Fifteen minutes later, Matt, Lizabeth, Jason, and Billy stood in the waiting room of the Parkway Veterinary Clinic and watched the doors close behind Ferguson.

"They'll take good care of him," Matt said, bolstering himself as much as anyone else.

Jason held tight to his hand. "He looks awful hurt."

Matt took a seat and lifted Jason onto his lap. "We're going to wait right here until the vet's done fixing Fergie up. We're not going to leave until we're sure he's okay. Does that make you feel better?"

Jason nodded and leaned back in Matt's arms. His face was swollen and blotchy from crying, and his breath was coming in hiccups. "Dumb dog," he said. "Nothing but trouble."

Matt smiled, because it echoed his earlier thoughts. "Yup. Fergie's dumb all right. But we all love him, don't we?"

Billy sat between Matt and Lizabeth. His eyes were large and solemn. His hands gripped the sides of his seat. "Do you love Fergie?" he asked Matt.

"Yeah."

"Did you have a dog when you were a kid?"

"No. I always wanted one, but my father wouldn't allow it."

Billy looked at Matt with increased interest. "Really? My dad wouldn't allow us to have a dog either. What about your mom? Did she want a dog?"

Matt didn't answer immediately. "I didn't have a mother for a large part of my childhood," he finally said. "She died when I was seven years old."

"Didn't your dad get married again? Who took care of you?"

"My sister Mary Ann took care of me. And then when I was old enough I took care of myself."

Jason sat up straighter so he could look at Matt. His curiosity was aroused. "Did your dad take care of you too?"

"No. I hardly ever saw my dad."

"Just like us!" Jason said. "Was your dad rich like our dad?"

"My dad was a coal miner. We lived in a small wooden house on the side of a hill, surrounded by other small houses." It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and in all the years he lived there he couldn't ever remember the house getting painted, inside or out. He didn't tell that part to Jason. And he didn't tell him about the days when they had to beg a neighbor for food because his father had spent the food money on liquor. "I had two sisters and four brothers," Matt said. "Everyone called us the Hallahan Herd." Matt smiled. He hadn't thought about the Hallahan Herd in a long time. Usually he avoided talking about his childhood, but it wasn't painful to tell Jason and Billy. They took it on an entirely different level. It was ancient history, anecdotal, fascinating. There was no pity, no Judgment passed, no scorn.

"I've never seen a coal mine," Jason said. "Is it scary?"

"Sometimes. It's a dangerous place to work." Two of his brothers were still working in the mine. Both had lung problems. One was an alcoholic, like his dad. His sisters had married miners. Lucy was already a widow. He set that part of his history aside for another time. "I didn't want to work in the mines," Matt told the boys. "There wasn't enough money for me to go to college, so I joined the Navy as soon as I graduated from high school. When I got out of the Navy I wanted a job where I would always be outdoors, so I decided to build houses."

He looked at Lizabeth and found she was as fascinated as her children.

It wasn't the coal-miner stories that fascinated Lizabeth. It was Matt's willingness to dip into a painful past to take everyone's mind off Ferguson. She remembered the unopened envelope from his father and finally understood some of Matt's bitterness. He'd been neglected as a child, and now he was only remembered for the money he sent home.

Jason rubbed his eyes. "I'm thirsty. I got empty from crying."

"There's a convenience store down the street," Matt said. "I could go get some sodas."

Jason squirmed off Matt's lap. "Can I go with you?"

"You bet. I'll tell you about the time I was a boxer."

"Wow!" Jason said. "You were a boxer? That's so radical."

Matt shook his head. "I was the worst boxer ever. I didn't like hitting people, and I hated when people hit me. One time I had this match with Killer Gruzinsky from Jersey City…"

Billy slid off his seat. "Can I go too? I want to hear about Killer Gruzinsky."

They all looked at Lizabeth. "You guys go ahead," she said. "Ill stay here and wait for news about Fergie." Well, will you look at that, she thought. There go the men in my life. It was a brand-new experience. She couldn't ever remember seeing Paul go off hand in hand with his sons. It was such a simple thing-an excursion to buy sodas. She watched them walk away and was struck by a mind-boggling idea. Matt was carving the pie up for her. He was taking over some of the responsibility of parenthood and leaving her with time for herself. He loves me, she thought. He loves my children. He even loves my dog. Maybe their educational differences had evened out. She had a college degree, and he'd been a boxer. It was all life experience, she told herself. She slumped down in her seat and giggled, He'd been a boxer! "Lizabeth," she said, "your life is getting curiouser and curiouser."

She was waiting in the parking lot when they came back with their sodas. "Ferguson is okay," Lizabeth said. "He has a broken leg, but the vet thinks he's going to be fine. He's going to stay here tonight. Unless there are complications we can come pick him up in the morning."

"Is he gonna have a cast on his leg?" Billy wanted to know.

"Yup. I went back to see him, and he has a big white cast on his hind leg. You guys can be the first to sign it tomorrow."

The yard was clean and the house was quiet when they got home. Elsie met them at the door.

"He's all right," Lizabeth said. "Broken leg. He's spending the night at the vet."

Elsie wiped her eyes with a tissue. "Dang dog is a pain in the behind."

Lizabeth slipped an arm around. Elsie's waist and hugged her. "I think when the cast comes off well take Ferguson to obedience school. Maybe when I can save up some money I'll have part of the yard fenced."

Elsie led the way into the kitchen. "I imagine you folks could use some supper. I have some cold fried chicken and lots of leftover salad." She pulled dishes from the refrigerator. "The party broke up right after Ferguson got hit. Folks were real nice." She turned with a dish of pickles in her hand. "You know, I talked to that young man. The one you told Matt waved like the flasher."

Lizabeth gave Elsie her full attention. "Yes?"

"I didn't mention nothing about flashing to him. I was just talking to him about things, and turns out he knows Paul."

Lizabeth felt herself go numb. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing else. We didn't talk too long. He was telling me how he lives in them new town houses on Center Street."

"You remember his name?"

"Richard. I don't remember the last part."

Lizabeth took a plate and piled fried chicken on it. She added a glob of potato salad, a glob of three-bean salad, and four brownies. She stuck a fork into it and handed it to Matt. "Here. You can eat your supper in the car."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to talk to this Richard person. You're going with me to make sure I don't kill him."

Lizabeth went to the garage and unlocked the doors. A hundred years ago the garage had been a carriage house. No one had bothered to modernize it. It still had a dirt floor and hayloft and was more charming than functional. Lizabeth opened one of the big double doors while Matt stood to the side with his plate of food.

"Son of a gun, there's a car in here! I've never seen you drive a car. I didn't think you owned one."

"I don't drive it any more than I have to. Poor thing's seen better days."

Matt walked into the cool, dusty interior of the carriage house and tried not to look too horrified at the little foreign import. It was orange, and to say it had seen better days was an understatement. It was missing both bumpers and a back fender. Rust was rampant, the antenna had been snapped off, and it had a yellow diagonal sign in the back window that said, "Fairy on Board." Matt added "renovate carriage house" and "buy Lizabeth new car" to the checklist he'd been carrying in his head. "Lizabeth, why don't you just drive my truck?"

"It's too big." She yanked the rusted door open and slid behind the wheel. "Besides, my car needs some exercise." She patted the seat next to her. "Don't worry. It's safe. It's passed inspection and everything."

Matt looked at the inspection sticker on the windshield. "Lizzy, this inspection sticker is from Virginia, and it expired three years ago."

"Well, for goodness' sake, I hardly ever drive the car. What could happen to it in three years?" She backed out of the driveway, undaunted by the clatter of knocking valves. She slowed at the corner and the car gave a death-throes shudder, but continued to run.

Matt smiled and ate his chicken. Lizabeth was a Hawkins through and through. He imagined if the car had the audacity to die Lizabeth would go out and give it a kick and get it to start one more time.

Lizabeth pulled into a pipe stem at the end of Center Street and parked in the small lot. It was a new subdivision of expensive brick town houses. Yards were professionally maintained, windows were clothed in custom drapes, doors were heavy oak with leaded windows and classy brass handles.

"How are we going to find him?" Matt asked. "We don't know his house number or his last name. There must be twenty houses here."

"Most of these houses have names written on the door knockers. If I can't find him that way I'll ask someone. If no one knows him I’ll go door-to-door until I find him."

"You're really serious about this."

Lizabeth's mouth was compressed into a thin line. "Darn right I'm serious. Paul had something to do with this. I can feel it in my bones."