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"Oh, that's her way of saying no problem. I told you. she's Haitian. She can speak pretty good English when she wants," he added, giving her a mild look of reprimand. "She's got to get to know you a little before she does though." he added, "Go on, get your things. C'mon into the living room. meanwhile, Summer. Suze's got to fix the other room anyway."

She nodded and headed for the short stairway. Harley glanced at me as his father started to return to the living room.

"I'll be right back." he said. I nodded and followed his father.

"Have a seat, have a sear he said nodding at the well-worn sofa, the arms of which were scratched and stained. It looked like it had been left outside for years.

Everything about the room was old, tired and faded. The area rug over the dark, hardwood floors was shredded on its edges, and there looked to be small holes that resembled burns from cigarette ashes in it as well. The walls were a light brown, but here and there some white showed through where the paint looked thin. A half-dozen very inexpensive prints of countryside scenes in cheap frames were hung above the fieldstone fireplace and between the two front windows. There was a pile of newspapers and some magazines on the floor beside the oversized cushion chair Harley's father sank into across from me. He put his bare feet up on the footstool and reached over to let his white meerschaum pipe from the side table. I could see some tobacco had fallen over the table and imagined that was the reason for some of the burns in the rug.

"So where are you from?" he asked, packing his pipe with tobacco.

"Harley and I live on the same estate." I said.

"Estate?" He scrunched his mouth and nodded.

"Back in Virginia?"

"Yes sir."

Harley came rushing back into the house.

"C'mon in, c'mon in. Give Suze a chance. Shell want those rooms looking as clean as a hospital room. The house may not look it because of the mess I make, but she's a stickler when it comes to

cleanliness. Sit down," he instructed Harley and nodded at the sofa. too.

Harley dropped our bags and sat next to me.

"So you two live on an estate." he said. Harley looked at me.

"He asked where I lived."

"Oh. Yes. it's Summer's family's property. When my mother married Roy, they built a house there."

"Your mother was quite a good-looking woman. I bet she was pretty right to the end. huh?"

Harley swallowed hard. "Yes," he said.

"We got a lot to catch up on." his father said, bringing a match to his pipe bowl. He puffed hard, his neck moving in and out, reminding me of a thick snake. Then he sat back and just looked at the two of us for a long moment as he smoked.

"I'm real glad you called. Harley, real glad. I often wondered what Glenda had done. Glad she told you about me," he said. "I was surprised to hear she kept track of my comings and goings and knew where I was,"

"She didn't," Harley replied. "When I discovered your name and stuff. I found out about you another way."

"Oh? How's that?" he asked, freezing.

"On the Internet. Computers," Harley added.

"Oh, yeah. yeah. I gotta confess I don't know diddly when it comes to that. Just an old-fashioned guy is all I am. So, you're what. seventeen?"

"Yes," Harley said. I could hear the

disappointment in his voice. A father should at least know how old his son is.

"Right, right. Seems like yesterday." his father continued, blowing smoke off to his right. He paused as though he just realized something. "You had no pictures of me then, nothing like that?"

"No, sir. My mother didn't like talking about you much. I always asked," he added to show how interested he had been.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure," his father said and looked very thoughtful. "Real sorry about Glenda. The world is a bowl of troubles, not cherries. For most of us, that is,'" he added, glancing at me.