Spencerville

"No and you love it. That's why you're here. Your act was yesterday's news in Antioch. Here, you're weird and dangerous."

Jeffrey slapped his knee. "Right! This place is in a time warp. I love it." He looked at Keith. "And you? Do you know why you're here?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

"Well I'm burned-out cynic. I don't think they even understand cynicism here, so I'm here to get well again."

"Yeah. Cynicism is humor in ill-health. H. G. Wells. I hope you get better."

"Me, too."

"Maybe I can get cured of my idealism. You know what an idealist is? That's a man who notices that a rose smells better than a cabbage, so he thinks the rose will make a better soup. That's my problem. That's why I'm broke, out of work, and a social outcast. But I'm not cynical. There's hope."

"God bless you. Can I say that to an atheist?"

"Anytime. You join a church yet?"

"No."

"You should."

"Is that you, Jeffrey?"

"Yeah I saw the power of religion in Poland, in Russia... I don't agree with any of it, but I've seen what it can do for troubled minds. You need a dose."

"Maybe."

Jeffrey stood unsteadily. "Hey, I've got to go, buddy. Dinner's on. Come over tomorrow and have dinner with us. Gail wants to see you. We're still vegetarians, but you can bring your own pig or something. We have wine and beer. We do drink."

"I see that." Keith stood, also unsteadily. "What time?"

"Who cares? Six, seven. Also, I've got a stash." Jeffrey moved to the steps and steadied himself on the porch column. He said, "Hey, you want to bring a friend? Lady type?"

"No."

"What're you doing for sex? Don't choke the chicken. This town's full of divorced women. They'd love a piece of you."

"Can you drive?"

"Sure. It's a straight run. We're renting a farmhouse and a few acres for organic vegetables. Two miles up the road. The old Bauer place."

"Let me drive you."

"No... if I get stopped, I can put the fix in through Gail. If you get stopped, they'll nail your ass."

"Why do you say that?"

Jeffrey moved back toward Keith and put his arm on Keith's shoulder. He said softly, "That's what I came to tell you... even if we didn't get along, I was going to tell you. Gail has a source close to the police... actually in police headquarters, but forget that. And the word is that Baxter is after your ass, and I guess we both know why. You be damned careful, buddy."

"Thanks."

Jeffrey hesitated, then said, "I don't know if you and she have been in contact, but I have this feeling that you two... what am I trying to say? I could never picture you two separate... whenever I see Annie, I think of Keith, and when I saw you here, I thought of Annie, like you should have come to the door together like you always did in Bowling Green... Christ, I'm babbling." He turned and walked down the porch steps and through the rain without his umbrella, got into the car, and left.

Keith watched the taillights disappear on the dark, rainy road.

Chapter Ten

The following morning dawned clear, and Keith wanted to work around the farm, but everything was wet from the rain, so he put on clean jeans and a new short-sleeve shirt and went into town to take care of some business.

He was tempted to drive past the Baxter house, but the police may have discovered his new car by now. In any case, there was no reason to see if she was back or not; in her own time, she'd drive out to her Aunt Louise and stop by to see him.

He drove into the center of town and found a parking place near the state liquor store. He went inside and looked over the selection of wines, which ran toward domestic brands whose labels didn't ring a bell. He recalled that Jeffrey and Gail, like everyone else they knew at Bowling Green, drank cheap, sweet wine that today they'd deny ever having heard of. Nevertheless, as a joke, Keith found a bottle of apple wine and a bottle of something called grape wine, which was actually grape juice and alcohol, manufactured locally. He also found a decent bottle of real Italian Chianti, which would also bring back memories.

He paid for the wine, went back to the Blazer, and put the bottles in the rear compartment. He took his Washington license plates which were in an addressed manila envelope, and walked toward the post office on the west side of Courthouse Square.

The post office was one of those old Federalist buildings with classical columns, and, as a boy, Keith had always been awed by the place. He'd once asked his father if the Romans had built it, and he'd been assured that they had. His sense of history was a little better now, and he smiled at the memory, then understood what Annie meant when she'd written about memories. He recalled accompanying her several times to the post office to buy stamps and to mail letters.

There was no line at one of the windows, and he took the envelope to the clerk, where it was weighed and stamped. Keith requested return receipt and was filling out the tag when he heard the clerk a few windows away say, "You have a good day, Mrs. Baxter."