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gait remains awkward. He is thinner than I remember, as knotty as driftwood. He spots me and pulls off the ushanka to reveal a cap of snowy hair atop a head that seems out of proportion with the rest of his withering frame. He looks every bit the harmless retiree, half the man of my memories . But I know looks can be deceptive. You don’t need weight to hav e gravitas.
    “Thanks for your consideration, son,” Lars Grossinger complains as he slides into the booth seat and fixes me with a slanted smile. “Have you any idea how deadly it is out there for a guy with a stick?”
    I spread my hands. “Neutral territory.”
    His gaze scans the deserted diner. “Haven’t been in here in a while. Sure looks like no man’s land. Still, I don’t bite, you know? Not with these teeth.”
    “They serve better coffee here.”
    “That’s what I’m counting on.”
    As if on cue, a young waitress floats over. She’s all of sixteen, pretty in an uncluttered kind of way. She fills the mug in front of Lars and tops mine to the brim. I wonder if she has any inkling about the identity or even the history of the man she’s now serving . Lars nods his gratitude, then picks up the sugar dispenser and proceeds to load the drink. With a rumble, he orders pancakes with blueberries, syrup, and extra butter.
    “How old are you, Lars?”
    He pulls off gloves. “Eighty-something. To tell you the truth, by the time you reach my age, it’s a bit of a blur. If it’s my blood sugar you’re worried about, don’t be; I’m not. They have medication for everything these days. Besides, we all got to die sometime, right? The way I figure it, we might as well enjoy ourselves on the run-up.” He nods toward the departing waitress. “You want some breakfast, son? It’s on me.”
    I shake my head. I don’t want to owe Lars any more than I already do.
    “Okay, so let’s just cut to the chase.” He sets the fur hat on the seat next to him. “One thing I do remember about you is meandering conversation was never your style. So let’s talk business. What’s my story?”
    “There isn’t one.”
    He gives me the look . I know it’s the look Lars makes whenever he feels deceived. Ordinarily, it causes most people to quake in their shoes. Not me, not now.
    He leans forward. “Son, let’s you and I get something straight here: there’s always a story. It may not be immediately visible. It may take some digging, some inventive thinking. But there’s always a story. Kim called me after she dropped you at the Luckmans. She told me exactly what you found up there by The Falls and what you believe it means. If that ain’t newsworthy, you better tell me wha t is.”
    This is my chance to tell Lars to keep his job, to prove to him I’m not the malleable kid he remembers. I’ve been away from Harper and my father long enough to grow an iron backbone and a steel skin. Unlike most townsfolk I was never completely in Lars’s pocket. Had I stayed in Harper things might have been different. As it is, I owe him for supporting me in my hour of need, but that doesn’t mean I owe him my life.
    Lars blows at his coffee and cautiously takes a sip. “Look, son, I know going up there this morning has probably opened up old wounds and got you on the defensive. It’s understandable. I’m no ogre here. I empathize. But a deal’s a deal, right? You agreed to go out there and get me a story.”
    “Even if the truth is it’s yesterday’s news?”
    “The truth is what we make it.” He breathes the words, as though by saying them any louder he’ll invoke the devil himself. “Son, are you and I operating on the same frequency here? If your hunch pays off and you’re right about it being Jenna up there, then it’s not just newsworthy, it’s serendipitous. Trust me, son, we need to get this story landed before the sharks get a sniff of it.”
    When I was a boy I would never have looked Lars directly in the eye, but I do now. “Kim assured me you’d