“I’ve seen nothing quite like it.” I gave him the papers. “While I remember, Grayson Fox said to be sure and sign these if you want to keep out of jail. I take it that’s a joke.”

He made a rueful face. “I forgot last year,” he explained wryly. “Lydia tells me it’s premature senility.”

I grinned. “Then it’s catching. Today I walked out of my office and promptly forgot where I was going. Roland caught me in the hallway looking perplexed. He’s probably wondering what they’ve hired.”

“Oh, he knows,” Henry smiled. “From what Kris Ann told us you could have worked anywhere.” He put on half-glasses, quickly scanned the returns, and signed them in a small, careful hand that was almost like script. “There,” he said with an air of great accomplishment. “Let me fix you a drink.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to put off your and Mrs. Cantwell’s dinner.”

“Don’t worry, Adam. Lydia’s already eaten and gone to bed, so it’s just me.”

“I hope she’s not sick.”

He looked startled. “Oh no,” he said quickly. “Sometimes she gets a bit tired and needs time to herself. I’d be glad of a chance to talk.”

“Then I would too,” I smiled. “I’ll have Bushmills on ice, if you have it.”

He smiled back. “Irish whiskey. Of course.”

He filled the glass carefully, measuring, stirring, handing me the drink like a proffer of hospitality. When we had settled in our chairs, he asked, “How goes the job?”

“Pretty well, I guess. Like a lot of things, it takes getting used to.”

“I’m sure. After all, you’ve changed your entire life in a very little time: first job, new marriage, moving here to Alabama. Some mornings you must wake up and wonder how it happened.”

I had sat back, considering the room, its contents outlined in the evening light: an antique walking stick in one corner, a standing clock, an oil lamp. A blue Miro seemed not so much to hang as to be suspended. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “I’ll get this strange feeling—just at odd moments of the day—as though I’ve been exiled. I guess that passes when you’ve lived somewhere long enough to belong.”

He nodded his understanding. “Your feeling’s not so strange, Adam. The ancient Greeks considered exile the worst form of punishment. Socrates took hemlock instead.” He smiled. “I expect you won’t come to that. The South does take understanding, of course, and some of the people you’ll meet may seem complex or even contradictory. But you’ll grow to like it—very much, I think. Life here has great beauty, and a permanence most people never find.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” I agreed. “I’m not sure Krissy could have left.”