“I used to do this thing, where I’d have her hold on to my neck, and then I’d go rolling down one of those hills, using my elbows so I wouldn’t crush her, and Jeez, she loved that. Even when she got dizzy, she kept wanting to do it.”

As Chick had talked, driving much slower than Leo would have, Chick’s whiskers looking almost blue in the gray light of the truck cab, Leo winced at the idea of his getting hit with the news that he didn’t really have a building company anymore. But if Chick was bothered, he didn’t seem it. Not by Tom’s news anyway. And something was up. After they finished hauling the plywood, Chick pulled himself up onto the header and told Tom in a friendly voice to go ahead and lay out the floor with Leo and tack down the sheets. He was still breathing hard when he said it, his hands on his hips, and Leo noticed he went into a kind of stare at the plywood stack, his eyes a camouflage curtain of retina, cornea, and pupil, just sitting there in the sockets so a riot of other things could go on behind them. He was sleepwalking really; nothing here mattered. And as Leo took one end of the top sheet and followed Tom to the far corner, stepping from one joist to the next, he thought about that emerald picnic Chick told him about and he changed his mind about Chick being cheerful; true, his voice had been full of steam for so early in the morning, but when he smiled it had looked like that same curtain, and now Tom’s news seemed to be just one more fly on his back that Chick was too busy, or too tired, to swat.

It was numbers night at the Elks so Leo decided he would clean up and change his clothes before taking a relaxed walk to the UFO Show for a cheeseburger with Allie as his waitress. After his shower, he went naked into the parlor and put on a Howling Wolf record. The first song was in C so he picked up his new G harp and sucked out what sounded like back-up chords to Wolfs lead. This new harp felt solid and hard-cornered in his hands, its reeds stronger than the ones in the harp Ryder had given him.

Jim and Ryder seemed to like their presents. Leo had left the guitar strap and Leadbelly book on the kitchen table before going to bed Saturday night. He wrote on a torn piece of grocery bag: “This strap’s for you, Jim. The book is for you, Ride. Hope you can read music!”

The two men woke him up sometime after midnight. Ryder sat on the side of the bed so close to Leo the sheet pinned him down before he turned free of it. Jim stood in the middle of the floor, rocking slightly on his feet. Those Sox won again, in extra innings, and ol’ Boston was in deep need of a Jimmy/Ryder Romp.