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nodded.
    “What do you do if you hear something ringing?” he asked. It was a test question.
    She answered smartly. “I can answer the phone, but don’t answer the door.”
    He gave her a thumbs-up. “I’ve got my cell, so call me if you need me. What’s my number on your speed dial?”
    “You’re number one!” she answered in the cadence of a pep rally.
    Walt couldn’t help but grin at her. “Good girl.”
    “Okay, Pop, don’t worry,” she said.
    “I won’t,” he lied.
    He took the stairs two at a time and rushed toward the front door. At the hall tree he stopped to grab his keys and hesitated a moment to glance at himself in the mirror. His face, he thought, was awfully grizzled from working outside all his life.But he still had most of his hair. He was not as muscled as he once had been, but there wasn’t an ounce of extra fat on him.
    He noticed the edge of his collar was slightly frayed. He ran his thumb over the flaw. Maybe he should buy some new shirts, he thought to himself. It had been years since he’d bought a shirt. Ella always did that for him. He would never have bought one like this, he realized. It was a pale tan color with a very small brown stripe. His favorite color was blue. Maybe he would buy himself some blue shirts.
    He stopped that train of thought abruptly.
    “If it’s about what color shirt you wear, you’re doomed already,” he told the mirror.
    Shaking his head, he walked out the front door.
    In the narrow driveway of the home he and Ella had purchased shortly after they married, his old truck awaited him. He kept the 1985 Ford in top condition. There were still a lot of them on the road. When he’d taken on meal delivery, he’d agreed to sport a decal on his doors. The truck was clearly identifiable as St. Hyacinth Senior Service Meals on Wheels. Every person in town who knew him would recognize his truck.
    Walt climbed inside and carefully backed out into the street. He checked his watch again and winced. But he made it out to Fifteenth Street pretty quickly. He caught the light at Baltimore Avenue and turned left down Ridley Boulevard ahead of the Village Transit. He made it to the parking lot of the branch library where he locked the truck and ran to the bus stop, just in time to step on the Mainline to Mt. Ridley.
    He showed his Senior Pass, but the driver didn’t bother to look at it, just acknowledged Walt’s familiar face with a nod.
    Walt didn’t want to be recognizable, but there was no help for that. He glanced around the bus and didn’t see any faces that went with any names he knew. Relieved, he took a seat near the back door and watched the summer street go by. It was a busy thoroughfare these days with houses and sidewalks. When he’d driven this road as a teenager it had been a narrow lane that cut through a grove of trees. It had been well-traveled on Saturday nights as it led to the notorious Lovers Leap Overlook. The four of them crowded onto the bench seat of his ’39 Chevy pickup. Paul, his best friend, could sometimes borrow his dad’s car, but more often they were in the pickup.
    “I don’t mind,” he’d teased the girls. “The less space you can put between us, the better.”
    The girls were both their “steadies” and could take a joke well enough not to be offended. Besides, Walt was pretty sure that even in those days, when nice girls waited until they had a ring on their finger, they hadn’t wanted much distance either.
    Remembering it all had him smiling by the time the bus reached the end of the line. The entrance to Mt. Ridley Park had changed considerably over the years. There was certainly no driving up to the overlook. Big metal balustrades guarded the drive and those entering were funneled through a ticket booth. Five dollars for adults, two dollars for children, Walt got a dollar off as a senior discount.
    He walked slowly down the main pathway for several minutes, cautiously on the lookout for familiar faces. There were