Señor Alfonso and Ludwig marched back in, looked around, and in his most menacing, Beethoven-deep voice, Ludwig asked, “Where is he?”

“Gone. Chased away by these two,” Elle said. “They were magnificent.”

Adam found he liked being called magnificent. He also felt compelled to say, “He’ll be back, and soon.”

16

AS ADAM AND ELLE walked toward the door, carrying to-go boxes loaded with leftovers, Mr. Kulshan asked in a quavering voice, “Could an old man hitch a ride down the hill?”

Adam shot him a sardonic look.

To Elle, Mr. Kulshan said, “I want to visit the missus.”

Remembering the cemetery, Elle asked sympathetically, “How long ago did you lose your wife?”

“Lose her?” Mr. Kulshan’s quaver dissipated under his blast of sarcasm. “I should be so lucky.”

Elle was shocked into silence.

Mr. Kulshan charged on. “The old bat is still alive and kicking. We can’t stand to live in the same house, so she has her place and I have mine. When we bought the two houses, I was more spry. Now I can’t hobble down and hobble back, not in one day, anyway.”

Elle still didn’t know what to say.

“We’ll take you down, Kulshan.” Adam offered his arm. Then he looked at Elle, struggling to put one foot in front of the other and muttering resentfully to her own damaged body.

Mr. Kulshan saw it, too. “I’ve got my cane right here.” He retrieved it from where it was hanging on the table. “You help her.”

Elle said, “I’m fine. Help him.”

Adam did the diplomatic thing and offered an arm to each of them.

Mr. Kulshan chuckled and took an elbow. “Between her and me, it’s hard to keep up with your invalids.”

Elle leaned into Adam and moved even more slowly than the old man.

To him, Adam said, “There’s nothing wrong with Elle that time won’t heal.”

“Me, too, boy,” Mr. Kulshan said roundly. “Me, too.”

When they got to the ATV, Elle insisted Mr. Kulshan sit in the front seat, and Adam silently thanked her for that. He wanted Mr. Kulshan buckled in, and that wasn’t possible for the backward-facing seat in the rear.

As they drove sedately down Gothic’s main street, Mr. Kulshan yelled back at Elle, “There’s my place,” indicating the small, Craftsman house with its handkerchief-sized lawn behind the tattered picket fence, two lots down from the restaurant.

Mrs. Kulshan’s home bore a remarkable resemblance to her husband’s except for a few traditional feminine touches: flower pots on the front walk, bold colors of trim paint and a pile of yarn on the table beside the porch swing. As Adam pulled up, Elle looked back and realized Mr. and Mrs. Kulshan could see each other when they stood on their front porches.

Huh. Interesting arrangement.