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“I’m a computer salesman,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Hewlett-Packard.”
    “I’m learning the computer now,” she said. (“We had quite a long conversation about computers,” Mary Ellen recalled. “How everything was computerized back then, and if you’re not learning computers, you’re not going to get too far.”)
    He asked her if she wanted a drink.
    She thought about it. “Sure.” She had nursed the drinks she’d had, not even finishing one. Another wouldn’t hurt.
    “I’d like to see you again,” the man said after about a half hour of the two of them sitting and talking.
    Mary Ellen smiled coyly. “I think you’re much too young,” she said over the loud music. She didn’t know how old he was, but she could tell he was maybe thirty at the most. He had a boyish way about him. A fragility. He reminded her of her son-in-law, who had just turned thirty. Mary Ellen wasn’t looking for a boy toy. If she was going to date someone—and she wasn’t necessarily looking for a long-term relationship—she wanted a man.
    Not that she would insult the guy, but dating somebody as young as her son-in-law was not something she was at all interested in. (He never told her, but he was actually twenty-six, about to turn twenty-seven in eight days.)
    “And how old are you ?” he asked smugly, not insulting, as if he really wanted to know.
    “Forty-four,” Mary Ellen said without hesitating.
    “You should get some points for being honest about your age.”
    She found this statement quite appealing. He wasn’t taken aback by her age, but complimented her for being honest. It wasn’t every day you met someone, she thought, who was frank, open, and even likeable. He seemed sincere.
    “Watch my drink,” Mary Ellen said after they went back and forth for a time, joking about her age.
    When she returned from the restroom a moment later, the man stood up from his stool, stuck out his hand like a prince, reaching for hers, and asked, “How ’bout a dance?”
    “Sure,” she said—and they hit the dance floor and then returned to the bar.
    Taking one last sip of her drink, Mary Ellen said, “It was nice to meet you. But it’s getting late. I have to go.”
    He accepted that and said his good-byes.
    She turned and left the bar.

14
     
    I
     
    Walking out of the bar and into the parking lot, Mary Ellen was trying to recall exactly where it was she had parked her car. It was approaching 2:00 A.M . The night sky was dark. With all the cars from the dance, it was hard to maneuver around the lot and see each vehicle. Finding her 1981 Olds Cutlass was posing to be quite the adventure.
    “What kind of car do you have?” a voice said from in back. It startled her. She didn’t think that the man had followed her out of the bar. She hadn’t seen him. It was as if he had just appeared there behind her. Still, when she saw who it was, Mary Ellen felt relieved. She sort of knew him. At least he wasn’t a stranger who had come up on her.
    As Mary Ellen explained what kind of car she was looking for, they walked around the parking lot searching for it.
    “There it is,” Mary Ellen said, spying her car to the left of the bar door.
    The man pointed to his car, which was parked just a row behind hers.
    “I’m not sure how to get on the highway,” Mary Ellen said as she opened her door and got in.
    He pointed down the road. “You have to take a U-turn down there to get back on the other side of the road and head east.”
    “OK,” Mary Ellen said thankfully. Then she got into her car without paying too much attention to where the man was standing. (“I thought he was leaving too,” she said later.)
    On the way to the dance, Mary Ellen’s Olds had stalled. It had been running rough for a while. She’d just had some repairs done because she knew she was starting a new job and needed a dependable vehicle. When she tried starting it that night as the man stood by and watched, it wouldn’t turn over.
    So