Ed had taught him lots of old sayings and sailing hymns, like “Pull for the Shore” and “There Shall Be Showers of Blessing.” He knew to call a thunderstorm a “tempest,” and that the morning fog that burned off was the “easterly mull.” If a storm was coming he’d hear Ed say, “Long foretold, long last. Short notice, soon past.” And after a period of rain, Ed would say, “Ain’t going to clear up until the moon changes.”

Michael could hardly think about the weather without thinking of Ed, which is what he was doing when he passed the Gordons’ driveway and noticed a couch sitting next to the road. There was a cardboard sign that said FREE! taped to the armrest.

He knew that old couch. It used to sit in the sunporch, although it was meant to be outdoors. The base was made of shellacked wicker and the cushions were covered in vinyl. He’d slept on it whenever it got too hot in the attic. He remembered the creaking sounds the hard cushions made with the slightest movement, the way his sweat would pool on the vinyl, and how his back would ache in the mornings.

It was funny how a single familiar object out of place could also conjure up such a crystal-clear image of Ed. It had been ages since he’d really gotten a good look at him, but the sight of the couch triggered an image as vivid as a hologram, right down to his receding hairline and Adam’s apple. For just a moment Michael swore he could feel Ed’s presence in the seat next to him, hear the faint whistle in his nose when he inhaled. Michael had been close to Connie, too, and he missed her, but it was Ed who haunted him—he was a father figure, and Michael felt especially awful about how he’d let him down. There was so much Michael wanted to tell him, so much he wished Ed had known and understood about what happened with Ann. He figured that one day he’d have a chance.

FREE!

Michael couldn’t stand the thought of the couch getting picked up by just anyone. He wanted to grab it himself, but he’d loaned his red truck to Jason, who needed it to tow his boat to the marina to get fixed. That’s why Michael was driving Jason’s ’82 Camaro Iron Duke instead. Why would he even want the damn couch? It was as ugly and beat-up as the car he was driving, and the cushions had a bilious green cast to them. Still, he wanted it. “Want” wasn’t the right word. You want something you don’t already have. Michael felt it was his already, and he needed to retake possession, just like he’d always felt the house was his because he loved it. He dreamed of owning it someday.