Leo could hear the loud voice of a nurse in another room. He looked down at his fingers. He wanted to open a Hershey bar, but now didn’t seem to be the time to do it.

“I met this man in Boston. Lives in this community up in Vermont. Seven families all living the word, dealing out of Adam Smith and into the earth, living by example. They don’t push their scene on anybody. Comprendo?” Chick’s bruised face seemed to get more red as he spoke, especially in the forehead. “Next to farmers, who do you think these people need most?”

Leo said carpenters, probably. Chick started to smile again but it seemed to hurt his swollen lip so he stopped.

“You okay?”

“Never better, kid. I’m glad you came. You just missed the family, too.” Allie didn’t think it was sleeping weather in the least. Her bedroom window was wide open, and the cicadas out there seemed to agree with her; the sun had shone on the wet valley all day and now the night air was steam and people weren’t supposed to breathe steam. People weren’t supposed to do a lot of things, she thought. People weren’t supposed to vacuum up their babies like so much floor lint. That’s how her mother said it would probably be done tomorrow, a quick suction. She had said it with such authority Allie had to wonder about any brothers or sisters she of course wouldn’t have heard of.

She thought of Leo and wished he were here now, drinking iced tea, talking, maybe playing his harmonica. Her mother had taken everything Allie told her and was now going to go get rid of it tomorrow; all Allie had to do was show up. And she would; she knew that. But before she did, she was going to see Leo. Tonight. Right this minute.

Leo lay on his bed. His legs felt tired and heavy from the seven or so miles he’d walked from Holyoke Hospital, and he was thinking about Katie Faye and Texas. After supper, he’d come back to his room and started reading her notebook again, but then stopped; he already knew how the story ended and he wasn’t going to gobble and rush all he was going to get of her, so he read again up to where he left off earlier today. He looked at some of the photographs awhile, then he put everything back in the box and played his C harp. He’d been working on his train rail chugging riff the last few days. Tonight he’d combined it with a few hand-smacks that bent the notes in a jolt, like the train was heading over a trestle.

Jim came in before going to bed. He wore his white tank T-shirt and light blue pajama pants. He must’ve been standing in the doorway awhile, listening, because he was there when Leo finished up the riff, taking it out on a high wail he squeezed to a fade. Jim’s right arm was resting on the door jamb above his head, his wrist and hand relaxed. Leo hadn’t heard him pick up the guitar all night, but his father looked kind of tired and peaceful anyway.