Recovering his balance, Palmer turned, a look of uncertainty on his perfect face.

“He’s OK off the leash?”

Katy nodded. “But watch him around food.”

She retrieved the leash and unclipped it from the col ar.

Palmer gave a thumbs-up.

Boyd raced in delighted circles.

Behind the main house, folding tables offered homemade concoctions in Tupperware tubs. Coleslaw. Potato salad. Baked beans. Greens.

One table was covered with disposable aluminum trays mounded with shredded pork. On the edge of the woods, wisps of smoke stil floated from the giant cooker that had been going al night.

Another table held sweets. Another, salads.

“Shouldn’t we have brought a dish?” I asked as we surveyed the Martha Stewart country-dining assemblage.

Katy pul ed a bag of Fig Newtons from her purse and parked it on the dessert table.

I did some eye rol ing of my own.

When Katy and I returned to our chairs the banjo player was doing “Rocky Top.” Not Pete Seeger, but not bad.

For the next two hours a parade of folks stopped by to chat. It was like career day at the junior high. Lawyers. Pilots. Mechanics. A judge. Computer geeks. A former student, now a homemaker. I was surprised at the number of CMPD cops that I knew.

Several McCranies came over, welcoming us and expressing thanks for our coming. Palmer Cousins also came and went.

I learned that Palmer had been a fix-up through Lija, Katy’s best friend since the fourth grade. I also learned that Lija, having completed a BA in sociology at theUniversity ofGeorgia , was working inCharlotte as a paramedic.

Most important of al , I learned that Palmer was single, twenty-seven, aWakeForest biology grad currently employed with the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service at its field office inColumbia,South Carolina .

And a McCranie’s regular when he was back home inCharlotte . The missing piece in why I was now munching on pul ed pork in a clover field.

Boyd alternated between sleeping at our feet, racing with varying aggregates of children, and working the crowd, attaching himself to whoever looked like the easiest touch. He was in nap phase when a group of kids ran up requesting his company.

Boyd opened one eye, readjusted his chin on his paws. A girl of around ten wearing a purple Bible Girl cape and headgear waggled a cornmeal muffin.

Boyd was off.

Watching them round the barn, I remembered Katy’s words on the phone about Boyd wanting to have a conversation.

“What was it the chow wanted to discuss?”

“Oh, yeah. Dad’s got a trial going inAshevil e , so I’ve been taking care of Boyd.” A thumbnail teased the edge of her Budweiser label. “He thinks he’s going to be there another three weeks. But, um…” She dug a long tunnel in the wet paper. “Wel , I think I’m going to move uptown for the rest of the summer.”

“Uptown?”