I'd like the name."
"Just how lonely are you, Leo Nolan?"
I chuckled, then began tending to my own coffee. The woman across from me was a veteran of the male-female game, and like veterans of anything, she survived because of instincts and some kind of innate sinew. I liked survivors. I wanted to be one. "Nothing abnormal. Just medium lonely. Stranger in a strange land."
"You married?"
"No."
"Honest?"
I nodded. "Honest."
She thought about it. "Guys traveling. You never know. Guy your age, isn't married, but likes women. Makes a woman wonder." She sipped her coffee.
"Wonder what?"
"What the story is."
"The story," I said. "The story is that I'm not such a hot item. I was married once. Back in the early seventies. I've been divorced for a long time."
She pressed two fingers against her cheekbone and studied me. "Any children?"
"No."
"Girlfriend back home?"
"Look at me. What's the hot item?"
She smiled.
"See what I mean?"
She conceded it.
"Since we're doing inventory, what about you?"
She let several seconds lapse before finally answering. "I'm not married. But I've got a kid. Little boy. He's ten. You like kids?"
"I think so."
"Good." She formed a ring around her cup with the thumb and index finger of each hand." 'Cause if you want to eat with me tonight, you got to include him."
I smiled. "It's a good deal," I said.
"And I pick the spot."
I must have looked as bemused as she had, back in Woolworth's.
"Don't worry," she said. "We got simple tastes."
The sun, even after six, was still hot as we walked.
"What's your son's name?"
"His name's Adam."
"What does he do all day in the summer while you're at work?"
"Plays with his friends. I hope," she added. "Lots of baseball."
"Who looks after him?"
"My parents. That's where we're going now."
"Nice of them."
"It's mostly my mother," she said. Then: "Where you staying?"
"The Scott Hotel."
"Don't know that one."
I smiled. "I'm not surprised."
She walked beside me unselfconsciously. I guessed that she had thickened at the waist in the last five years or so, but her figure was still quite feminine, without attracting attention. I considered my own shape now, aware of how my chest had somehow begun to slip toward my beltline of late. I had thinning hair and new creases in my face. We were both, I realized, safely anonymous, and it made me feel comfortable to be with her.
"What do you do in Toronto?"
"I work for the Toronto Star. It's a newspaper."
"Doing what?"
"Circulation manager. They divide up the city into districts, and there are a dozen of us. We look after home and newsstand delivery for our district. Handle accounts, routes, like that."
"They need twelve of you?"
"Toronto's a big city. Three million people."
"I didn't realize."
We waited at a traffic light. "How big's Ashland*?" I asked.
"About thirty thousand."
I thought about it. "Could a person get lost here, permanently?"
"What do you mean?''
"Could he come here and hide forever?"
"Don't know if you can do that anywhere." She looked at me. "You thinkin' of doin' that?"
I shrugged. "No," I said. I squinted into the sun, shading my eyes to peer across the street. "I was thinking of someone else."
The light changed. We crossed the road.
We went up the steps onto the porch of the modest frame bungalow on Carter, east of 30th, and opened the wooden screen door.
"Mom?"
"Inhere."
We went inside.
Mrs. Berney was a small, portly woman in a large house-dress. She looked at me curiously.
"Mom, this is Leo Nolan."
I held out my hand. "Pleased to meet you."
She accepted the gesture. "Nice to meet you." Her hand was warm.
Jeanne glanced around. "Where's Adam?"
"Down at the lot. Playin' some baseball with Kenny."
"Good. Thanks. See you tomorrow morning." She kissed her mother on the cheek, squeezed her shoulder, and headed back toward the front door.
I followed. "Nice meeting you, Mrs. Berney."
"Pleasure." She placed her hands on her
"Just how lonely are you, Leo Nolan?"
I chuckled, then began tending to my own coffee. The woman across from me was a veteran of the male-female game, and like veterans of anything, she survived because of instincts and some kind of innate sinew. I liked survivors. I wanted to be one. "Nothing abnormal. Just medium lonely. Stranger in a strange land."
"You married?"
"No."
"Honest?"
I nodded. "Honest."
She thought about it. "Guys traveling. You never know. Guy your age, isn't married, but likes women. Makes a woman wonder." She sipped her coffee.
"Wonder what?"
"What the story is."
"The story," I said. "The story is that I'm not such a hot item. I was married once. Back in the early seventies. I've been divorced for a long time."
She pressed two fingers against her cheekbone and studied me. "Any children?"
"No."
"Girlfriend back home?"
"Look at me. What's the hot item?"
She smiled.
"See what I mean?"
She conceded it.
"Since we're doing inventory, what about you?"
She let several seconds lapse before finally answering. "I'm not married. But I've got a kid. Little boy. He's ten. You like kids?"
"I think so."
"Good." She formed a ring around her cup with the thumb and index finger of each hand." 'Cause if you want to eat with me tonight, you got to include him."
I smiled. "It's a good deal," I said.
"And I pick the spot."
I must have looked as bemused as she had, back in Woolworth's.
"Don't worry," she said. "We got simple tastes."
The sun, even after six, was still hot as we walked.
"What's your son's name?"
"His name's Adam."
"What does he do all day in the summer while you're at work?"
"Plays with his friends. I hope," she added. "Lots of baseball."
"Who looks after him?"
"My parents. That's where we're going now."
"Nice of them."
"It's mostly my mother," she said. Then: "Where you staying?"
"The Scott Hotel."
"Don't know that one."
I smiled. "I'm not surprised."
She walked beside me unselfconsciously. I guessed that she had thickened at the waist in the last five years or so, but her figure was still quite feminine, without attracting attention. I considered my own shape now, aware of how my chest had somehow begun to slip toward my beltline of late. I had thinning hair and new creases in my face. We were both, I realized, safely anonymous, and it made me feel comfortable to be with her.
"What do you do in Toronto?"
"I work for the Toronto Star. It's a newspaper."
"Doing what?"
"Circulation manager. They divide up the city into districts, and there are a dozen of us. We look after home and newsstand delivery for our district. Handle accounts, routes, like that."
"They need twelve of you?"
"Toronto's a big city. Three million people."
"I didn't realize."
We waited at a traffic light. "How big's Ashland*?" I asked.
"About thirty thousand."
I thought about it. "Could a person get lost here, permanently?"
"What do you mean?''
"Could he come here and hide forever?"
"Don't know if you can do that anywhere." She looked at me. "You thinkin' of doin' that?"
I shrugged. "No," I said. I squinted into the sun, shading my eyes to peer across the street. "I was thinking of someone else."
The light changed. We crossed the road.
We went up the steps onto the porch of the modest frame bungalow on Carter, east of 30th, and opened the wooden screen door.
"Mom?"
"Inhere."
We went inside.
Mrs. Berney was a small, portly woman in a large house-dress. She looked at me curiously.
"Mom, this is Leo Nolan."
I held out my hand. "Pleased to meet you."
She accepted the gesture. "Nice to meet you." Her hand was warm.
Jeanne glanced around. "Where's Adam?"
"Down at the lot. Playin' some baseball with Kenny."
"Good. Thanks. See you tomorrow morning." She kissed her mother on the cheek, squeezed her shoulder, and headed back toward the front door.
I followed. "Nice meeting you, Mrs. Berney."
"Pleasure." She placed her hands on her
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