Pulling up to Maggie's house was a little bit like stepping off the plane in St. Louis. Everything from home just sort of faded to the background and tucked itself away for later. I guess in that sense, Ponyboy got his wish. For just a short while, I was able to leave things simmering on the back burner. It wasn't completely what he'd hoped for, of course, but as I'd stood with Tim in the busy terminal, looking for the man that was supposed to be there to pick us up, I figured it was close enough. And it was close enough now, staring at the little brick house with its shady front porch and tired roof.

This time, when Maggie opened the door, I could see she was still in her Sunday best. We grinned at each other, and she stepped back to let me in. I wondered if her mother would be there and my nerves jolted at the thought. But the house seemed quiet, so I figured she'd probably gone to the hospital to be with Maggie's father.

"Why don't we sit down here in the living room," Maggie suggested, gesturing to a faded but stately blue sofa. I remained standing, waiting for her to sit first. She asked whether I'd like a drink.

"Some water would be great," I nodded. I felt foolish just standing there until she returned, so I sat down. The room was neat as a pin to the point where it didn't really look lived in except for the issue of Life magazine that Maggie herself had probably dropped on the gleaming coffee table when I'd knocked.

I hurried to my feet as she appeared in the doorway once more, carrying two glasses of ice water. She pulled two coasters from a side table and put them down in front of us before sitting. I took a sip of my water and put it on the coaster, wondering whether to jump right in on the bid or to make small talk first.

"I thought sure we were going to get a storm last night," she said as I eased down on the other end of the sofa, "and then we didn't."

I shook my head. "I know, I did, too. We sure need it."

She nodded. "Well, looks like maybe we'll have another chance tonight."

I'd seen the thunderheads to the south, looking a lot like they had yesterday. "Maybe so," I agreed. Lord. Why did it still feel so…Not awkward. That wasn't the right word. Anticipatory.

She studied me, and I wondered what she was thinking. "You look tired," she said suddenly. "Did you have trouble sleeping last night because of the heat?" And then she wrinkled her nose in that way she has, laughing at herself. "Oh, gosh! Darry, I'm probably the nosiest person alive. Just ignore me when I get like this."

I smiled. "I did have trouble sleeping," I agreed. And left it with that. If she had any idea of what my life was like lately, well, she'd probably run away as fast as her feet would carry her.

"Me, too," she said. "Every time I started to doze off, I thought of you. How's your arm?"

Oh. That. I'd thought–Well, never mind what I thought. I lifted my arm to show that I'd changed the bandage. "It's fine, Maggie. Really, it's nothing." I took another sip of water, and she followed my lead. Then she wrinkled her nose again and asked,

"Well, should we get the bad news out of the way?"

I chuckled. "It's not great news," I agreed, "but it could be worse." I'd left the tablet in the truck. I explained that to Maggie, and she followed me outside, joking,

"It'll just make us that much more relieved to come back inside out of the heat, give me something to look forward to."

It was probably better that we went over the figures outside. I liked to show home owners the materials, if they were interested. Maggie might actually be interested. Hell, she'd surprised me in a lot of ways already. Fishing, for one. And the way she never hesitated to laugh at her own expense. She was nosy, but not in a way I minded. It was more like she wanted to just know you. All of you. Good, not so good. She wasn't like some women, who seemed to be gathering useful information, tucking it away for later, only to pull it out to suit themselves. Usually during an argument. But then, I didn't know what an argument with Maggie would be like. Somehow, though, I didn't think her interest held that sort of intent.

She shifted from foot to foot as I pulled the tablet out, and her fingers worked nervously at her neckline. I realized then that the assumptions I'd made based on the house and the neighborhood were all wrong. The Connollys might have been solid once, financially speaking. Maybe it was her father's illness that had her so edgy. I didn't know how long he'd been ill, how long he'd been in the hospital. But hospitals were expensive. I knew that better than anyone.

Of course. Why hadn't I realized it sooner? She was terrified. All her fretting wasn't just about the condition of the roof itself, but of the money it would take to replace it. Every home owner I gave a bid to was nervous. No one liked to put out that sort of money. But wishing you could spend it on other things wasn't the same as hoping you'd plain have it to spend.

The fact that I felt a little relieved at this revelation made me feel like a real jerk. But it made me admit to myself that I'd been worried I wasn't good enough for Maggie. Hell, I still wasn't sure I was good enough. But with the scales a little less out of balance…and that's why I felt like a jerk. Seeing that Maggie was worried about money made me feel like I had something more to offer, even though I don't have two nickels to rub together these days.

"Should we start with the bottom line and work backward, or do you want me to go over the different options in detail?"

She thought about this. "I think I need to hear the details," she decided, and she turned back toward the house, gesturing at me to follow. She led me to the porch swing, and she sat down. "Somehow," she said, "things go down better when I'm in motion."

That reminded me of Soda, always moving. As soon as I sat down, she gave us a gentle push and took a deep breath. "Okay, let me have it."

I grinned softly. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

She nodded. "I know you will," she smiled a little, too, patting my left bicep. I felt it in my toes. Man, it was amazing the effect she had on me with just a casual gesture.

"Okay," I began, "so there are two ways we can do this…"

I explained the difference between cedar shakes, which could last fifty years if they were cared for properly, and asphalt shingles, which lasted up to thirty but with a lot less fuss. "All roofs are basically the same. You've got your sheathing at the bottom, you've got a layer of felt to protect against moisture, and then you've got the shingles on the top. If you go with asphalt, we have to change the sheathing, though." I explained the difference between the skip sheathing she had now, where the boards had spaces between them to allow more ventilation so that the cedar shakes could dry out properly after it rained, and the full sheathing you'd put under asphalt. "Normally you can just lay the plywood over the old skip sheathing, but yours is so rotted out it would just make for a weak roof. We'll have to strip it off and put the new sheathing down right on the frame. But even doing that, the cost of an asphalt roof is lower than cedar."

I gave her the side by side calculations I'd worked up. I'd thought for sure she'd make a face. But just now, studying my math, she reminded me of Ponyboy: expressionless.

After sitting just that way for a few minutes, watching her slender leg flex as she kept the swing going with her foot, she looked up at me. "I hope you won't be offended if I tell you I'd like to get another estimate."

There she went, surprising me again. A nosy fisherwoman with a hefty dose of good common sense. "No," I shook my head. "I think it's the smart thing to do."

She folded the paper, then paused and held it up. "I can keep this, right?"

I nodded. "Sure."

Now she gave me that smile like sunshine and said, "It's a relief to get that out of the way. Now I've just got to worry about what the next guy will tell me. And what on earth to do if he gives me something a lot different," she added.

I laughed. "I'd offer to help, but I'm biased in favor of myself."

She laughed, too. "Well, do you suppose we should go inside, get out of this heat?"

I grinned. "Do we have to? I find out a lot of interesting things about you when you're pushing a glider or a porch swing."

Her delighted grin sent those pinballs zigging and zagging again.

With Darry out giving Maggie a bid and Soda at work, I could turn on the TV and flip channels all I wanted. I was hoping for a special report, you know, for word on Randy, but there wasn't one playing anywhere, so I went into the kitchen and pulled the phonebook out.

"Tulsa Police," the bored operator announced.

"I need to talk to Officer…" Shoot. What was his name? "Officer Mahler."

"Who's calling?"

"Curtis," I said. "Ponyboy Curtis."

"One moment."

It was more than one moment. A lot more. I was just about to hang up when I heard a curious voice on the other end say simply, "Mahler."

"Uh, h-hi," I stammered. "I was just calling to see if, you know, if you found Randy yet."

"Not yet," Mahler answered gently. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," I answered, wondering why he seemed so concerned. Randy was the one missing.

"That's good to hear," he answered. I waited for a moment. "You know, I hope you'll call me if you remember anything else about that car or those men."

"Sure," I agreed. And I would.

He told me to take good care of myself and not to worry. "We're doing everything we can, Ponyboy."

I didn't know what to say to that. It was probably true. Randy was just a kid. They wouldn't blame his father's actions on him, would they? Still, you can't really trust a cop. They'll tell you right to your face that they only want to help you. But if you're not careful, if you trust them too much, you'll wind up on the shit list.

Two-Bit found that out the time they hauled him in for shoplifting. They pretended to be amused with what he'd done, willing to let him go if he told them what he knew about Tim. They thought he'd been the one to mug a lady on Sutton, but it wasn't him. He didn't have an alibi or anything, and the cops thought for sure he'd done it. Two-Bit refused to play along, so they booked him. The judge let him go since it was his first arrest, but his mom sure gave him hell for it. He didn't touch a thing that didn't belong to him for the next six months. Then he swiped that blade he was so proud of and sort of stayed off the wagon. But he got the message alright. You gotta watch out for cops. They'll feed you any old line they want, and if you don't play their game, they'll make sure you lose.

"Ponyboy?"

I blinked and hung up the phone. I'd thought he'd already left the line.

"Who ya callin'?"

I jumped about a foot in the air. "Geez, Two-Bit!"

"What's the matter, Pony? Got ants in your pants?" He batted his eyelashes at me. I shoved him half-heartedly. He grabbed me and knuckled my scalp. I slammed myself against him so he hit the floor, and I gave him back some of the same. "Ooh!" he laughed. "I got me a feisty one!" he cried and wrestled me down on my back. "Say it!"

"Nope," I grunted, slipping out from under his grip. I almost had him down before he turned things around again and put me facedown on the rug.

"Say it!" he laughed.

My cheek was probably becoming imprinted with the pattern of the yarn. I struggled, but I couldn't move him. "Two-Bit!"

"Say it!" he repeated.

"Uncle, dammit!" I gave in, laughing when he released me at once. "I almost had you."

"Yeah," he nodded. "You almost had me."

I'd never been able to pin him before, even for a few seconds. For a lanky guy, he was pretty strong. Stealth muscle, he called it. We sat on the floor just grinning at each other and trying to catch our breath. Finally, though, Two-Bit got to his feet and offered me a hand up.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," I agreed. He didn't make any noises about not eating our food. He just headed to the kitchen and pulled out the half empty pan of chocolate cake. None of us had been eating it lately. But he handed me a fork and dug in. When I didn't follow his lead, he grabbed my fork and dug up a chunk and thrust the fork back into my hand.

It tasted good. I wondered why we'd just left it sitting there. I took another forkful. Maybe you just had to be in the right mood.

A/N: Okay. So a little more lull. Not much longer now (before all hell breaks loose, that is). I promise.