He hadn’t said a word about Maria that morning. I figured he’d get to it when he was ready.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” he said.

“What feels good?”

“Stuff like this,” he said. “Having to use your body again.”

“Yeah, I feel great,” I said, rubbing my shoulder.

“You still got your glove?”

“What glove?”

“Your catcher’s glove.”

“Yeah, in my closet. Why?”

“And a ball?”

“Oh no,” I said. “No way.”

“Come on, while we’re warm. Let’s toss a few.”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“When’s the last time you threw a baseball?”

I had to think about that one. Before I could answer, he was out the door.

“Come on, McKnight!” He was already jogging down the road. “I’ll race you back to your cabin.”

“Will ya wait a minute already,” I said.

“All right, we’ll walk,” he said. “It’s what, a whole quarter mile?”

“Something like that.”

“And you got how many of these cabins?”

“Six in all,” I said. “The old man built them.”

We walked down the road, through the pine trees on what had once been an old logging trail. The sun was out, fighting a hard battle to warm up the heavy air. There were patches of ice that would slowly thaw during the day and then freeze again at night. It would be the middle of May before they were all gone.

“And you came up here when?” he said.

“1984,” I said. “After I left the police force.”

He nodded. “After you got shot.”

“Yeah,” I said. “After I got shot.”

“You’ve been up here ever since?”

“I spend my winters in Monte Carlo,” I said. “I have an estate there.”

“No, really,” he said. “You’ve been up here all this time?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is that so amazing?”