“Not at all,” he said promptly, and in the interests of being as thorough as he could be, he walked her to the door marked KUT N KURL. As she pushed it open, a waft of the beauty parlor smell drifted out to Manfred and evoked memories he hadn’t realized he possessed: taking his grandmother to her hair salon as she got older; smelling the salon incense of perm solution, hair dye, and wax; hearing the snick of scissors and the running water, the plastic crinkle of the protective capes . . . Suddenly, he had a mental image of Xylda so vivid that it almost brought tears to his eyes: this whole rush of past experiences, brought back by that one inhalation.

He knew he said something to Creek before he turned to walk back to the car, but he couldn’t recall what it was a minute later.

He had to sit in the car for a while before he left to run his errands. He pulled out his list of errands from his pocket and pretended to be studying it until he was calm and composed again. He had to smile a little; Xylda would have enjoyed knowing she was the center of so much of his life.

Maybe she did know it. That was not a bad feeling.

Home Depot, Walmart, and Dairy Queen were his three ports of call. An hour and fifteen minutes later, Manfred pulled up outside Kut N Kurl again. Before he could turn off his engine, Creek was at the passenger door. “I was watching out the window,” she said, climbing in.

“I brought you something,” Manfred said. “Here.” He handed her a cup with a spoon.

“What is it?”

“Butterfinger Blizzard,” he said. “I just guessed.”

“Oh, boy,” she said, and started in on the ice cream right away. “This is great!”

“You’ve had one before, right?”

“No, never. Connor’s on a very restricted diet.”

She didn’t explain why, and Manfred thought it would be pushy to ask. Manfred felt he might’ve undermined Shawn with the ice cream and that Shawn would not appreciate it. It felt strange to be on the parental consent side of things. “I hope I’m not in trouble,” he said.

“Not with me,” Creek assured him, and he felt better.

“I think it’s great that he wants Connor to eat healthy,” Manfred added quickly.

“He’s got some health issues,” she said, between bites of ice cream.

“Oh?” Manfred asked, “Allergies?” But when the pleasure on her face vanished, he realized he’d stepped over a boundary. “Sorry. Midnight people like to play things close to the chest.”

Her smile reappeared. He felt a rush of relief. “That’s one way to put it,” she said. “Yeah, my dad is pretty strict about us eating in restaurants, especially Connor. What about your dad? Was he hard on you?”