His stories were like funny gifts a man would offer a woman when hinting for a date.

He bragged about having to bait fish hooks for Noah, about teaching Noah to make a proper cast, about throwing back huge fish he had caught just to keep from embarrassing Noah.

He fake-whispered a story to Noah about needing to explain to Eleanor the meaning of certain books. Mostly foreign books that had been translated into English. His only advantage was in the fact that he had read them in their original language.

He leaned toward Beatrice Cunningham and told her he had been thinking seriously of calling on her, maybe taking her to a picture show, but was afraid she would think him too old.

The old woman’s face seemed confused.

Still, Eleanor enjoyed the absurdity of Taylor’s joking.

The house, too, seemed to enjoy having Taylor and Noah in it. Seemed warmer, more peaceful. Seemed filled. Since the death of her husband, the house had been more building than home, empty except for furniture and fixtures. With Taylor and Noah in it, with the sharp scent of after-shave lotion, the deep sound of the voices of men, of heavy footsteps on the floor, the house again had life.

After the supper, Taylor went to his car and got his camera and returned to the house with it, insisting on having photographs made of the occasion. Busied himself posing Eleanor and the old woman, Eleanor and Noah, Eleanor alone, Noah alone. And then he gave the camera to Eleanor and to Noah to take pictures that would include him.

“I like having pictures of happy times,” he crowed.

“So do I,” Eleanor said.

“I’ll give you some of them,” Taylor told her.

“I’d like that,” she replied.

After the picture-taking, the three of them retired to the front porch to sit, leaving the old woman in her rocker, lost in the darkness of her mind.

The sun seeped into the mountain, limbs of trees drooped into sleep, night rose up from the ground, whippoorwills took up their song.

Taylor leaned back in his chair, laced his hands behind his head, smiled his comfortable smile. “Know what I was thinking a minute ago?” he said. “I was thinking I never once sat out on the porch with my wife and watched it turn dark. Maybe that was what was wrong with us. Maybe that’s what she’s doing right now, at this very second, with her fellow down in Gainesville.” He paused. “If she is, I hope the mosquitoes are eating them up.”

“Maybe she’s thinking the same about you,” Eleanor told him.

“Knowing her, I’d say she is,” Taylor said. He rocked forward, pulled himself from the chair, stood. “All right, time to go. I’m so full, I’m going to have to wobble my way to the car.” He turned to Eleanor. “I got to tell you, Eleanor, I can’t remember when I liked a night as much as this one.”

“Me, either,” Eleanor said, standing.