About that time, their food came. Kate attacked hers with gusto, which was very unlike her, while Eli picked at his, glancing at her from time to time and smiling all the while. It was another pleasant silence. He spoke again only after her knife and fork had slowed to a safe speed.

"I was in D.C. when mom died. My first duty assignment after commissioning was at the Pentagon, more or less just watching the phones at night in case the Russians were bluffing about ending the Cold War." He took a swallow. "It was '96, back before everybody had cell phones. I had the day off and spent it dicking around with friends. When I, um ... when I got back home that evening, there was a message from mom on the answering machine. It was late, so I listened to it, deleted it, and went to bed. We usually talked a couple of times a week, so I thought I'd get back to her later. The Peoria County sheriff's department called early the next morning."

She reached over and took his hand again. For just a moment more, silence reigned.

"I don't remember everything from that day, but there are a few things that're like crystal to me. I can remember the yellow top the girl I was with that day was wearing, remember the way it made her nipples poke out, the way the strap kept slipping off her right shoulder. I can remember the belt buckle our server wore, the smell of the place where we stopped for pizza, what drinks we had at a bar later, and in what order. I can even remember that the couple we stopped to help with a flat were heading to Joplin, Missouri, for a wedding ... and they were driving a silver '92 Bronco. But I can't remember a single word of the last message my mom left for me before she died."

For a moment, she saw a slight tremor cross his face and thought he might cry. It passed.

"I should've called her right back."

"Honey," she said earnestly, "don't do that ... don't."

"Yeah," he said in more his usual tone, "I know. I just can't help thinking about memories. Sometimes I think memories are just lies we tell ourselves ... just to make ourselves feel better. Maybe that's what Sam does, what an idiot like Dave Montash does. And they're somehow able to get others to go along with them. I knew how my mom's moods were. Maybe there was something in her last message that I should have heard ... that I did hear ... and I just don't want to remember it, because it's too painful."

Kate didn't believe that. From what she'd learned of Eli in the past week, he was not the kind to spare himself.

"I remember your mom," she said, hoping to console him rather than contradict his words. "I never talked to her, but she would always smile and say 'hi' when she saw me." Something seized her, and she kicked his shin beneath the table. "She was so intimidating."

"What do you mean?"

"She was so beautiful ... and sort of hot."

"Mom took good care of herself. She worked as a fitness trainer back before that was a thing . And she was young, too, younger than you and I are now when she died."

"How did your dad ever let her go? I don't remember him being such hot shakes."

"The great secret of the late twentieth century." He nearly laughed. "My dad's gay."

"Get the fuck out," she whispered. "... and don't laugh at me. I can say 'fuck' whenever I want."

"That's the part I almost never tell anyone."

"That he's gay? It's 2017, for crying out loud."

"I know," he said. "I've told this story before and have a couple of friends ... well, former friends ... who are obsessed with the notion that I hate my old man because he's gay. Far from it. If he'd just woke up one day and decided he couldn't live a lie anymore, I would have supported him completely. The way he treated my mom is what I'll never forgive him for."

"Okay ...," she began.

"Oh, jeez, where do I start? First, I took one thing from his letters. Sam always knew he was gay. Mom was just ... well, a beard. He was pretty candid about that fact, but he somehow blamed society for what he saw as the need to take a wife. I suppose mom was just collateral damage."

"Eli ... I can't believe that."

"Kate, it was something he wrote more than once. My mom was eighteen when she got married. Sam was already practicing law by then, and it was the Midwest in the '70s. He as much as told me he wanted to blend in, so he went out, found a naïve young girl, married her, gave her a son, and lived a double life."

"And what did your mom think of this arrangement?" Kate was feeling a growing unease and wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

"There was no arrangement. My mom knew nothing about it. I was the one who told her that her husband was gay ... when I was sixteen."

"How did you ...?"

"I just figured it out. There were plenty of clues for anyone who lived with the guy." There was another twist of Eli's lips that she'd come to realize was a sign he was making a decision. "He wasn't a bad guy growing up ... at least from what I remember and what mom told me. We never went without, he never raised his voice to mom or me, and he was as engaged as most of our classmates' dads ... which isn't saying much, I know. I don't know why he just took off. Maybe the lies just became too much. But it left my mom devastated."

"And he left the two of you penniless?"

"Yeah, pretty much. He borrowed against everything he could, emptied out the bank accounts, and headed south. On the good side, I developed a healthy work ethic during that time."

"You are very handy," she agreed. "I'm grateful for that."

They poked at their food, and the conversation drifted to sundry other things, none of which were of any towering importance. After coffee and a quick trip by Kate to the lady's room to 'fix her face,' they thumb-wrestled for the check. Kate cheated and gloated all the way back to the truck about having bested him in a martial contest.

When they got to the truck, she hesitated. "Take me for a drive. It's still early."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere ... just around. But you have to open the moon roof."