Tom tried to picture this and got as far as the thighs.

“So we sat down and one of the guys I was with—he’s in his eighties if he’s a day—started in on a story about his youth. How he’d saved a man from drownding once. I tried to pay attention to the story but kept thinking he’d made a mistake about the word drownding. Sure enough, he said it the same way, over and over. Never mind, the story was a big deal for him because he’d saved this fellow’s life. Turns out he never learned the guy’s name, never found out, because after he hauled him out of the water and did artificial respiration, an ambulance arrived and the man was taken away. Fishermen used to go there—the Kawarthas somewhere—to fish largemouth bass. I’ve fished largemouth myself. Big and olivey-coloured. Those bass like weeds, and they don’t care if the water is warm. Good eating, too. Especially when you have a cast-iron frying pan right there on shore so you can cook them fresh when you bring your boat in.”

Dave was going on about sex now. Back to talking about the Haven. Tom wondered what the ride home would be like. He’d have a few hours to himself in Greenley after taking Dave up to the third floor. He’d go somewhere for coffee, maybe the main cafeteria, which was off to the side of the entrance at the health centre. Or maybe Tim Hortons, same level but different hallway. Past the elevators, past the gift shop.

“Before the toothbrush fiasco, Rose, at our table, started talking about sex in her marriage. ‘It was good for a long time,’ she told us. Then she points her index finger straight out and lets it droop from the middle. ‘After that,’ she said, ‘not so good.’ There are six at our table, four women and two men, and the women started hooting and laughing. They’ll say anything, even at breakfast. Things aren’t the way they used to be. But you know, Rose is still a helluva bridge player; I gotta admire that. I like her sense of humour. Everybody in the place knows her. I bet when she was younger, she was a killer for looks. She can keep people’s spirits up. She’s a natural.”

“Laughter in your life is good, no question about that.”

“You bet it is. I used to be married, and my wife and I had some great laughs, but she died. Long time ago,” said Dave. “You, too, Tom? You never say much about that.”

“My Ida died last year. I’ve been missing her a lot, I’d say.” His voice cracked, and that took him by surprise.

“There ought to be a law against it,” said Dave. He stared straight ahead through the windshield.

“Against what?”

“Grief.”

Dave seemed to be talked out, so Tom let his thoughts wander as they neared Greenley. He was grateful for sunny weather and a clear highway in December. Next year he’d be eighty. Before his birthday and every two years after that, he’d have to pass a vision test and some sort of in-class screening assignment to renew his driver’s licence. He’d be required to undergo a review of his driving record and participate in a forty-five-minute group education session. He might have to take a road test—if deemed necessary—and he hoped that wouldn’t happen. He had talked to one of his long-time friends who’d already gone through this. One of the tasks had been to draw a clock with hands pointed at a particular time. His friend drew the perfect clock face, all right, but after that, he drew the hands separately and placed them outside the clock. That was the end of driving for him! Tom didn’t want to make any mistakes like that.