“That’s how it goes.” I put the slice of bread on a napkin. “He’s sorry he couldn’t be here, but he’ll see you when we get back.”

Raymond nodded and half smiled, taking in the information. “Can I see the video?” He took a bite.

“Yes, it’s all cued up.” I dashed to the VCR in the living room, and he followed at his own pace. As we watched, I sat on the floor next to the screen, pointing and explaining what I knew, what we’d been told, and what my hunches were.

Raymond watched carefully but didn’t say anything. He just nodded and asked to watch it one more time, and we did. At the end, he said, “All right. Ready to go?” and he popped in one last bite of banana bread.

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll throw this away.” He collected our dirty napkins and looked for a bin.

“It’s here.” I pulled open the trash drawer for him. His hair looked healthy and thick, almost all silver now, and his hairline had receded slightly since the last time I saw him.

“Oh, hang on, lemme use the biffy,” he said, zooming toward the front hall. “Grab what you need for a couple of nights,” he called out.

I wasn’t sure how many nights we’d be gone. The plan was for Hal to stay home in case news came that Cally was in town or the hospital needed us or any other leads developed down here. I’d already packed two shirts, two sweaters, two pairs of pants, vitamins, necessities, my Day-Timer, and my journal. “Should I look for my map of Minnesota?” I yelled back.

“No,” he said calmly as he emerged from the bathroom. “I’ve already got that taken care of.”

I switched off the lights and glanced out the window. The sky had cleared; the roads should be good by now.

In Raymond’s rental car, he had set up his own galaxy. A car phone, a GPS system, a portable laptop computer, a full-size spiral-bound AAA TripTik, organized in sections, highlighted, and circled in color-coded symbols.

“Whoa,” I said, surveying the landscape.

“You’ll navigate, okay?” He smiled and put the car in gear.

We headed north on I-35, the familiar artery traveled so often by city dwellers escaping north on weekends. Hal and I had been this way many times for romantic getaways at Lutsen or Naniboujou Lodge. I’d gone up north to follow stories and interview sources. Our news group had done team building in Duluth, and a good friend had been married in Grand Marais. Everyone in Minnesota knew about the tradition of stopping for cinnamon rolls at Tobie’s restaurant, located halfway between Minneapolis and Duluth.

But this time, with Raymond, the road looked new and foreign. The car was a fortress, and we were warriors in a strange land. Information was our weapon, our nourishment, our fuel.