They really seemed to have hit it off, those two. He felt a twinge of…what? Jealousy? No, that was ridiculous. He liked Anya—loved her, in fact—but in a brotherly way. He felt no sexual attraction to her. She was a friend, a confidante, a drinking buddy. He could talk to her, confide in her. She’d lent him an ear when he’d talked about his self doubts and his wayward children, she’d held him when he’d cried after receiving word about Kate’s death. What sexual urges he had—and they seemed to be diminishing—were more than satisfied by a couple of the horny widows populating Gateways South. They weren’t looking for long-term relationships—what an alien concept in this environment—and neither was he. The couplings were Viagra fueled, but a lot of the pleasure was in the snuggling and cuddling and having someone else in bed with you.

He turned on the battery-powered CD-player-radio he always brought along. But instead of the usual gentle music from the AM station he kept it tuned to, rap burst from the speakers.

“What the hell?” He checked the dial and, sure enough, it was tuned to the right band. “What’s going on here?”

“They changed the format while you were in the hospital, hon,” Anya said.

“No!”

“Afraid so. Sorry.”

He jabbed at the off switch. “What’s happening to the world? Used to be I’d drive behind women and they’d be doing eye makeup and fixing their hair in the rearview mirror. Now it’s men who can’t take their eyes off themselves—staring at themselves and primping. Christ, everything’s going to hell in a hand basket.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “and you can bet it’s got a Fendi or Gucci logo on it.”

“Very funny.” He pointed at his son’s T-shirt. “Look at that. ‘Hilfiger’ all across the front of your shirt. They sell you the shirt, then turn you into a free walking advertisement for their product. You should be charging them to wear it.”

“It’s the way of the world, Dad,” Jack said. “Everybody does it.”

“And that makes it right? Since when do you of all people want to look like everybody else?”

“Long story, Dad.”

“I’ll bet.”

What’s the matter with me? he thought. Why am I so cross? I sound like a crotchety old man.

He smiled to himself. Hell, I am a crotchety old man. But not without reason, not—

Anya’s dog started yipping. The little Chihuahua was standing at the edge of the pond barking at the water. Crazy little dog. Tom had noticed a snowy egret there a few moments ago but it was gone now. Probably scared off by the pooch. Nothing in sight but placid water.