Spencerville

"Okay." He swung onto Interstate 75 northbound. It was a good, fast road with two lanes in either direction and not much traffic. He kept his speed at seventy miles per hour. They were heading back toward Spencer County, but Interstate 75 would not go through the county. He tried to determine how much territory a police search would include and asked her, "When was the last time you saw or spoke to anyone today before you came out to my place at six?"

She thought a moment, then replied, "I called both of my children at about five... just to hear their voices... Tom was out, but I spoke to Wendy."

"Would Mr. Baxter call his daughter?"

"Not usually, but this time he might. Yes, I think he would, because he might think I drove up to see her. I told him I wanted to do that, but he didn't like the idea."

"So Wendy would fix your time at home at about five-thirty."

"Yes. And I left a message on Tom's answering machine about that time."

Keith glanced at the dashboard clock. It was eight-thirty P.M. If Baxter had done his detective work well, he'd figure his wife was unaccounted for since five-thirty, or for the last three hours, which meant about a 180-mile radius from Spencerville by car. That included Toledo, of course, and also Fort Wayne, Indiana, which had an airport about the size of Toledo's. And with each passing half hour, the search radius would be automatically increased. That was assuming there was a search in progress, or about to begin.

Annie watched him awhile, then said, "Keith, you don't need this."

"No, I want this."

"But you don't have to run if I'm not with you. Let me off at the next rest stop, and I'll call Spencerville police headquarters and say..."

"Say what? You lost your car in my barn, and you need a ride home?"

"I don't care what I have to say, or what he does, or what happens. I won't put you in this..."

"Annie, I have my own grudge against Cliff Baxter going back a lot of years. I'm not doing this for you."

"Oh..."

"I just want to steal his wife and annoy him. I'll go to Washington, you go to Rome. Send me a postcard. Okay?"

"I guess you're joking."

"I'm being sarcastic and not funny. And you're being much too decent. But I appreciate your concern." He said, "Annie, you threw away your wedding ring. We agreed there is no turning back. Subject closed. Forever."

"Okay." She observed, "You handle this well. I guess you did things like this in your job."

"I used to abduct a wife a week."

"I mean dangerous things. Was it dangerous?"

"Not if you did it right." He added, "I spent the last five or six years mostly behind a desk. I'm rusty."

"I'm shaky."

"You have every right to be." He took her hand and squeezed it. "You're doing fine."

"I feel safe with you."

"Good. So your sister looked great. Good genes in the Prentis family."

"My mother hasn't aged much either. You're getting a good deal, Mr. Landry."

"I know." He added, "It sounded to me like you gave Larry the green light to go a few rounds with Mr. Baxter."

"Cliff won't come within fifty miles of him now, and Larry would never go looking for trouble." She said, "Larry and Terry have a great marriage. The Prentis women also make good wives." She added, as if reading his mind, "Right. One of them didn't know how to pick a husband."

Against his better judgment, Keith asked, "Did you ever love him?"

"No. Not ever."

"But he loves you."

"He does. But it's not the kind of love I want or need. It's the kind he wants and needs, and it kept me feeling obligated. It kept me around too long." She added, "With Wendy at school, I was going to do something, with or without you. Do you believe that?"

"I do. You hinted as much in your letters." He added, "Maybe that's what made me come back."

"No maybes about it, Keith. This was our last chance. You knew that."

"Yes, I did."

"We're going to make it this time, aren't we?"

"We are."

"If I wasn't so frightened, I'd be bouncing in my seat."

"You can bounce on the airplane seat." He put a tape in the deck and said, "Sixties stuff. Mixed album. Okay?"

"More than okay."

The Lovin' Spoonful sang, "Do You Believe in Magic," and Annie said, "Nineteen sixty-five. We're in our freshman year. Right?"

"Right."

She said, "My kids love this stuff."

The Casinos sang, "Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye," and Keith said, "That's... maybe sixty-seven. We're juniors."

"That was fast."

They listened to the tape and, about ten minutes later, Annie touched his arm and pointed to the exit sign up ahead. "Bowling Green."

He nodded. It was odd, he thought, how certain place names could be so evocative in a person's personal history. He felt a little twinge in his heart and turned to say something to her and saw a tear run down her cheek. He put his hand on her neck and massaged it.

She said, "You know... if my daughter is half as happy there as I was with you, she'll have good memories to last her for the rest of her life."

"I'm sure she'll be happy, if she's like you."

"I hope so... this country has changed so much... I can't tell if it's better or worse than when we were kids."