"Yes, the one with the legs. That was them up in Anson. I didn't remember before, but that was them."

"Does George still live there?"

"Lord, I haven't seen him since we were children. We weren't close, you know. We didn't get on with that side of the family."

"Would you have an address or phone number for him?"

"That was so long ago."

"Maybe in an old phone book or a family album. Maybe an old Christmas card list. You know how people keep things like that, then forget they have them?"

"I have some of Mother's old things, but I don't know what's there."

"Would you look?"

"I have some old pictures in one of those closets. There might be a picture of George, but I don't know."

She didn't sound thrilled, but you take what you can get.

"That would be great, Ms. Reinnike. Would it be all right if I come see you tomorrow?"

"I guess that would be fine, but don't you try to sell me something. I know better than that."

"No, ma'am, I'm not trying to sell anything. I'm just trying to find George."

"Well, all right, then. Let me tell you where I live."

I copied her address, then hung up. I was still standing by the table. My hands were still shaking, but not so badly.

I studied the map of Southern California. Anson was in the middle of nowhere. What would have been the odds? My mother had vanished for days and sometimes weeks when I was a child. I never knew where she went, but Southern California was so far from where we lived it was unlikely she had gone so far. Still, I didn't know. She had vanished again and again. More than once, my grandfather hired someone to find her.

Ken Wilson Miami , Florida Wilson sat in the dark on his porch, feeling old and disgusted as he listened to the frogs squirming along the banks of the Banana River. Moths the size of a child's hand scraped against the screen that was the only thing saving him from the clouds of mosquitoes and gnats that filled the night with a homicidal whine. Wilson figured all he had to do was punch one finger through the screen and so many goddamned monsters would swarm in they could suck him dry before sunrise. He thought about doing it. He thought it would be pretty damned nice to be done with the whole awful mess of his life.

He took a sip of watered Scotch instead, and spoke to his dead wife.

"You should've never left me. That was damned lousy, leaving me like this, just damned awful of you. Look at me, sitting out here by myself, just look at me."

He had more of the Scotch, but didn't move, alone with himself on the porch of his little bungalow that felt so different now with her gone.