Her response surprised me: “I love you, Bobo, but that can’t be the answer for everything. It’s not a cure-all. I don’t want to play games anymore, and I don’t think you do, either. We’re both too old—and still too young—for that.”

“All right,” I said after a moment.

“I’m here,” she said evenly.

The door to Arch’s was unlocked and I went inside and called for Sammy, but there was no answer.

I called again: “Sammy.”

Still, he did not answer.

I walked through the shop, among the blocks of stone. It was eerily quiet in the place where Arch Ellis had told his stories to applause. I stopped at one of Sammy’s half-finished busts. The primitive image of a man’s face seemed to be lodged in the stone. It was a proud and defiant face, and I imagined it was inspired by the giant Indian, Winnisook, and that Arch would have been pleased with Sammy’s finding him and releasing him.

I wandered to the room where Arch had kept his stock stored and I knocked lightly at the door.

“Sammy?”

He answered from inside: “Bobo?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s me.”

“Come on in.”

I opened the door and stepped inside. The room was empty except for a sofa and a scarred coffee table sitting in front of it. Sammy was stretched out on the sofa, his feet crossed at his ankles. I could smell the sweet odor of marijuana.

“How’s it going, Bobo?” Sammy asked lightly.

“All right,” I said. “You?”

Sammy smiled foolishly. “Great, old buddy. Great. Just relaxing a minute.” He swung his feet off the sofa and sat up. “You found me in my hiding place.”

“Looks that way,” I said.

“It’s where I get my ideas, Bobo. Right here. It’s my thinking place.” He patted the sofa with his hand and nodded satisfaction. “One or two hits on the forbidden weed, and the ideas roll out, but I’ve got to be by myself. You ever get that way?”

“All the time. I stay away from the hits, but I like some time alone before I start work.”

“Don’t tell Lila,” Sammy cautioned. “She thinks I come down here and pound away over a pile of rocks. She had any idea I like being by myself, she’d go bat-shit crazy.”

“Maybe she’d understand,” I suggested. “Maybe she likes a little time off to herself, as well.”