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fter rats.
'Mike? Should I come up there?'
No. Now I was sure. Not Harold Oblowskinot Frankeither. There was a process going on in
Sarasomething as delicate and as organic as rising bread in a warm room. Frank might interrupt
that process . . . or be hurt by it.
'NoI just wanted to get it cleared up. BesidesI'm writing. It's hard for me to have people
around when I'm writing.'
'Will you call if I can help?'
'You bet' I said.
I hung up the telephonethumbed through the bookand found a listing for R. MERRILL on the
Deep Bay Road. I called the numberlistened to it ring a dozen timesthen hung up. No newfangled
answering machine for Royce. I wondered idly where he was. Ninety-five seemed a little too old to
go dancing at the Country Barn in Harrisonespecially on a close night like this one.
I looked at the paper with Kia written on it. Below the fat l-shapes I wrote Kyraand
remembered howthe first time I'd heard Ki say her nameI'd thought it was 'Kia' she was saying.
Below Kyra I wrote Kitohesitatedthen wrote
Carla. I put these names in a box. Beside them I
jotted Johanna
Bridgetand
Jared. The fridgeafator people. Folks who wanted me to go down
nineteen and go down ninety-two.
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