"Mea culpa, Marj. I've been busy."

"So, you've had two whole customers this week, you don't have time for me?"

"Three," I said.

"Oh, well, never mind then," she answered with a chuckle. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"You know me, I'm always fine. And you? Eighth Rare is thriving?"

"Christopher, I've been running this store for thirty years. If it failed now it wouldn't be my fault."

"What if a Borders moved in across the street?"

"Wouldn't matter. I don't sell to the Borders crowd. My books don't smell like boiled coffee and cardboard pastries."

"I hear they sell aromatherapy kits now," I teased.

"Bite your tongue."

"You could always move out here with me and live the simple life."

"No thank you, dear, I'd know I was old, then."

"I'm not old, and I live here."

"You are older than you know, Christopher. Anyway, what's on your mind? It's early for a social call."

"I have a botched delivery."

"Oh?"

"They sent me porn, Marjorie."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"What were you trying to get, Christopher?"

"True Crime. And it's not funny."

"Of course not, sweetheart. We wouldn't want your patrons' delicate eyes damaged by the concept of free sexual expression." Marjorie came of age in the sixties. "What kind of pornography, dear?"

"Literotica anthologies. Classy stuff, but not really our bag here in Low Ferry, prime export corn and dairy, population six hundred and thirty-four."

"It was six hundred and thirty-two the last time you called."

"The twins are due in a few months."

"Oh my god, Christopher."

"It's been three years, Marj, you should be used to me telling you these things by now."

"And yet," she said drily. "All right. True Crime, you said? I think Anna said she got a bad shipment yesterday."

"Anna, Anna...owns the Lesbian bookstore on Clark?"

"As if there's only one? And no, she has a little place out in Oak Park. Bored suburbanites and horny teenagers," she added. "Yes, here we go...I meant to call about that. Tell you what, let me talk to Gary in shipping, he'll give you both postage credits and you can just ship them to each other. Do you know Anna? She's great. Pack up the erotica and I'll have her call and give you her address. Do you have an address, or should I just have her ship it to Nowhere, Illinois?"

"You're a gem, Marj," I said. "I owe you."

"I know. Which reminds me," she said. "Some of your friends came by to see me yesterday."

I was sure I'd heard her wrong, and also that she wouldn't spring that kind of thing on me. "What?"

"The crowd you ran with here. They come by sometimes." Well, wrong on both counts. "They always buy something. I suppose that's their price for information."

"They ask you about me?" I asked.

"No, they ask me about the economic status of Japan. Yes, about you."

I fingered the edge of the leather cover for Jacob's father's book. "What do they say?"

"They want to know how you are."

"Please don't lie. I'm not stupid, Marj."

"Nobody said you were, sweetheart," she replied, which made me feel like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. "They ask about you, they say you should come back. They think three years is more than enough time to find yourself or whatever it is you're doing in the boondocks."

"And what do you tell them?"

"That they should say that to you, not to me. Do they ever call you?"

"No, not really."

"Not 'really'?"

"Well," I said, wishing I hadn't asked her not to lie to me, "even in the boondocks we have caller ID. I don't pick up, usually."

She sighed. "Christopher."

"Because they probably would say that to me, and I don't want people to tell me I'm an idiot on some kind of...Kerouacian quest. Bad enough they think it."

She was quiet.

"Marjorie?" I asked.

"Did you just say Kerouacian?"