Chapter 1

This story takes place in late July, and in August, of 2007

It was nearly the end of July and the anticipation was nearly unbearable. In just a few days we'd take off for our annual vacation to Lanfair Valley – to the place where I'd lived from the time I was five till I graduated from high school. I'd sort of lived there even after I graduated. I'd moved in with my girlfriend in Needles, but I'd go back out to the place in Lanfair Valley, and sometimes sleep in the shed that had been the bedroom for me and my two cousins. Tony and Anna – my uncle and aunt who raised me – thoroughly disapproved of the life I was living then, but they never turned me away. They'd always loved me as a nephew, rather than as they loved their own children – but they did love me. Nowadays my family and I always – always – spend August there, for it was in August that Cecelia and I took our first trip there, and while there conceived Darlia.

But the eagerness to get there is always fierce. There are two places we always go – the desert in August, and Leanna, Alabama sometime during the year. That's to visit Cecelia's family – her parents still live in Leanna, and her brother and sister live not far away, and we have a real live reunion when we're there. And whenever we're getting near time to leave, we get antsy and eager and the days are too long, and each week seems to last a year.

On this particular Tuesday I was conferring over lunch at Fuddrucker's with a man who said he could sell me a good used industrial sewing machine at a good price. I'm a private investigator, and I know how to check things out, and the prices he was quoting were good – but not the best I'd heard. On the other hand the best prices I'd heard were for machines which I suspected were junk. I wouldn't buy one of that guy's sewing machines unless I located someone who knew about such things, and took her – probably her, given traditional American divisions of labor – with me to look at the things.

The guy I was buying lunch for struck me as being no more given to exaggerating the merits of his stock than any other salesman. I'd called the Chamber of Commerce and the Better Business Bureau and they gave him a good report, and asking some of his colleagues in the business had led me to think he was as good a guy to buy from as any.

We were at the Fuddrucker's on I-25, which is across the freeway from the building where I have my office. You can nearly throw a rock from one to the other, but getting from one to the other is only marginally less complicated than launching the space shuttle. But there are times when to me it's worth the hassle and aggravation to get there, because there isn't any better hamburger joint on earth.

I took a bite of my burger while Wally – that was his name, the only person named Wally I'd ever met – finished listing the features of the machine he wanted to sell me. While I chewed he lifted his bun and looked at what he had. It struck me as being a bit behind the times, since he'd already been eating on it, but far be it from me to offend the man who just might enable me to give my wife a wonderful gift. I am no diplomat, but I'm a little less stupid than I used to be.

Wally put his burger back together and lifted it. Looking at me he said, "You know, if you'd let your wife in on this you could make the decision easier."

"Yeah, I know," I said, swallowing. "But then it wouldn't be a surprise."

"Women like surprises," he told me. "I know. Twenny-eight years I been married." He spoke with something of an accent, sort of New York, sort of stereotypical Jewish, though his last name was McNamara – all I could be sure of was that he was from back east somewhere ... but then to me "back east" means anything east of California. "Helen, she wants a surprise every now an' then. An' I like to give 'em to her – keep her happy, you know? Twenny-eight years, you learn how to make it work."

"Well, I ain't done 28 years yet," I said with a smile, "but I'm working on it. We had our twelfth anniversary back in April, so we're nearly halfway there."

"I can't remember my twelfth, too long ago. But I remember our anniversary every year – every year I remember. Our anniversary, an' her birthday. You can't forget those if you're gonna make her happy."

I laughed. "I couldn't forget those if I wanted to. They're more important to me than my own birthday." I was enjoying Wally, who underneath his salesman's slickness seemed to be a real person. All too often people who go into sales build a façade they hide behind, and after a while they start leaving the façade up when they're off duty. And I really hate talking to plastic people. But Wally wasn't plastic, or at least he wasn't all plastic. His love for his wife seemed as genuine as my love for Cecelia.

"Well, I gotta work at it, but I remember 'em." He took a bite of his burger, and chewed it. "So you gonna buy this beauty?"

I dithered mentally. I'd gotten better prices, and I didn't know what half the features were and didn't understand the rest, but Wally was a good salesman and seemed to know his stuff, and I was enjoying him. I came to a decision. "Sure. I'll take it. Is a check okay?"

"I'm not used to personal checks, since I mostly sell to small businesses, with sometimes a big business that just needs to replace a few machines. But I checked your credit. You could probably buy me out and not miss the money. I'll take your check." And he reached across the table.

I put my burger down and reached, and we shook. "I don't have my checkbook with me," I told him. "But after we eat you can come back to my office and I'll write it out. You know about delivery, right?"

"Absolutely. If I deliver it before August 15^th you'll skin me alive, and I call this Rudy ... Dalgado, before I deliver."