Now, with Jimmy due to arrive in less than an hour to take him to the bus station, Carter’s mind was a whirl of indecision as he tried to sort out what he should take and what he should leave behind. How many shirts and slacks did he need? What shoes should he bring? Did he need a sweater, or was a windbreaker enough? What about a sweatshirt? And what if it rained? Should he pack a poncho? He had purchased an oversized duffel bag for the occasion, so by rights this should not have been a particularly difficult project. Nonetheless, he found himself running out of space every time he tried to stuff it all into the bag. Finally, in frustration, he made up his mind to toss out half of the clothes and make do with whatever was left over. That seemed to do the trick, and before long the duffel bag zipped shut without a hitch. Satisfied with the result, Carter hauled the bag out to the front hall and left it next to the small daypack that held his passport, airline tickets, a notebook, a pen, and the like. Then he fled upstairs to take a shower.

“Hey, what are you doing up there?”

It was Jimmy a short time later. He had let himself in while Carter had been showering, and was now pacing about at the bottom of the stairs.

His head still dripping, Carter wrapped a towel around himself, grabbed a second for his hair, and threw open the bathroom door. Rubbing the towel across his head, he rushed to his room to get dressed, pausing for just a moment at the top of the stairs to nod a greeting to his friend.

“Yo, Marco Polo!” Jimmy called after him. “You’d better get a move on up there, or you’re gonna be walkin’ to Boston.”

“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying!” Carter called back.

A few minutes later, still a little damp around the edges, a barefoot but otherwise fully dressed Carter came racing down the stairs. He sat on the bottom step and began to tug on his socks and shoes as he assessed his luggage. He had never before traveled out of the country, and he was haunted by the thought that he might forget something important.

“You planning on leaving sometime today?” asked Jimmy, who by now was stationed by the door, jangling his car keys.

“Quiet,” Carter shushed him. “I’m trying to think. I don’t want to forget anything.”

His friend gave a sigh and shook his head.

“C.Q., you got your passport?” he asked.

“In here,” replied Carter, opening the top pocket on the outside of the daypack.

“Good. And what about your tickets?”

“Same place,” said Carter.

“And your wallet?”

“Right here in my back pocket.”