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ran; Walleye bounded after him, barking joyously. It was hot and a little humid and Walleye was no spring chicken, so after a while, the dog crept into the shade under the picnic table out front and lay down, panting. Stevie crawled under and sat with him, talking to him quietly and gently stroking his fur.
    I thought about my son. He had friends, kids in the neighborhood he played with, but he didn’t have a best friend. He possessed a fine imagination and often played alone, games he invented or adventures he concocted in his mind’s eye. I didn’t worry about him. He seemed pretty comfortable with who he was. I knew he was lonely sometimes.Who wasn’t? But watching him with Meloux’s old dog, I wondered if maybe there wasn’t an essential connection missing in his life, the kind of affection offered by a best friend. Or a lovable old hound.
    After a while, they came out from under the picnic table. Walleye followed Stevie to the Quonset hut. A few moments later, my son poked his head into the serving area.
    “Can I go fishing?”
    “Don’t think much’ll be biting in this heat, buddy, but be my guest.”
    I kept fishing gear in the back room. Stevie knew where. In a bit, he walked through afternoon sunlight toward the lake with Walleye padding along patiently at his side. They sat at the end of the dock. Stevie took off his shoes, put his feet in the water, and tossed his line. Walleye lay down, his head on his paws, and they hung out together in the comfortable quiet of two good friends.
    At home that night I told Jo, “I’m driving to Thunder Bay in the morning.”
    She was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard, reading a file in a manila folder, something from work, I was sure. She often read in bed at night, her glasses perched on her nose, making small noises in response to the text.
    “What about Sam’s Place?” She took off her glasses and laid them at her side.
    I slipped into a pair of gym shorts and a clean T-shirt, my usual sleep attire. I turned from the dresser. “Jenny and Annie can handle it. Is Jenny here?”
    “She came in a while ago.”
    “Did she have a good time driving the North Shore with Sean?”
    “She didn’t talk much.”
    I sat down on the bed. “Is that good or bad?”
    “It’s neither, I’d say. She’s just thinking, I imagine. Weighing everything.”
    “Weighing an offer of marriage?”
    “I don’t know that there’s been one.”
    “If I were Sean and wanted to pop the question, I’d take her to someplace like the North Shore, sit her down with a gorgeous view of Lake Superior.”
    “I suppose you would. That’s basically how you proposed to me. On Lake Michigan, a beautiful evening, a dinner cruise. That glorious question. Then you threw up.”
    “I hadn’t planned on getting seasick. And you accepted anyway.”
    “Jenny’s in a different place than I was, Cork. I think we should trust her.”
    “That doesn’t mean we can’t nudge her in the direction we’d like her to go.”
    “You think she doesn’t know what we’d prefer?”
    “I’d like her to think of it as what’s best rather than just what we prefer.”
    “I’m sure you would. What do you hope to accomplish in Thunder Bay?”
    “A face-to-face meeting with Henry Wellington.”
    “And how do you intend to go about that?”
    “As nearly as I can tell, his brother—half brother—Rupert runs the company now, so he’s probably accessible. I’m hoping to use him to get to Wellington.”
    “And you’ll get an audience with the brother how?”
    “The watch. I’m banking on it opening the door.”
    “Four-hour drive up, four-hour drive back. Could be all for nothing.”
    “Not for nothing. It’s for Henry. And you have a better idea?”
    She put the manila folder on the nightstand, leaned over, and kissed me. “You’ll be leaving early. Get some sleep.”

NINE

    I stopped by the hospital on my way out of town. I spoke with Dr. Wrigley, who was pretty familiar by then