,” he waved her off. “I shouldn’t have to say.”

“Then definitely someplace inexpensive,” she told him.

He smiled, rising. “Just come on. Get your purse and your coat and let’s have a nice meal.”

“I won’t say no to a kind offer like that; it’d be rude. Alright, let me get my things and lock up. But you’re in for one boring afternoon; don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.

She couldn’t help looking around in the car as they rode into town, he noticed with some pride. She said, “You must have sold some fine rooms to get yourself a set of wheels like this.”

“Well, I do a lot of driving. It’s important to have a comfortable, reliable car in my business.”

“I couldn’t afford a soap box racer with a squirrel in a wheel under the bonnet,” she said. “Much less the peanuts to feed him.”

He laughed, and turned off Hwy 17C onto a boulevard that led into the heart of Crydersville. When they drove past Bakey College, her eyes followed it like they were stapled to the front doors.

“Ever been in there?” Roy asked.

Laura said, “Just before she married Glen, Bess started going there. I was in there the day she registered. It smells like books in there. You felt like you could get smarter just breathing.”

“What did she study?”

Laura faced forward again. “Nursing,” she said finally.

“Is she a nurse now?”

“I don’t think yet, with the baby and all, but I’m guessing it won’t be long.”

The trees gave out on one side of the street and made way for storefronts. Roy turned the car down a narrow alley to a parking lot behind one of the buildings. They walked back around to the front, and the delicately painted sign said simply, June’s.

The staff wore uniforms, and a man led Laura and Roy upstairs to a large dining hall divided into little twists and turns designed to fill it up with cozy nooks. “Would you prefer a table or a booth?” he asked them.

Roy turned to Laura, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“A booth,” she decided. She fretted over the menus they were presented with. “Cripes, I could have fed me and Mr. Grady for a week on the price of some of these things.”

“Laura, all I ask is that you order something you’ll enjoy,” Roy smiled. “That’s all. I don’t think I could afford to eat here seven nights a week, but once in a while it’s worth it. Besides, I don’t eat here very often. It’s not—“

She peered over the menu. “Not what?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I was just going to say, it’s not the kind of place you want to eat alone. That’s all.”

She looked around the darkened room, the candles flickering smokily in their globes, the romantic scenes hung from every wall, at every booth. “No,” she said, finally. “I’m after thinking this would be the loneliest place on Earth if you did.”

“So I’m glad you said yes, or I’d be stuck eating my baloney sandwich today,” he chuckled. “So what do you fancy?”

“Well,” she said, “…what do you think of the whitefish here?”

“I’ve never had it. But I haven’t had anything here yet that wasn’t magnificent.”

“What was the best?”

He thought. “The ribs,” he said. “They’re absolutely spectacular. Tender; they slide right off the bone, and the sauce is… I’m at a loss for words.”

“Ribs might be a bit much for lunch,” she said.

“The chicken alfredo. It’s perfect. They have a lunch size portion. In fact, I think that’s what I’ll have.”

She folded the menu. “Then I’ll have the same,” she decided. When the waitress came with their drinks, they informed her of their decision.

“How long have you been a realtor?” she asked, picking at a breadstick.

“Six years. Almost,” he calculated.

“Before that?”

“I was a bartender through college,” he told her.

“Where’d you go?”

“Bakey,” he said. “Right here in town.”

“Are you from Halverton?”

“No, my folks live in Waterloo. But Bakey accepted me, so I came here. Got a job out of the co-op program, and so I just never left. I was twenty-four when I came here. I worked in a warehouse for five years after high school. I finally decided I wanted better things, so off I went.”

“Just like that.”

“Well, it’s not unusual,” he said. “Your friend Bess did it.”

“I wouldn’t want to do it the way Bess did it,” Laura said. There was just the hint of the tiniest icicle hanging from her words.

“What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t want someone like Glen to come swooping in and ‘rescue’ me,” she said, letting her eyes drop to the table. “I… would want to do it like you did. Myself. Earn it, so that I knew no one gave it to me.”

“I can understand that,” he said.

“Thing is, it doesn’t look like that can happen,” she said.

“So back to Douglas?” he asked.

She locked eyes with him. “Looks that way,” she said.

“Well, I am sorry about that,” he said. “If it’s not what you want.”

“Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. I miss them all, sure. But at the same time, what little I’ve got here, I got for myself. I just wish it added up to more.” She sipped her drink and told him, “I don’t know whether it steels me or scares me witless when I think of Mrs. Grady.”

“Mrs. Grady?”

“You know Mr. Grady gambled. I’ve only lived here five years and I’ve heard the stories. Those houses on the road, they have no business being there. But every one of them is a bet he lost. And for years before that. She’d come home from shopping to find someone waiting to take the keys to the car as she got out of it. Or her dining room furniture. It was when he lost the college money for the oldest boy, just a few months before he was out of high school, that she packed up and left, and she never came back.” Laura tapped her nail on the table. “She married again, and married poor, but I hear she died happy enough.”

“That son, is he the one I met?” Roy asked.

“I expect so. I hear tell the first of those houses was so Mr. Grady could send the boy to school. But his son told him where to stick his money and spent a couple years earning the money himself. He never forgave the old man. In the end I was all he had.”

Roy tilted his lips over his drink. “Well, I agree, a person ought to be able to stand alone, if needs be. But I don’t think it’s wrong to depend on someone if they’re trustworthy.”

“There’s always someone out to rescue you,” she said. “Rob is going to rescue me, or so he says. Rescue himself from paying a nanny more like.”

The waitress arrived with their meals and set them down with a syrupy smile. Roy salted the parmesan onto the pasta, at a loss for the moment.

She seemed to sense his discomfort. “I don’t mean to lay it all at your door,” she said, softly. “I’m just… venting. Because all my options have been taken away from me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he told her. “Come on, tell me. If you could do anything, what would it be?”

“Anything at all?”

“Sure.”

She poked a piece of chicken breast with her fork, forcing it down into the alfredo sauce. “I’d become a nurse,” she admitted. “The way Bess and I used to talk about. But that’s just dreaming.”

“No it isn’t, people do it every day. So do it, Laura.”

Anger, or at least frustration, flashed across her face. “With what? Coupons cut from the newspapers maybe?”

“Laura, there must be a quarter million people in Halverton. Somewhere in there is a couple who needs someone to look after their kids, or an elderly shut-in, or a handicapped person. Someone who can pay you something and give you room and board. You have five years practical experience, you could get into Bakey.”

“Ah, Roy, but I’m twenty-six. I’m too old to be starting school…”

“Uh uh, come on. When I was in Bakey I was going with a buddy and his mother, who was forty-seven, was going at the same time as us. She became a nurse and she’s working at the hospital in Halverton Village right now. She hadn’t worked in fifteen years, but suddenly she had an empty nest so she made up her mind and did it.”

“With her husband paying for it,” Laura suggested.

“Why shouldn’t he?” he asked, pointedly. “They’re married. Why shouldn’t they help each other?”

Laura was taken aback, and retreated a bit. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, sure, but it’s just like I said, I’d… if it were me, I’d want to do it on my own.”

“Well, you’re not married, I don’t think, so it’s not an issue,” he said.

“Thought I would be by now. You know how it is. Before I left there was a boy. Kevin, from Skibbereen. I met him when he was working in Macroom and we hit it off. He talked about coming over to join me, but… I heard he got married last year,” she said.

“Right, so Kevin won’t pay for it,” Roy said, hauling the conversation back.

“You don’t give up, do you?” she said, and started eating.

Roy considered backing off, but something wouldn’t let him. “I’m not saying you have to do this, or even that you ought to. Just that you could, if you really want to. Look what you’ve done so far. You picked up at twenty-one and moved across the ocean. I never did anything like that. I can barely imagine doing that, even now. I can’t believe anyone who would do that would just give up and fly back across the ocean. One of the senior partners in the firm is married to a teacher at Bakey; I’m sure she could show you the ropes and tricks to getting in.”

She met his gaze with a soft, affectionate expression, but one that clearly said the topic was closed. “You’re a good, kind man, Roy. Lord knows… I wish I’d met you long ago when it might have made a difference. But I’m worn out by it all and the way back is just too easy now. It’s just how things turned out,” she said.

They ate, quietly.

On the road back, the both of them seemingly resigned to Laura’s fate, the conversation turned to her childhood memories. Laughter fueled the trip along Hwy 17C as Laura brought the rural ways of Ireland to life for a man who had never home. The radio played softly, not loud enough to interrupt her, but rather like a carpet that carried her along. And then the rug was pulled out from under her, and suddenly the quiet music was the only sound in the car...

There's talk on the street, it sounds so familiar.
Great expectations, everybody's watching you.
People you meet they all seem to know you,
even your old friends treat you like you're something new.

Johnny-come-lately, the new kid in town,
everybody loves you, so don't let them down...

He couldn’t help turning and grinning sheepishly at her. His lips parted to say something, but instead he said nothing. They listened to the song together in silence as he turned up the driveway to Grady’s house, and they sat there in front of the house until the song ended.

“It’s been great having someone to talk to again. I want to thank you,” she told him.

Roy felt sad, fleetingly, taking this as a sign that the afternoon was over. “Well, it’s been great talking to you too.”

Her eyes dropped demurely, and she said it. “Where were you two or three years ago when I was still full of plans? You’re good for the ego. I might have made something of myself with a cheerleader like you.”

“So you’re committed to Douglas, are you? You’re sure?”

“Bobby’s right. It’s for the best for everyone. I’ve had my time here.”

“How much longer will you be here?” he asked her.

“Oh... a week or two, maybe a little longer. I need to talk to Rob and get things settled.”

“You don’t have to. There are... people here who would help you,” he said.

“You know my feelings on that,” she told him, frowning as she nudged the car door open. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”

“Yeah, that’s true. He does. But before you go, listen for a sec. Please?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but stayed put.

Roy said, “There was a man, and he was dying because his kidneys were shot. So his family put him in the hospital. He refused his medication and dialysis, telling them ‘The good Lord will provide.’ So a kidney transplant becomes available. ‘Give it to someone else,’ he says, ‘the good Lord will provide.’ And then he dies. Well, of course, he’s very perplexed, so when he gets up to Heaven he goes to see God and says, ‘Lord, I was always taught to have faith in you, that you would provide for me. What happened?’ And God said, ‘What did you think the kidney transplant was?’”

Laura looked at him. “Sure it’s a fine story,” she told him. “But...”

He nodded, sighing softly. He reached into his pocket. “This is my business card, Laura. My home number’s on there too. If you have any questions, about the house, or... or anything, anything at all, call me. You might get my answering service but I promise, I’ll get right back to you. Okay?”

She stared at the card for a long moment, and then took it from him. “Thank you kindly,” she said. “I’ll try not to bother you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he told her, as she stepped from the car. “Anything you want to talk about, anything you want to ask, call.”

She lingered in the open door, mouth on the verge of speech, until at last she offered her hand. He shook it. “Thank you for lunch, and everything,” she said.

“You’re welcome...”

“So long,” she told him.

“See you around,” he smiled.

She shut the door. After she entered the house, he drove away.

Most evenings Roy came home, nuked something, and sat in front of the big screen TV, contented enough. Friday nights were officially bachelors’ nights with the guys, but over the years there had been fewer and fewer bachelors and the nights out with those who remained peppered the calendar far less generously. No one called that night, and he wouldn’t have gone out anyway. That night, he didn’t even feel like having the television on. The condo that had always made him feel proud and successful was a shell around him this evening, something he had crawled into like a hermit crab.

He went to bed early.

The weekend was rainy and he found excuses for going into work, a couple of hours Saturday, a few on Sunday. The office was silent and there really wasn’t anything to do. There were no messages, of any kind, from anyone. Finally he just got in the car and drove, some high-speed animal moving through the landscape alone.

Monday he put the photos up on the web site. He spent a long time looking at the daring shot he’d taken of Laura in the kitchen. Those people who had called her ‘Mousey’, he thought; if only those girls could see her now! Well, he supposed, they probably would, soon enough. He toyed with the idea of calling her up and asking her permission to put that photo up on the site, but he knew that was self-serving. Instead, he filed it in a private folder, and leaned back, counting the little dots in the ceiling tiles above his desk.

That evening when he got home, he was angry with himself. What could have changed in just a few days to upset his balance this way? He turned on the television set, surfed to a sports channel, and turned it up loud. He turned on all the lights, and headed for the freezer to grab something for supper. That was when he noticed the light blinking on his answering machine.

Two messages. A James Bennet from Brampton was interested in a listing in Saxon Meadows. Roy scribbled down the information. The next message was the sound of someone hanging up the phone. Roy played it a few times, but there was no hint of a voice. He sighed, and sat down, and with nothing else to do, he turned off the television set and phoned James Bennet.

Again, he went to bed early, but he didn’t get much sleep.

Tuesday morning it was sunny at last, and April seemed to have worked the mischief out her system, at least for now. She cast light and warm breath down on the trees, which reached out to her gratefully. Roy got up and out early, hoping that maybe he would be renewed with the new weather.

He was the first into the office, so there was no one there to read his expression as he sat at his desk. It was unusual to arrive in the morning with the message indicator already lit up on the phone, because the system forwarded messages to his home number from five till ten, but there it was.

He watched it blink for a while, unwilling to risk disappointment. But finally, what else was there to do? He took a deep breath, crossed his fingers, and pressed the button...