"Yup," I called back, turning the brush a little to keep it from dripping as I pulled it back. I started on the upright. "Spring's early this year."
"Are you complaining?" she asked, climbing the steps and leaning against the support-pole nearest me.
"Not at all. You must be doing good business."
She laughed. "Yeah, everyone's fixing all the things they've been putting off because of winter."
"Nice work if you can get it. All my customers are out sniffing roses and wandering the fields and stuff." I refreshed the brush and dabbed at a stubborn knot in the wooden sign that never took paint well.
"Tourists'll be in soon enough," she said.
"Don't I know it. Bert just had a whole shipment of decongestants come in."
"I stocked up on tire irons and tent patch kits," she agreed. "What about you?"
"Flower identification guides," I said, absently thumbing away a smear of misplaced paint in one curve of the s. "Camping handbooks. Lots of picture books to keep the kids busy.
"And a pretty new coat of paint on your sign," she said, smiling up at me.
"That too," I agreed. "You have to look nice for the city folk."
"You really want to look nice, you'll – "
" – rip out the porch and put in a new one, yeah. Maybe in the summer," I told her. "And I'm going to do it myself. It'll be good."
"What about your heart?" she asked. I carefully applied myself to the fickle angles of the k.
"I haven't had an episode in months," I said. "I'm going up to Chicago sometime, but I think the worst of it's past me, you know? I feel better than I ever have."
"Low Ferry worries about you," she said seriously.
The weird thing is, that felt good. No twinge of regret that I was different, no irritation over being handled. Low Ferry worried about me, because I was one of theirs – even if it might be another decade before I wasn't also the city boy.
"I know," I answered, climbing down the ladder to shift it over so I wouldn't have to stretch to reach the s in Books. "And I'm glad. Just...don't worry too much." I gave her a smile. "I'm okay, Paula. Really."
She grinned and gave me a hug, careful not to spill the paint.
"Well, I'm glad," she said. "Now, how much lumber can I get you for that porch?"
***
What finally sent me to Chicago for those tests the doctors wanted was a phone call to Marjorie, which in turn was spurred by another Low Ferry departure.
I'd all but forgotten that Michael and Nolan were leaving in mid-April, so it caught me off-guard when Carmen brought me a plate of pancakes and a mouthful of hot gossip early one warm morning.
"Did you hear yet?" she asked, as I sliced up the pancakes and, to my delight, found two links of sausage underneath them.
"About what?" I said, mouth half-full.
"The boys at the bank?"
I swallowed sharply and cleared my throat. "Nolan and Michael?"
"They ran off last night," she said, leaning forward and whispering, eyes wide.
"I hope they didn't rob the place," I said.
"No, but I hear they cleaned out their bank accounts. Nolan's little sister says they went to Chicago."
"Really," I said innocently.
"Together!" Carmen added, a hint of scandal seeping into her voice.
I admit to a little mischief. After the last few months, I felt I was owed that much. "Well, it's better to travel in pairs."
"No! Like, together."
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that so. I suppose I can see why they'd run off, then."
"You mean aside from Michael's dad throwing him out of the house?"
"Well, this just gets more and more operatic. Did he really?"
"That's what I hear."
"Well, what do you think of it?" I asked, honestly curious. She glanced at me, frowned, and looked out the window nearby.
"Some people are meant for the city, I guess," she said. "But we look after our own folk, don't we?"
"That we do," I replied.
"So...things're changing. Maybe they just change here a little slower." She grinned. "Says something that Charles is fit to be tied at Michael's dad, huh?"
"Is he going to excommunicate him?" I winked.
"Well, he's right out of the choir and the Farmer's Association are thinking of taking measures too. Everyone sort of thinks it isn't really right, what he did to his boy."
I nodded. "What about Nolan's parents?"
"Haven't heard yet. If they don't know now, they will soon. Nolan's mother's liable to go down to Chicago with a shotgun and haul 'em both back, though, don't you think?"
"I hope not," I said.
"You liked those boys," she said – a half-question.
"I still do," I replied. She twisted her fingers together, looking from the window to me and back to the window.
"If you could go back to Chicago, would you?" she asked.
"Why do you ask?" I said.
"Just wondering." She tried to act casual, and mostly failed.
"Chicago wasn't perfect either," I told her.
"What if...you know..." she prompted, and I frowned.
"What if what?"
"What if Lucas came back?"
I stared at her, openmouthed.
She gave me a dry look. "Wasn't exactly a secret, Christopher. Plenty of people worried for your state of mind after he took off."
"I..." I said, blinking. "Low Ferry's my home, Carmen. Whether he were here or not. And if he did come back -- this'd still be my home."