Then one day I went north into the countryside, found myself traveling through small towns, peaceful villages. Alver Shore could be in another country. The hills lifted me and set me down again in a valley where the river was edged by trees weeping into the water. Finally I came to a halt in a steep lane under an overhanging wall with pink daisies growing in the cracks between the stones. When I turned off the engine, the only sound was rain dripping from the daisies.

I got out of the car and walked up and down, crying for want of anything better to do.

“Are you lost, madam?”

An old man was coming toward me up the lane. His voice brusque, chirping a bit with age.

“No!” Resenting this interruption to my crying hugely. I probably glared at him.

“I wondered if that was why you were so upset.”

His eyes had faded to a very light gray, so light that the irises merged into the aged, discolored whites. They strayed rheumily upward from my face—he brought them down, small black pupils lost in a sea of eye. I was still hazy about accents, but I fancied he was Irish.

“My baby died.”

Hoping to send him away.

“Ah, now,” he said. “That is sad.”

He was carrying his hat, I noticed, his clubbed fingers folded over the brim, his hair damp on his crown. Why wasn’t he wearing it? I couldn’t tell.

He spoke again. “Was it your first?”

I nodded, methodically wiping the tears away.

“We lost our first too. Went on to have three more good ones, all grown up now, but I know you don’t care about that.”

I sniffled in the silence.

Then I said, “I’m very sorry.”

“You could visit my wife. She’s out most afternoons, but if you came in the morning you could sit with her, if you wanted. She’d understand. She’d be doing her chores, you see, she wouldn’t get on your nerves. It would be a change of scene for you. That’s all she wanted, when, you know. When it happened to us.”

“You’re very kind, very kind indeed, but, you see, I don’t live locally. I drive around, and I was just passing through . . .”

“I see.” He nodded. “Well, that’s fair enough. But if you should change your mind, it’s the last bungalow down the lane. Down there. Round the corner.” He lifted his cane, pointed to where the lane curved away out of sight. “No obligation, my dear.”

I watched him making his bowed way onward, swinging his cane.

—

I didn’t tell James about this encounter. Not that I wanted to keep it a secret. Simply that when I got home he usually said, “Nice drive?,” and I’d reply, “Yes,” and before I’d even got that one little word out he’d say “Good!,” and the subject was closed.