Michael, he remembered everything.

He glanced at the phone, then moved to the sink, started dunking dirty pint glasses: soapy water, clean water, stack to dry. A nice, easy rhythm, solid and steady.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"What's another word for 'lucky'?"

Michael thumbed something sticking to a glass. "What can you think of?"

"Ummmm…" Billy's eyes unfocused. "Happy?"

"Well, somebody lucky would probably be happy. But do they mean the same thing?"

His son chewed his lip. "Guess not." He twiddled the pencil with his fingers, went back to staring. After a moment, he sighed. "Can I have a clue?"

"How many letters?"

Billy hesitated, then ran his finger along the crossword. "Seven, eight, nine."

"Got any of 'em?"

"It starts with an 'F.' "

"Nine letters and an 'F.' " Michael straightened. His feet ached like carpet tacks had been driven into the heels. Occupational hazard. Picking up a rag, he dried his hands. "Okay, if I'm rich, what do I have?"

"Lots of money?"

"Yeah, but what's another word for that?"

"Ummm… a 'fortune'?"

He nodded. "And what's a word like 'fortune' that means-"

RING .

It wasn't loud. Not any louder than usual, anyway. It just seemed that way.

RING .

The back of his neck tingled. Outside, a truck rumbled past, weight shaking the front windows. The towel was old and threadbare, worn soft on bar and glass, and every nerve of his fingers registered it.

RING .