“Yeah. It’s almost four hours each way in my truck, and I’ve been trying all the podcasts on your list, but I don’t think I can listen to that many. That is a lot of close looks at the simple poetry of making manhole covers and shit. You should come keep me company. Besides, you told me you wanted to get out of the house more. This is way out. This is get up early, get on the road, get down there, help load a pinball machine into my truck, come back, help haul a pinball machine inside—”
She laughed. “Oh, now I’m working on this trip?”
“You bet,” he answered. “Hey, you’re up to it, you told me you’re half iron miner.”
“I’m one-quarter iron miner. One-quarter iron miner, one-quarter Minnesotan quilter, and one-half New England lobster people.”
“I can’t use the quilting, but the rest sounds hearty. You should come.”
“If you need company that badly, you could ask Andy.”
“You know the music he listens to.”
“He’s better than I am with the manual labor, though.”
“Quit stalling, Minnesota. You coming or not?”
“Will you buy me a cruller at Dunkin’ Donuts?”
“There’s Dunkin’ Donuts here.”
“It’s not the same. I want Boston Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“Yes, I’ll buy you a cruller at Boston Dunkin’ Donuts.”
And just like that, she agreed that she’d drive down with Dean on Sunday to pick up the pinball machine he wanted. The widow and the exiled baseball player were road-tripping to fetch a heavy, expensive toy to put in an apartment he didn’t intend to stay in that long. And in an isolated moment in her kitchen, it seemed like an entirely logical thing for them to do.
* * *
—
Sunday morning, Evvie slid two eggs over medium onto a plate for Dean and split a bagel—half for him, half for her. “I made breakfast,” she called.
Dean came into her kitchen in a New York Giants jersey. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “What?” he asked.
“We’re driving almost four hours down there and four hours back, and in the middle, we have to pick up a pinball machine. You’re going to make time for a bar fight?”
“I’m not going to get in a bar fight. Be glad it’s not the Yankees.”
After breakfast, she dumped the dishes into the sink, grabbed her coat and keys, and met Dean outside, where he was warming up the truck. She slid in beside him and was seized briefly by the thought of hopping back out and wrapping herself in blankets for the day. She had three DVR’d episodes of Survivor she hadn’t even watched, and she could choose not to bump along for four hours in a truck for the pleasure of helping a grown man move a half-ton tchotchke. The couch was warm, the truck was cold, Boston was far.
But Dean threw the truck into reverse. “All right, let’s do this,” he said, and they were crunching over her gravel driveway.
Eveleth had seen Calcasset from what she believed to be every possible angle: she’d stood at some time or another on every corner and looked at every building. But it had been forever since she’d looked at it while leaving. She’d imagined this view quite a bit, not that long ago. She’d imagined herself behind the wheel of her Honda, taking Route 1 to the south, just like they were doing now. But instead of sitting in the driver’s seat, she was looking out the window and wiggling out of her coat. And instead of forever, she’d be gone only today.
“So, I have a question.” Dean interrupted this line of thought, and none too soon.
“Yes.” She turned to face him.
“Will there still be cereal-box races this year? I’m going to be pissed off if there are no cereal-box races.”
“There should be. They’re eager to restore them to their rightful position as a mundane element of a minor local attraction that’s not mired in a scandal that involves dirty competition and illicit affairs. Maybe they’ll retire the Cheerios box, though. They could hang it from the lights over right field.”
“That’s about the right amount of dignity,” he said.
“Are you going to come to a Claws game with me?”
“Sure,” he said.
“I…wasn’t sure if you hated it or missed it or what.”
“You mean baseball? Hell yeah, I miss it. Are you kidding? It’s all I did for most of my life. If you think I’m overspending on this pinball machine, you should see what I spent trying to get back into baseball. I would have given