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Wayne opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but Manx stopped him. He grabbed his shoulder then and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Do not go making up stories, Wayne! Our deal is off if you are not straight with me from the get-go! Twist the truth even a little and you will regret it!”

Manx reached down and plucked a piece of bacon off the plate. One of Wayne’s teardrops glistened on it, a bright, oily gem. Manx bit off half and began to chew, teardrop and all.

“Well?” Manx asked.

“She said you were on the move,” Wayne said. “That you were out of jail and that Mom had to watch out. And I guess that’s what frightened my mother.”

Manx frowned, chewing slowly, his jaw moving in an exaggerated way.

“I didn’t hear anything else. Really.”

“How did your mother and this woman know each other?”

Wayne shrugged. “Maggie Leigh said she met my mother when she was a kid, but my mom said she had never met her before.”

“And which of them do you think was telling the truth?” Manx asked.

That one caught Wayne off guard, and he was slow to reply. “My . . . mother.”

Manx swallowed his bite of bacon and beamed. “See. That was easy. Well. I am sure your mother will be glad to hear from you.” He began to lean forward to reach for the phone—then sank back into his seat. “Oh! There is one more thing. Did this Maggie Leigh say anything about a bridge?”

Wayne’s whole body seemed to pulse in reaction to this question; a kind of tingling throb surged through him, and he thought, Don’t tell him that.

“No,” he said, before he had time to think. His voice went thick and choked, as if his lie were a piece of toast that had momentarily jammed in his throat.

Manx turned a sly, sleepy smile upon him. His eyelids sank to half-mast. He began to move, putting one foot out the open door, rising to go. At the same time, the drawer with the phone in it came to life, slamming shut with a loud bang.

“I mean yes!” Wayne cried, grabbing him by the arm. The sudden movement upset the plate in his lap, turning it over, dumping eggs and toast on the floor. “Yes, all right! She said she had to find you again! She asked if she could still use the bridge to find you!”

Manx paused, half in, half out of the car, Wayne’s grip still on his forearm. He stared down at Wayne’s hand with that look of dreamy amusement.

“I thought we agreed you were going to tell the truth from the get-go.”

“I did! I just forgot for a moment! Please!”

“You forgot, all right. You forgot to tell me the truth!”

“I’m sorry!”

Manx didn’t seem upset at all. He said, “Well. It was a momentary lapse. Maybe I can still allow a phone call. But I am going to ask you one more question, and I want you to think before you answer. And when you do answer, I want you to tell me the truth, so help you God. Did Maggie Leigh say anything about how your mother would get to this bridge? What did she say about the bike?”

“She . . . she didn’t say anything about the bike! No, I swear!” Because Manx had started to pull his arm free. “I don’t think she knew anything about the Triumph!”

Manx hesitated. “The Triumph?”

“Mom’s motorcycle. You remember. The one she was pushing up the road. She’s been fixing it for weeks. She works on it all the time, even when she should be sleeping. Is that the bike you mean?”

Manx’s eyes had assumed a cool, remote quality. His face softened. He bit his lower lip with his little teeth. It was an expression that made him look feebleminded.

“Huh! Your mother is trying to build a new ride. So she can do it again. So she can find me. You know, I wondered if she might be getting up to her old tricks as soon as I saw her pushing that motorcycle! And this Maggie Leigh—I imagine she has a ride of her own. Or she at least knows about those who travel on the other roads. Well. I have some more questions, but I am better off putting them to Ms. Leigh directly.” Manx’s hand slipped into the pocket of his greatcoat, drew out the photocopied news story about Nathan Demeter, and turned the sheet of paper so Wayne could look at it. Manx tapped the header on the old stationery:

HERE PUBLIC LIBRARY

HERE, IOWA

“And Here is where to look for her!” Manx said. “It is a good thing it is on the way!”

Wayne was breathing rapidly, as if he had just run a very long distance. “I want to call my mom.”

“No,” Manx said, and jerked his arm free. “We had a deal. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. My ears are still stinging from that whopper you tried to slip by me! That was too bad. You will learn soon enough that it is pretty hard to pull the wool over my eyes!”

“No!” Wayne screamed. “I told you everything you wanted to know! You promised! You said I’d have one more chance.”

“I said maybe I would allow a phone call if you told me the truth about your mother’s bike. But you didn’t know anything, and anyway, I did not say I would allow this phone call today. I think we will have to wait until tomorrow. I think if you have to wait until tomorrow, you will learn a very valuable lesson: No one likes a big fibber, Wayne!”

He shut the door. The lock banged down.

“No!” Wayne screamed again, but Manx had already turned away, was walking across the garage, weaving between the tall green gas tanks toward the stairs to the loft. “No! It’s not fair!”