He even wondered for a moment if he could skip it. Todd looked at the itinerary again and saw that it was exactly the midpoint between Chicago and his next destination, which was Cleveland, Ohio. Not good enough for Columbus, Todd thought to himself, only semi-humorously, and started the Volvo’s engine again.

*  *  *

It was a featureless drive to Charlene, and Todd was bored before he got to the Indiana border. His mood wasn’t helped by the fact that the highway seemed determined to hook up with every railroad crossing in America, making him stop frequently to let absurdly long freight trains pass by. He was also, despite consuming his own and Leah’s breakfasts, getting hungry again, but a fear of being late and seeing Janis and her girlfriend again prevented him from pulling into a truck stop to get something to eat.

Eventually Todd made it to Charlene. There was, he suddenly registered, no motel or hotel mentioned on the sheet. He wasn’t staying the night here—thank God, he thought, looking around at the windswept streets and the dull gray, box-like stores scattered around Main Street—but was expected to get back in the car and drive to Cleveland, where there was a bed waiting for him.

He sighed, located the public library after a few minutes’ driving around, parked up, and went in.

There was nobody there. Literally nobody. Todd wandered around for a few minutes, and even knocked on some doors. Nothing. He grew bolder, and went into the office. It was deserted. This place is the Mary Celeste of libraries, he thought.

He stood in the middle of the main library room, surrounded by mute books.

“Hello!” he called. There was a slight echo and Todd, never one to shy away from the sound of his own voice, called, “I said hello!”

“Will you be quiet, please?” said a voice, and Todd nearly jumped out of his shirt. A small bald man was jogging angrily toward him.

“This is a library,” he said.

“I did spot that,” Todd replied. “My name is Todd Milstead.”

“Oh,” said the small man. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“We thought you weren’t coming,” said the man.

“Did someone tell you I wasn’t coming?” Todd said.

“Not as such,” the man said. “But we didn’t get a call confirming, or a letter, and when I saw the papers, I said to Mrs. Franco—that’s my wife, I’m Reggie Franco—I said, he’s too famous for us, Frannie.”

Resisting the urge to ask, Your wife is called Frannie Franco?, Todd was torn between playing the aggrieved, drove-all-the-way-from-wherever card and the magnanimous, well-I’m-here-now card. He remembered the old adage about being nice to people on the way up, and said:

“Well, I’m here now. I’m sure you can rustle up a few souls for the reading.”

“Rustle up?” said Franco. “The whole town’s at work.”