Grogan walked past the car, not even looking toward it. He went onto the dock and chatted a few moments with some other rowers. They clustered around him, all nodding as he said something while pointing to the river. Some technical point about the current, Corey guessed. One of the white-haired rowers patted Grogan on the shoulder. Grogan said something and they all guffawed. He’s a favorite here, Corey decided. They actually look up to him. These bluebloods.

Grogan walked down the ramp to the water and got into his racing shell. He rowed out toward the middle of the river. His strokes were smooth, seemingly effortless. Corey stepped out of the car and went onto the dock. He watched Grogan rest the oars for a moment. Then Grogan was rowing again.

Now it was serious rowing and the single scull cut cleanly through the water; the blades of the oars dominating the water. There was no splashing, no deviation of boat motion; the shell responded to Grogan’s strokes like an eager steed flawlessly handled.

He’s a rower, all right, Corey said to himself. You don’t hafta know about rowing to see that he’s good. It’s better than good. It’s really pretty.

He watched the single scull as it picked up the increasing tempo of the oar strokes. It flashed past other rowers. Some of them rested their oars and just sat and looked. And he’s fifty-six years old, Corey reminded himself. The man is fifty-six years old.

The single scull passed under a railroad bridge more than a mile away from the dock. Then it turned and started back. Corey strolled off the dock and along the gravel path. He got into the car.

About twenty minutes later Grogan came out of the clubhouse wearing his street clothes and climbed into the car and started the engine. There was no talk. The car backed out of the parking area and maneuvered onto the highway. There was no talk. The car passed the art museum, passed the aquarium, the statues of the Revolutionary War generals and still there was no talk. They were passing the expensive apartment houses when Grogan said, “Gimme a rating.”

“On what?”

“The rowing.”

“You knew I was watching?”

“Gimme a rating,” Grogan said.

“It was nice,” Corey said. “It was something to see.”

“They all say that,” Grogan murmured. He glanced at Corey. “You think I do it to show off?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I don’t do it to show off. I don’t do it for the exercise, neither. I mean the exercise is secondary.”

There was silence for a while. Then Grogan said, “You wanna know why I do it?”

“I’m sorta wondering.”