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hungry, and I keep seeing these ‘Lost Dog’
posters near the hospital cafeteria.”
    “Suspicion is a sign of a
devious mind,” she said. “I mean a big sign, not like all
the other signs.”
    “I knew I could develop a
quality that would appeal to you. So get ready. I’m on my way.”
    “I’ll be listening
for the sirens.”
    She dressed in a few minutes and
left her front door open while she walked up on Jake’s porch
and rang the bell.
    He opened it and smiled at her.
“Hello, Janie. I’ll bet you came for your mail.” He
stepped backward to let her in and pointed to the pile of mail in the
shoebox on the coffee table.
    She lifted the shoebox, shook it
beside her ear, and listened. “Six bills.” She shook it
again. “Only three checks, all small.” She frowned. “And
my subscription is about to run out.”
    His sharp old blue eyes focused
on her. “You’re dressed like a girl for once,” he
said. “To what do we owe this honor?”
    “You called him, so don’t
pretend you didn’t And it’ll be on your conscience if I’m
sweet-talked into doing anything.”
    “None too soon, either,”
said Jake. “If you’re going to have anything to live
down, you’d better get started on it.”
    She looked at him slyly. “Tell
me something. When did he ask you to call him?”
    “Some time ago. And I
won’t apologize. Judging from that get-up, the attention isn’t
unwelcome.”
    “How long ago?”
    “I guess it was the day
after you left. He came over here with that look they get when
they’re telling you that whatever they’re going to do to
you might be a little uncomfortable. I was sorely relieved when I
found out it was something that was none of my business, so I jumped
at it with enthusiasm.”
    “I thought you weren’t
going to apologize.”
    “I’m explaining.”
They both heard Carey’s car pull up in front of her house.
    “I accept your
explanation.” She turned toward the open door. “But don’t
let it clear your conscience, because you didn’t apologize.”
    He sat down in his chair and
picked up his book. “Tell him he owes me a favor. I know you
won’t admit you do. And close that door. There’s a
draft on my hind legs.”
    Carey was standing beside the
passenger door when Jane stepped out onto the porch. She held up her
hand, hurried to her own door, tossed the mail on the couch, set the
alarm, and locked the door, all the time thinking about the first
glimpse of him. He was wearing a dark gray suit that must be new, and
it was one she might have picked for him. His long legs and arms
seemed comfortable in it, somehow, and the fabric along the lapels
looked so soft and smooth her fingertips wanted to touch it. The
color made the thin sandy hair that never seemed to stay where he
thought he was supposed to put it look almost golden under the
streetlamp.
    As she came down the steps she
gave him a little smile. “You’re not trying to impress
me, are you?”
    “Not me.” He opened
the door for her. “The only reason I’m bringing you along
is I’m trying to make the car look good. I’m trying to
sell it, and I notice they always use young women in the
commercials.”
    “No flies on you,”
she said. “You’re what Jake calls a ‘go-ahead young
man.’”
    He drove slowly and carefully up
the street. She liked that. It was something that only people who had
been raised in places like Deganawida seemed to have the sensitivity
to do. If people had to look up from what they were doing to see if
someone was running over the kids or grandma they didn’t forget
whose car it was, or who was in it. Whoever it was forfeited part of
his claim to being solid and respectable. In Deganawida that
respectability meant that people would strain to put a benevolent
interpretation on anything they saw, and a third party who asked
prying questions would be enveloped in a fog of laudatory
generalities that applied to everyone and no one.
    As Carey drove along River Road
to the south