“The man with the checkbook. Had to go back to the city yesterday to juggle some money.”

“And he left his wife alone with you?” I said lightly.

A blush, like a red shadow, swept across Carter’s face. He covered it with a wink. “Yeah. Man’s a fool, ain’t he?”

“Be careful, old friend.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “What’s on the agenda for you today?”

“Just a couple of things to take care of, and then I’m off early tomorrow morning.”

“Will I see you before you go?” he asked.

“Maybe. If not, I’ll call.”

He embraced me. “You’ve got another reason to come back now.”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “Maybe this is all it was meant to be.”

Carter looked toward the house, then he opened the door to his car and slipped inside. “I don’t believe in that kind of thinking any longer, Bobo. I used to, but I don’t now. When you met Amy, I knew how you both would feel. I don’t know why, but I did, and I thought it would be an impossible relationship.” He shook his head in wonder. “Jew and redneck. God, what a mix. I was right then, but none of that matters now. I think things are what you make them. Listen to me, old friend, you’ve always been too practical. Sometimes you need to put it all on the line, and now’s the time. Do this one right, Bobo. Do it right.”

Avrum told me in 1977 that he would be cremated when he died.

“And I will show you what you are to do with the ashes,” he said.

He took a small box from the closet of his room at the Home and handed it to me.

I asked, “What’s this?”

“Ashes,” he said.

“Where did you get them?”

He looked at me incredulously. “The fireplace,” he snorted. “What do you think? I burn somebody? Now, come, let me show you.”

He instructed me to drive him to Pine Hill, to his bench.

“Go, go. Find a shovel,” he ordered.

I borrowed a shovel from Arch and returned to the bench. Avrum was sitting in the same spot where he had sat for years.

“Now, dig,” he said.

“Where?”

He jabbed a finger toward the ground, between his feet.

“Why here?” I asked.

He lifted his head and closed his eyes, as I had seen him do many times when he listened to Amelita Galli-Curci.

“It is my place,” he said simply.

He pulled himself up from the bench and stood aside as I dug.

“Gut, gut,” he said after a few minutes. “Now, the ashes.”

He watched as I poured the ashes into the hole.

“Should I say anything?” I asked.

A wrinkled smile crossed his face. “Ja. ‘There goes Avrum.’ ” He giggled an old man’s giggle. “Now, cover it up.”