Leo thought that he did, though he didn’t feel up to trying it out right now. He heard a car coming down the hill and turned to see Lars’s Rambler pull up behind Jim’s Valiant. Two of Lars’s regular buddies were with him. Leo could see TV antennas sticking up in the back seat next to a man finishing off a can of beer. Lars put his head out the window as he shut off the engine. “Einstein good as you yet, Stillwell?”

“No way,” Leo said.

“How ’bout it, Slim. Should the kid keep his day job?”

“Not for damn long.” Ryder squeezed Leo on the shoulder, held the door open for the men, and followed them inside.

Leo put his harmonicas back in their cases and he wondered if Ryder had meant it. He sounded like he did. Leo pictured himself being so good he didn’t have to get up for work in the morning like every other man but could sleep late because he wowed the crowds in the clubs at night with his Harp of the Blues. Ryder was crazy for not doing that. Once this summer Leo had asked him why he didn’t and Ryder said, “If my passion becomes my work, Young Buddy, then what do I do for fun?”

“You could have fun while you work.”

Ryder had confused the question by explaining to Leo that passion in Latin means to suffer and so there’s no way he could have fun at work if Mr. Harp of the Blues is his passion.

“So you suffer every time you play?”

“You got it.”

“But you said you had fun.”

“That’s right too.”

“So how can you suffer and have fun at the same time?”

“Good question, Leo. Write a song on it.”

Right this minute Leo wanted to walk through Heywood, over the bridge, and down the river road to be with the Allie he used to know before this week, the one full of heat and sparks. But he knew if he did, he’d probably find the pursed-lipped quiet girl instead, and his feeling good would fall to suffering in no time.

There was a song there for certain, but he didn’t see himself writing one on a Wednesday night in his house, not with loud Lars and a TV set and a bunch of men’s voices. And he sure didn’t see himself walking all the way up to Beatrice’s, or later to the Donovan’s to get treated like a stranger either. Maybe a little mystery about Leo Suther was in order here. Maybe Allie would miss what she didn’t know she was taking for a given. Tonight was men’s night and Leo was going to find Gerry, maybe get in his Cornet, drive to Springfield and slip some guy a buck to pick them up a six-pack or two. Or maybe he’d walk to the Poitrases’ just to sit on the couch and eat some of Betty’s chewy cookies, watch some television. But this picture was all wrong.