o see you."

"I thought I'd be seeing you again one of these days," Tucker said.

"We'll keep in touch," Margery said.

"Take care of yourself," Charlie said. "You want a ride back?"

"I'll walk."

They drove away slowly as Tucker and Sally watched. Tucker lifted one
hand in farewell.

"You just never know, do you?" Charlie said.

"Tucker Smollett," Margery said. "Good old Tucker."

Halfway back to Portland, Charlie looked over at Margery and asked
about her husband. "He cared for me," she said. "He just cared more for
someone else."

"Damn shame," Charlie said. Margery brushed the fingers of one hand
through the back of her hair. Charlie thought she was going to say
more, but she didn't. At the ferry, he helped her with the box and said
goodbye.

The next morning was again bright and sunny. Charlie returned to the
bench near the ferry and sat, savoring his coffee, croissant, and the
salty air. His brother Orson came to mind. Orson was a pain in the ass,
but he had a point--sometimes you have to make a move.

Two men wearing similar clothes--pressed jeans, T-shirts, white running
shoes, and sunglasses--walked up and took benches closer to the water.
One was older, softer, beginning to put on weight. He sat with his
elbows on his knees, looking across the harbor. The other, fitter one,
stretched full length on his bench, arms out flat behind his head, and
stared into the sky. Neither looked happy. They remained unmoving, as
though they were waiting for a delivery.

That is not the way, Charlie thought. He stood, dropped the empty bag
and cup into a trash can, and walked in the direction of the unknown
furled inside him.

Coming To

"I made a box. It was about so big." The speaker spread his hands on
the counter. "By about so wide." He indicated the other dimension, one
palm by his stomach, the other out by a napkin holder.

The outer hand rose over a plate of eggs. "About so high."

A smaller man at the next stool nodded, lifting his coffee mug. "About
so high."

About so high, Will repeated to himself.

"Made it for my daughter."

"For your daughter."

Made it for his daughter. Will joined the chorus. He couldn't see the
box, but he could hear it.

"Took me some shiplap--nice and dry. Made her tight. No cracks."

"No sir."

No way.

It was four o'clock in the morning. Fluorescent lights cast a bluish
glow over wooden booths, plastic covered stools, the grill, and a
double do