“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your dad?”

“I’d rather not,” Quinn said. “It’s the one thing I’d rather not discuss.”

“Just like your sister,” Tashi said. “She said you both haven’t heard from him for a couple of years. Do you know where he ended up?”

“Nope.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Not really,” Quinn said, looking at his watch. The shadows starting to fall earlier and earlier, even at five o’clock. Hubie Phillips had decorated his door with jack-o’-lanterns and witches, orange and purple tinsel. “I’d rather just stick to Mr. Phillips. Maybe he’ll be a little more forthcoming with me. I took a few of his classes. I liked him. He used to tell me I had more potential than I believed. He was that kind of teacher, always getting us to see beyond Tibbehah County.”

“If he wanted his students to move away, I wonder why he stayed?” Tashi said, putting her phone down and staring at Quinn.

Quinn shrugged, watching the narrow little street, all small saltbox houses built end to end at another time, after another war, a little sliver of Memphis that hadn’t changed in a long while. They could be sitting right there at the start of the 1950s, roofs topped with hundreds of TV antennas.

“Can you tell me the story of how you and Maggie met? The last time.”

“Why?” Quinn said, leaning back in the driver’s seat, ball cap over his half-shut eyes. “I thought you knew all that.”

Tashi reached into her satchel and pulled out the microphone, setting it on the console between them. Quinn looked down at the fuzzy mic and turned his head to Tashi.

“Would be nice to hear your side of the story,” Tashi said. “Maggie already told us hers. She said she knew right away you were going to be together. Did you feel the same way?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“I knew straight off,” Quinn said. “Once we worked out some unpleasant details, we just got right to it. I asked her to marry me on our second real date.”

“You only knew her for a few months,” Tashi said. “That’s bold.”

“Long as I needed,” Quinn said. “I wasn’t about to let her go. Maggie is something special.”

Quinn looked in his rearview, spotting a gray compact car slowing behind them, idling and then parking along the street. Hubie Phillips got out, opened up his trunk, and grabbed some plastic bags, seeming a little confused and hesitant as Quinn got out of the truck and met him in the driveway.

“Mr. Phillips.”

Hubie Phillips smiled. “Quinn Colson,” he said. “Didn’t I warn you about staying in Tibbehah County?”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn said. “Only about a hundred times. You know Miss Coleman.”