Dick, who was raised by a wealthy uncle after his parents were killed in an automobile accident, has always been identified with the white power structure, but somehow seems apart from it. He will serve Paul well if Paul listens to him. In thinking about the evening, I doubt seriously if Paul consulted Dick before he called me this afternoon, but Dick would never let me know it.

He would say something to Paul but not to me. I wonder what he thinks of Bear Creek. His children grown and gone, his wife dead, what keeps him here when all the other whites are beginning to leave in droves?

Perhaps he finds something here that is comfortable. I cannot imagine what it is. He is a mystery to me. Perhaps I overestimate him.

From the nightstand I pick up the yearbook Angela has loaned me and find Tommy’s picture first and then Connie’s. She was cuter than ninety-five percent of the girls in her class. I realize that despite the obvious barriers, I was oblivious to their feelings about race.

Why? I suppose in most ways we considered Tommy and Connie “white.”

During all her sermons to me about racial injustice in those years, I don’t recall Angela ever mentioning the Chinese in Bear Creek. It never occurred to me to ask Tommy how he felt about us. He seemed to like us.

The phone rings. It is Angela.

“How do you like the Bear Creek Inn?” she asks, her voice friendly.

I survey my surroundings. It is a bit unsettling that I am “home” but staying in a motel.

“The owner is cheerful. I’ve already had a meeting with Paul and Dick.”

“You did?” she asks.

“You’re certainly not wasting any time.”

“Paul called me,” I explain.

“I got to see Jill.

She’s changed a little bit since she was a high school beauty.” I flip through the yearbook as I look for Angela’s picture. Suddenly, I realize she didn’t move to town until after the class pictures were taken. When she arrived in Bear Creek, she had a terrible Yankee accent. Now, she sounds like us.