“It’s nothing. It’s just like Raj said. I mean, he saw it. I’m okay, Annie. I ain’t going back there. I’ll meet you. I promise.”

She glanced at Raj. Understanding, he hurried on, leaving them alone.

“I’m okay,” Lew assured her. “Ain’t what you think. Things get in my head and I have to get them out, that’s all.”

He was meeting her gaze openly, and Annie felt her body unclench a little. Maybe it really was just that he didn’t want to go through town. She released him and he headed quickly across the field.

She ran until she caught up with Raj. “I’m sorry I hit you. I get so scared when he says those things.”

“What did he mean, he wasn’t going back there?”

She hesitated, wary of betraying Lew, but decided that Raj should know so he didn’t encourage Lew’s strange ideas. “After his brother drowned he got sick and went to a hospital, a mental hospital. I’m sorry I got mad, but he does this thing when he touches the back of his neck, and I remember some of the things he said when he was there and I don’t want him to get sick again.”

Raj nodded. After a little while, he said, “Are things okay with your brother now?”

“Oh, yes. He’d broken up with his girlfriend.”

“You ever broken up with anyone?”

She shook her head. “Never really dated anyone. How about you?”

He widened his eyes as if this were an absurd question. “Oh, yes. Lots of girls.”

“Lots?” She smiled. “Is it hard to break up with them?”

“No. I just take them to a cemetery. Then I hand them a bunch of dead flowers and sing them a requiem.”

“What’s a requiem?”

“A song for the dead.”

“You’re the weirdest person I know.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Do you miss England?”

Biting the edge of his lip, he took a moment to answer. “Don’t miss London. I do miss my sister, though.”

“Your sister?”

“My cousin, I mean. Cici.”

“Is she going to come visit?”

He seemed almost to flinch at this, a stone dropped into the well of his mind. A second later, though, the surface of his privacy stilled again, sealing his face.

“What’s she like?”

She didn’t think he was going to answer, his face grave, imperturbable, but abruptly he turned to her and winked. “Nice as pie,” he said, in a strange accent. Then in a Negro voice: “Sweet as sorghum mo-lasses.” And finally, in a voice she knew well: “Lovely as heaven on a June day.”