"Old Flynn" Part 4

The next weekend was nothing but storms. It got cold enough that the rain turned to sleet on Saturday and I was wondering if my season up on the stream had ended just as it was starting.

I tried to stay busy with tying flies and reading, but I wasn't putting my heart in it. Well, at least I had enough gumption in reserve to finish up a set of wet flies. Two orange, two olive and two yellows. I should've tied up more than that but being a lazy ass, that's all I got done in my moping-around mood. I figured the flies were about the right size for the trout up in the stream there, so I didn't bother tying any smaller sizes and went back to my moping.

So you can understand that I was in a damn foul mood come Monday. But at work, I bore down and with the help of plenty of coffee and skies that were clearing, my mood picked up gradually. By Tuesday it was really warming up and it looked like we were in for a real Indian summer. I asked my boss for the Thursday and Friday off and since he was a fisherman too and seeing as how I was ahead on my work, he said "sure".

Wednesday night I packed everything up real good and sat down at my tying bench with a glass of that Old Crow and whipped out a good dozen flies, both wets and some of those tiny spinners I enjoyed tying that weren't any bigger than the tip of your pinky. Sometimes I tied them with real fine gold wire and sometimes I used stripped peacock quill. Either way, they turned out real pretty and I better not say this... but they were "cute". Besides, the trout seemed to appreciate them, too.

I was up early the next morning, about 4:30, and had a breakfast of coffee and another cup of coffee. I got up to the stream with the morning still early. There was dew on the grass that grew all along the turnpike and it was chilly and bright. I was driving with the windows down and the past weekend was way back in time.
Continued...
I stopped in at the store. There were two motorcycles out in the lot with Canadian plates. They were all loaded up for camping or something. One was a fancy BMW bike and the other was an old, solid Honda. I went inside and both the owner and his wife were tending the store. I said "howdy" and then they recognized me.

"Well hi, honey! How you doin?" the wife said.

"I'm doin' fine because I'm up here and not at work," I said.

"You're a regular professional fisherman, ain't ya?" the man said.

"I'm not much of anything, really."

"How about this weather?" she asked.

"How about it! It needs to stay like this all through December, in my opinion."

"No, I need my white Christmas." She winked at me.

There was a group of people in the back, fussing over what beer to get. I heard them saying something about "micro brew" or something. I figured they were the Canadian tourists. There was an old man I hadn't seen before, sitting on a stool over by the deli counter.

"Can I get ya to fix me some sandwiches?" I said walking over to the counter.

"You sure can, honey. Whaddaya need?"

"Oh... a couple of bologna and cheese sandwiches with plenty of onions and dressing."

"OK."

"And a couple of country ham sandwiches."

"You're awful hungry today!" she said.

"I got a big appetite."

"Good for you. You need to stay strong and handsome."

Her husband was over by the register listening to us carry on and shaking his head. He was also watching the Canadian tourists with amusement, it seemed.

The old timer sitting there on the stool was looking at me.

"Howdy," I said.

He nodded and said, "howdy" back. Then "you fixin to do some fishin?"

"Yes sir. I am."

He nodded.

"Where you goin?"

"Up past the bridge."

He nodded again.

"Big fish up there."

"Yes, there are," I said.

"Big swamps up there, too," the wife said from behind the glass deli.

"Ain't no big fish gonna be in a place that's easy to reach," said the old man.

"Maybe so," she said.

"Fly fishin?" he asked me.

"Yes." I nodded and smiled.

"I use to fish a fly," he said. "Never got very good, though."

"I'm sure you were fine."

"Naw. Caught more trees than fish," and as he said that he cackled real good and we all laughed with him. Then his cackling changed to coughing.

The tourists had finally picked out their beer and were paying up at the register.

"We're going to try camping up in the gorge," one of the men said.

"That's a good place," the store owner said. "But make sure you hang your food up away from your tents so the bears won't getcha."

"Oh, right!" The Canadian said.

"You should also get an overnight permit in case the rangers come around."

"Really? How much is it?"

"Five dollars per couple."

"OK, we'll take two," the man said.

"Here ya go," said the other Canadian, the taller one. He was handing the first man a five dollar bill.

"Don't be silly. I got it."

I wondered why they were only getting two couples' permits when there were five of them. It was two men and three women. The one girl with long hair was standing back from them a step or two. They didn't look old enough to have a daughter her age. Must've been a friend or a sister, I thought. Then I remembered the two bikes out front and I wondered how the five of them were travelling around on two motorcycles. I looked at the girl in the back closer and I got a chill up my back. Goddamnit, it looked like the girl I'd seen out by the stream.

They all went outside and I moved over to the window and watched the group going over to the cycles and strapping down their supplies. But I couldn't see the girl.

"I'll be back in a minute," I told the wife.

"OK, honey."

Outside, I watched the two couples get on the bikes and then ride off down the road. The girl wasn't with them. I looked all around. There was no time for her to have gone anywhere. I walked all around the store building. She wasn't anywhere. I was starting to get frustrated and more real to the point, downright spooked.

I went back inside. I didn't know whether to say anything to them or not.

"Forget your wallet?" the wife asked.

"Uh... no... I was just checking what else I needed. Ch-checking what food I already have."

"Oh."

"What'd you think about our Canadian friends?" I asked, kinda fishing around it.

"Somethin else, huh?" said the owner.

"Two fine looking ladies, weren't they," said the wife.

"Yes, I thought so, too."

So that's how it was. I wandered around the store trying to pull myself together and wondering if I'd be able to concentrate on fishing. I picked up a bunch of stuff I didn't really need and some more that I did need: two six-packs, four packs of the little donuts.

When she'd finished fixing the sandwiches I took it all up to the register and paid, trying to keep smiling.

"You need any more of the..." the owner cleared his throat, "medicine?"

"No, I'm still working through the Old Crow."

He nodded.

"Well, thank you," I called over to the wife and nodded to the old timer.

"Bye bye and be careful honey," she called back to me.

I waved and went outside, and over to my car. I put everything in the back seat. I was still looking all over for any sign of that girl. My hands were shaking. I was driving back up the road, kinda manic and looking all over the place for her. I wondered whether I should go to that place on the stream or go out and have a talk with old Flynn.

---

I decided to go straight to Flynn. Out at his house I found him back in his tool shed.

"You can't stay away from this place, can ya!" he said, grinning.

"Seems that way."

"I expect you're heading out to fish."

"Yeah... I am. Maybe fishing for more than trout, though."

"Let me take a guess. Would your other 'quarry', so to speak, have long black hair and be shapely and shy?"

"Except for the long hair, sounds like you're talkin about a trout," I said.

He chuckled. Talking to him was already calming me down.

"I'm talking about your girl, ya son-of-a-bitch." He grinned at me again.

"I know it. Listen!..."

"I'm listenin," he interrupted.

"Listen, I think I saw her at the store just now."

"What the hell was she doin at the store?"

"I don't know."

"Did ya talk to her?"

"No."

"Why the hell didn't ya talk to her?"

"She disappeared before I could."

"You mean disappeared - up and left. Or disappeared - vanished in a puff o' smoke?"

"Little bit o' both. She was with a group of tourists."

He frowned, like he found it strange.

"Well, at least I thought she was, but when they were outside, she wasn't with 'em."

"Maybe she was hidin' from ya in the car."

"Ya see, that's it. They were on motorcycles. She wasn't with 'em afterall. Besides, they only asked for overnight permits for four people."

"What permits?"

"Up in the gorge."

"Oh." He seemed to be thinking it over for a while.

"Whaddaya think?"

"Hushup, I'm still thinking."

"Sorry."

He was putting things away in his shed. Seemed to be just piddling and it was making me antsy.

Finally, he said, "Well, I tell ya what I think."

"Please do."

"I think she's followin you around. Waiting for ya to make a move."

"How the hell did she know I'd be at the store today?"

"How the hell should I know? But I tell ya what I think we should do. I think we should go look for her."

"OK!"

"And if we happen to get in a little fishin, so much the better." He grinned again.

"Right." I wasn't really listenin to him now. I'd gone off in my own world the moment he suggested she was followin me around.

We got our gear together and took separate cars out to the dirt road downstream. About the place I'd seen the girl before, I stopped and got out to go back and talk to him.

"Maybe we should park here," I said.

"And do what?"

"And look around for her."

"How we gonna do that?"

"I don't know. Look around for clues or something."

"You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, ain't ya!"

"I don't know, Flynn!" Being there was making me jumpy again.

"I'm sorry I been teasin' ya," he said. "Here's my honest advice. We go on up to the good hole and fish a while and you try and forget about it. If she wants you to find her, she'll send you a sign."

This was getting to be too much. I didn't know what to say. I just looked at him like I thought he was full of shit, which I did think.

"Don't think it's a good idea?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Trust me. You need to clear your head up and give the answers some space to take roost."

"You really think so?"

"Yes, I do. Besides, I'm an old man and I want to get in a little fishin while I can."

"Well..."

"Come on," he said.

"OK." I nodded and went back up to my car and hopped in. We went on up the road bumping along the rough track.

He was right. I'd come to fish and if I got caught up in some silly bullshit, the fishing would be ruined. And I'd probably have nothing to show for it.

By the time we reached the stream I'd almost let it go. And when I saw the water, all smooth and serene and cool looking and leaves all turned beautiful, I forgot about the silliness and we set in for some good fishing. Flynn still had the flies I gave him. He hadn't lost any of em. I gave him a few of the little spinners I tied up and made him start in at the good spot while I watched.

He slipped into the water and took up a good place upstream of the hole where I'd caught the big mean trout. I hadn't noticed before how silent he was and how he blended in so well with the stream and the trees, all quiet and like he was a part of it and belonged there.

"You gonna fish or just critique my style?" he asked.

"I'm gonna fish. Just give me a minute."

He turned back to the stream and on his second cast he had a trout on. I watched him fight it and the trout jump a couple of times. He got it about halfway up to him and it jumped again and was off.

"Goddamned barbless hooks!" he said.

"You know better than that," I called out to him, grinning.

"I know better than you think. But it's still a goddamn pain in the ass from this end."

I just smiled and shook my head and started walking downstream along the bank. I put in above the fallen tree and started casting my wet fly to it and letting out loops of line to have it flow over the log. On about the third cast as I was retrieving, I thought I'd snagged the log. But snagged logs don't pull back and then shoot off for deeper water. I had a goddamn big trout on and I thought he had to be that same big and mean one or his brother or something. I tried not to lose him and at the same time, turn around to get Flynn's attention. He was behind the trees upstream of the bend.

"Hey Flynn!" I yelled out.

The trout jumped higher than I've ever seen a trout go. Straight up a good ten feet, thrashing, and he was big and mean looking and beautiful. It felt like my heart went up there with him. In the air and the morning sun of the Indian summer he was all bright and glistening, throwing off a spray of water, making a mist in the air around him. Then he was back in the water and pulling hard and then the line was slack.

Goddamnit. Goddamnit for losing him and goddamnit for him having a hook still in his mouth and being pissed at me.

"What's all the commotion," Flynn called from behind me. He was wading down to me.

"I had him on."

"The big one?"

"I think so. Looked big enough when he jumped."

"How big was he?"

"Good twenty-four inches."

Flynn nodded and waded down quietly to me.

"I'm startin to worry you won't believe me," I said.

"I believe you alright without seeing him."

I reeled up the line and was already planning what fly was gonna replace the one just lost. But there at the tip of the leader was that damn orange silk fly, now all brown from water and fish spit.

"How the hell did he get off?" I asked. "I had him tight. Hell, I thought he'd broke it off."

"Maybe he wasn't hooked. Was just clamping down good on it and he was teasin ya."

"Bastard!"

Flynn patted me on the shoulder and grinned.

---

We fished all day, only taking time out of the stream to eat the sandwiches and drink a few cans of beer for lunch. As evening came on, we climbed out and sat by the stream drinking the rest of the beer and just watching and listening.

"You forgot about your other quarry?" Flynn asked.

"I suppose so."

"Good! Now you're ready to figure things out."

"How?"

"How the hell should I know? Anyway, I thank you for a fine day fishing and for some fine flies."

"You heading back?"

"Yep. You're welcome to come back and sleep out in the barn."

"Thanks anyway. I think I'll stay here tonight."

"OK."

"You sure you're alright to drive?"

"Yes. You sure you're alright to camp?" He said and grinned. "Bye now. Maybe I'll come out tomorrow or you can come by and tell me how many ya catch."

"OK."

"Goodnight." He waved and went off toward the path.

"Goodnight, Flynn." I said and wondered if he'd heard me.

---

I just sat there and watched the stream. It was the best damned kind of meditation I knew. I watched the water and the mayflies and whenever a trout would rise, I'd watch the rings spread out smoothly and flow gently downstream as they spread and came over to me and died out.

I was there in my church, listening to my sermon. They all seemed to have spirits to me. Even the little mayflies. The bats were working up kinda high over the stream and between the treetops. I was feeling peaceful. I'd given up and I was just letting the stream bring everything to me and then carry it away just as smoothly and slowly.

A little later, I was dozing off, leaned up against the tree when the stream brought me something I didn't expect. I heard a whoosh and then a soft gurgling that lifted me up out of my "meditations". I knew it was him before I even looked up. He was eyeing me. He cawed and then whooshed down to the ground and started his waddling around.

"Biddy hours," he said.

"Huh?"

He was getting near me, didn't seem afraid.

"You want something to eat, don't ya." I said.

"Biddy hours."

"Whatever you say."

I reached into my pack and pulled out a package of the donuts and took one out. He was watching me the whole time. I broke off a piece and tossed it over to him. He took it up into his beak and pointed it up to the trees and shook his head to swallow it down. Then he came up real close. He wasn't six feet away from me. I broke off a little piece and when I moved he jumped back a little, flapping his wings. But he saw I was just gonna feed him and came back up close. I tossed it over to him and he ate it up.

"Piddy hours," he said.

"What?"

"Preddy flowers."

I was hearin him clearer now and I finally understood what he'd been sayin all along and it all clicked into place.

"You know her, don't you? She's your friend."

"My friend," he said, tilting his head.

"And she likes flowers, right?"

"Preddy flowers," he said.

I tossed him another piece of donut. I was kinda surprised at myself. At how calm I was.

"You're a good little bird aren't you."

He was almost close enough to touch and in the last light before the sun set, I could see his feathers real clear, all black and purple and iridescent.

"Will ya take me to her?" I asked him.

He gurgled a little.

"Take me to your friend, fella."

He tilted his head. "My friend," he said.

I took a couple more of the donuts out and swallowed them down quick. Then I did something I'm not proud of, but I needed to do it and I hoped it'd help me to follow him to wherever he would take me. I reached down and found a stone by my leg and hefted it in my hand. Too heavy, I thought, so I looked around for a smaller one and finally got one I was happy with. What I did was I put it in the packet with the donuts and tied a knot in the loose end of the plastic. Then I got up, and when I did he flew back up in the trees, but he came back down soon enough cause he saw I wasn't coming after him. I went over to the stream and reached down onto one of the stones and grabbed a pinch of the slimy moss growing there in the still part of the stream and I spread it all over the packet of donuts. Then I went over and grabbed my pack and I tossed the little gift over to him and sure enough, he grabbed it up in his beak and flew up into the tree, but just as he landed on his perch he dropped the pack of donuts. He came back down for it and grabbed it up again and flew off into the woods. I took off after him, hurrying as much as I could through the swampy part. I was lucky I still had my waders on and I wasn't sinking down very deep when I stepped.

I heard him drop the packet again and it gave me time to almost catch up with him. He flew back around and came down for it. I was afraid he'd tear open the packet but he wanted to get away in a hurry. I kept after him, making a terrible noise, splashing all through that swampy part. He'd stopped in a tree ahead and when I got up to it he took off again. Then I'd lost him, or so I thought. I kept on to where I'd seen him through the trees, going as straight as I could. Then I came out onto a part of the dirt road, up where I'd never been before.

I stopped there and tried to catch my breath. I was trying to be quiet to listen for him but all I could hear was my heart beatin real loud, thudding away in my chest.

I heard a whoosh and saw something black move through the branches and I headed into the woods on the other side of the road after him. It was working alright. I could see he was trying to get the pack of donuts again and he saw me coming and it was giving him an extra nudge and he finally managed to grab it and take off again.

Seemed like a hell of a long time later and I was beat and feeling kinda desperate. The light was nearly gone in that thick forest. He was waitin for me up ahead. I squatted down but got my pack wet so I couldn't even rest there. I fished out the flashlight and moved it around up in the trees. There he was up ahead, all black except for the glint of his eye and that strange iridescence. He was waitin for me alright. He was my friend afterall. But I wasn't really thinking ahead enough. I was almost ready to give up, but to tell the truth I wasn't sure at all I'd be able to find my way back. The whippoorwills were calling in the forest. It was kinda creepy and yet beautiful and lonely if I thought about it, but I pushed it away as quickly as the feeling came. He was gurgling again. I thought I heard him talkin again. "Preddy flowers." Helluva thing to say in the middle of the forest at night out there in a goddamned swamp.

Then he took to flight again and without thinking, I started following him again, but kind of sullenly and not caring anymore about anything. Not even caring about finding out about that girl. Goddamned talking raven. What the hell was I doing following a goddamned bird into the forest at night.

Now I was just walking. Just going straight ahead, I hoped. I stopped and turned off the flashlight and just listened. Not even the whippoorwills were calling now. Just a little breeze. I stayed there in the darkness, closed my eyes and breathed. Smell of pines, of cedar. Dankness of the swamp. I counted out to sixty and opened my eyes again and switched on the flashlight. The batteries were almost dead. It wasn't helping much. There was a moment of panic. I waited and watched it a while, doin nothing. Then it seemed to slip away. With the flashlight still switched on, I stuffed it in the side pocket of the pack and then pushed against the canvas and switched it off. Then I unlatched the pocket on the other side and reached down inside for the lighter I always carried. I hoped I wouldn't dump anything out into the swamp. I had it finally and then I latched the pocket closed again. It was tricky in the dark with my hand shaking. Then I put my arms through the straps and hefted it onto my back again. I lit the lighter and found that if I held my hand between the flame and my eyes I could see out ahead reasonably well. Hold it more than a second or two and the metal heated up and burned my thumb. Shoulda had a zippo, I thought. But they dry out too goddamned fast. So I flicked the lighter and got my bearings, let it go out and walked ahead a few paces in the dark. I did this over and over for a long time. I didn't know where "my friend" had got to. I was just going ahead and not giving a shit anymore. What the hell was wrong with me? Couldn't keep a wife. Could barely keep a job. And I could barely keep from going nuts. Ah to hell with it, I thought. And to hell with anybody who'd say a thing about it. They just don't understand. I don't either, but I know for damn sure they don't understand.

Finally, must have been almost an hour later, the ground had gotten dry and I was out of the swamp. The trees were more spread out. It was almost a kind of meadow.

That was it. I was sleeping there, I decided. I looked up and could see some stars but they would fade out and come back. Musta been cloudy, but I didn't believe it would rain. It was chilly, but I'd be alright, I thought.

I got out the sleeping bag and unrolled it right there on the ground. Then I took off my waders and just let em lay where they fell. I clipped my knife to my shirt and crawled inside. I hoped a bear or something wouldn't come to visit in the night. There were many things I could worry about like my rod and gear back at the stream. Or my car. Nobody would mess with it, I figured. Hell, nobody came out there. Just me and Flynn. And that girl.

I decided not to worry and not to care -- in this case, I suppose "care" was another way of saying "fear". I decided not to do it.

There I was, out in a field late at night, one crazy son-of-a-bitch, but I just lay there and looked up at the stars shining and them going dark beyond clouds and the breeze and I was asleep before I could think of anything else.

---

When I woke, it was chilly and there was fog out over the meadow. The trees were spread out. The land had been cleared a long time ago.

I got out of the sleeping bag and rolled it up still damp on the outside and stuffed everything into the pack including the waders. I was still sleepy but I needed to move and get the legs and the brain going. I wandered up the gentle slope. There'd been a house there. All that was left was an old stone foundation that must've been laid a good two hundred years earlier. Out past it was what must've been the root cellar, lined with stones and sunken in. It was all gone.

I wanted to get back to the stream and fishing for trout and forget about being crazy the night before. But I might as well spend a little while longer out here, I thought.

Down the slope it was real foggy. The sun wasn't up high enough to burn it off. I could see there was a little barn down there at the edge of the meadow and I started down to it. The high grass was all dewy. When I got down to the barn I saw what a mess it was. The back half of the roof had caved in. There were gaps in the plank wall. The doors were the kind that slid aside, but they were jammed. I pushed in on it and made a space to fit through.

It was quiet and calm inside and light came in through the hole where the roof was caved in. There was a lot of junk strewn around, but over in the corner beside the doors it was a little tidier. Still, every damned thing in there was all cobwebbed over and looked like it'd been untouched for years. I went over in the corner to get a better look in the low light. Then I noticed dried flowers hung up on nails in the wall planks. All kinds and colors of wildflowers that grew around these hills. I kinda felt myself getting crazy again, but I stayed right where I was.

There was one of the big old time milk cans in the corner with a mirror set on top. The silver in the back of the mirror was all tarnished bronze around the edges. There was a hair brush by it with cobwebs on it. Next to the old milk can was one of the old school desks set up against the wall. It was the kind they used a hundred years ago, with a seat that folded down for the student in front. In the shelf under the desk were some books and things. I didn't want to be going through anybody's things, but this looked like it hadn't been touched in a long time. I pulled out a stack of books. They were all dusty and mildewy. On top was an old farmer's almanac from thirty years ago. I leafed through it and felt a little nostalgic from the style the pictures were drawn in. There were three old Reader's Digests and on the bottom was a notebook with hard paperboard covers and a ribbon hanging down from the binding.

I opened it up and there were dried, pressed flowers inside the cover. In the back were some cards. Two Christmas cards, a birthday card and a "get well soon" card. I looked at the birthday card. It had an autumn leaf scene with a deer drinking at a stream. I opened it up and read the inside.

Happy birthday sweetheart. You're my most precious thing in the world.
- your father

I put the cards back inside the back cover and looked at the front cover again and then opened it and looked at the first pages. It was a girl's diary with months and dates and days written, but no years. The handwriting was all careful and girlish and she was writing about nature and her hopes and dreams and what she had for dinner and how it had tasted and all kinds of things.

I heard a whooshing sound and that damned raven had showed up, flew in through the hole in the roof and perched up on a rafter above. He was eyeing me, gurgling and all.

"Is this where you wanted to bring me?" I asked him.

He gurgled at me.

"Was she here, fella?"

He gurgled some more and tilted his head so his black glistening eye was on me. Then he tilted it back up again.

"My friend," he said.

I just nodded to him and said, "I know, fella, I know."

I flipped through the pages of the notebook and looked at them, all beautiful penmanship and lovingly written until about three quarters of the way through when the writing changed.

There were no dates and the writing was thin and frail as if the girl's pen was running out of ink. It was difficult to read because it was so lightly written. But still it was somehow elegant. Real different from the girl writing at the front.

I found the last page that was written on and tried to read it in the low light there.

I can't speak anymore. Even to friendly souls from far away.

All I wish for is to walk out there and among colors and dreams.

I flipped back to where the writing had changed and there was a gap of blank pages on either side of one in a completely different kind of sloppy hand. It was the same writing as on the card from the father. It was real short.

The girl does not come back.
- James Flynn

I took one last look at the girlish writing earlier and the pages at the back and I closed up the book and put everything back in the shelf under the desk. I stood up and the raven tilted his head to me again.

Outside, I was feeling sort of empty. The raven whooshed out of the barn and perched up high on the peak of the roof that hadn't caved in.

"Let's go fella," I said. He just tilted his head down at me and eyed me and didn't say anything nor gurgle.

It took me about an hour but I made my way back through the swampy part to the road and walked it down to where my car was, then out to the stream. My rod and gear were still there, still leaned up against the tree.

I got everything together and went back and put it in the car and drove straight out to Flynn's place.

When I got there I was a little taken back. There was a car there parked by his and some people standing around. As I pulled in and parked I saw that it was a lady and two little kids, a boy and a girl.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello," she said and looked a little surprised. "Did you have trouble finding the place?"

I was confused and she seemed to notice.

"You're the one who called earlier, right? About the ad," she said.

"Uh...no. What ad?"

"About this farm being for sale."

"Uh.. It's for sale?"

"Yes. We're finally gonna try to sell it. You weren't the one who called?"

She must've been wondering why the hell I was there.

"Actually, I was just driving by. Kinda got lost," I said.

"Oh. Maybe I can help ya. Where you trying to go?"

"I was trying to get to... the gorge."

"Oh, well you're on the right road. Just keep on out this road and it'll go up through the hills. You'll see the signs to turn off and go down into the gorge."

"Thank you." I smiled.

"You're welcome!"

I looked around.

"So nobody lives here now?" I asked.

"Nope. Not since uncle Jim passed away."

I was trying to take all this in and not show anything on my face.

"You know... I've been looking for a place out around here. I sometimes come up fishing."

"You're welcome to take a look around. I thought you were the one that called earlier!"

"You mind if I have a look at the house?"

"No, go ahead. I'll let you in."

She walked over the long grass to the back door. The boy and girl were wandering around out by the barn. She put the key in but found that it was unlocked.

"Well, I'll be... Ronnie musta left it open, big dummy." She looked at me. "Ronnie's my husband." She opened the door. "It's likely filthy in there. All the furniture was moved out years ago, but I haven't been in to clean it."

"I don't mind," I said.

I went inside and got hit in the face right away by a cobweb.

"Sorry," she said.

"No problem."

"Go ahead and look around. I better make sure the children aren't getting into anything." She left me and walked out to the barn.

I tried to get all the cobweb off my face and hair, but you can never get it off satisfactorily.

There was a fine layer of dust on the floor. I squatted down and ran my finger along it. Nobody'd been in here for a long time. Yet I'd seen Flynn going in here. Now somehow I wasn't surprised by what I was seeing. I was just a little sad is all.

I went into what was the kitchen. There were the two glasses we'd drunk the whiskey from, set out on the counter. But there was nothing else there. I spent a while wandering around the rooms, just feeling the old empty house. In a back room there was an old wood burning stove. I went back into the kitchen and up some narrow and steep stairs. Up on the second floor the ceiling angled down on either side with the roof. The floor creaked under my feet. I went over to the far end into another room. All that was left was an old nightstand with paint peeling off. I opened the drawer and found an old receipt from a service station, and one of the old tabs from a soda can, the kind they had before they invented the ones that flip up and back and stay on the can. In the back of the drawer was an old photograph. It was Flynn, younger than I knew him, smiling big with his arm around a girl. It was her. There she was in the blue dress. I put the picture in my pocket and closed the drawer and went down the steps slowly as they creaked with each step.

Outside, I smiled to the lady and thanked her.

"It's a nice old house," I said.

"Well, I don't know about that. Might make somebody a nice weekend home I guess."

I noticed Flynn's car there. The "for sale" sign made more sense now. She saw me looking at it.

"The car's for sale, too," she said.

"Oh."

"My husband comes up about once a month to wash it and drive it around to keep it going. Runs real well, but hardly anybody calls about it."

"So how long ago did your uncle pass away?"

"Let me see, it's been almost seven years now."

"No wife or kids?"

"Well, aunt Betty passed away back in 1973. They had a daughter, but she ran off and nobody's heard from her since," she said. "Uncle Jim was awful lonely out here, I think." Her eyes teared up a little.

"I can imagine," I said. We were quiet a while and I was looking around again, thinking I might not see the place anymore. Then, "If you don't mind my asking, how did your uncle Jim pass?"

"I don't mind. It's kinda sad... he drowned out fishing one night."

"I see..."

"All he ever did after cousin Kathy disappeared was go fishing. He was either piddling and moping around here or out fishing. He always asked Ronnie to go with him, but Ronnie was too busy all the time."

I nodded.

"Let me give you my number in case you're interested in the place," she said. She got a notepad and pen from her car and wrote down her name and number. She tore off the little slip of paper and handed it to me.

"What's your name in case you call so I can remember you?"

"I'm Fletcher," I said. Felt kinda bad about lying, but figured it was for the best, considering everything.