Donald had not been completely surprised when Carrie Hanley drove up to the farm three days after he had delivered his parcel to the school. He knew she would return it, she was a good person, she had to be, they way she cared for the kids in her school. It was Friday evening, Tom was at Lois' parents' place for dinner and Donald was spending the last hours of daylight the way he spent most daylight hours, sat on the porch looking out at the crops and keeping his eye on the horizon.

Carrie drove up at twenty past six, she wore jeans and a dark red checked flannel shirt, he'd only seen her in her work suits before, he smiled at her in surprise only for her outfit, not to see her there.

"Hi," she said as she got out of her truck, she held his parcel, still wrapped in string and paper and she walked to the porch.

"Miss Hanley," he said her name and he smiled at her as he stood and looked down at her on his driveway.

She looked up at him and smiled back, she blushed, "Donald, I- I wondered if maybe," she shrugged a little, "do you have any beer?" she finished.

He looked down at her, "Two beers coming up," he said and he walked into the house, holding the door for her and waiting expectantly for her to follow, she did and she smiled in relief.

She came into his house and stood by the door still holding the parcel, she watched him walk to a cupboard and take out a couple of bottles. "Thank you so much," she said quietly, "for sending me this," she held it still tightly, "I know this sounds stupid but- but it really was the most wonderful thing I ever read."

He looked at her and raised his eyebrows as he handed her the beer, "Maybe you're not as widely read as I imagined," he quipped.

She smiled and laughed a breath of laughter as she looked up at him. "maybe," she agreed and she took a sip from the bottle.

"Come on, we'll sit outside," he told her and she followed him and they sat on the dusty cushioned two-seater by the door. "I'm glad you liked it. Murph always liked it too, my Jane not so much, her mom didn't like it either. Same reasons your folks had I suppose."

"My folks were born here, they grew up here, got married her. My dad died here," she finished. "All the photos they had of this time," she stressed patting the parcel in her lap, "you look at them and they could have been taken today." She shook her head, "They missed it. No wonder they never talked about it," she looked up at him and smiled, "no wonder my dad didn't like you." He cracked a smile while he looked out at the sky.

"It's not their fault, some folk just didn't like to travel."

"I know. I just find it so difficult to comprehend. You know, that this was out there and they weren't even interested."

"It was on tv, in movies, online, you could travel from your living-room, that's what it was all about, so if people couldn't afford it or if people were kind of like homebodies, scared to travel or whatever, they could still experience it. I'm sure your folks experienced a lot, Carrie, don't be too sad for them." Carrie nodded and drank her beer. "And don't be angry with them either." He told her in a different voice and she blushed and didn't look at him, "No point in that."

"I know, I know," she said quietly. "Just angry at the world," she said into her bottle then she looked up at him and quickly shook her head, "This- this didn't make me angry Donald," she assured him, "Really," she promised, "I loved it, I loved every page."

"Ok, ok," he drank his own beer and didn't look down at her.

"I'm serious," she stressed and she turned in her seat and looked up at him, she unwrapped the parcel and opened the book, she flipped through the thick pages and paused on the pictures of him and his friends in gondolas in Venice, she smiled down at it. "that's you," she stressed and she looked up at him.

"I know," he told her.

"Don't you know how happy it makes me to see these pictures?"

"Well, I'm kind of getting an idea," he admitted in a slightly worried tone, "can't really say I know why though."

"You did such things and you kept this book, took photos, kept tickets and postcards and wrote it all down. Even in a throwaway culture you kept every memory as it happened and you knew it was special. You didn't know this was going to happen." She raised her beer and pointed out to the fields and the greying skies, "You raised kids and grandkids to be just as positive and interested in things as the boy who wrote this book, even after all you'd seen disappeared… Coop was smart but he was angry. Murph's the way she is because of you, Donald."

Donald looked down at his beer then he smiled sadly at her, "You can't get mad with kids," he said softly, "you can't let them know that things aren't right. Janey's mom, she- she thought I was wrong to act that way, said I was protecting her too much from the real world, you know, pretending everything's fine. But this is the way things are," he said finitely, "so relatively," he shrugged, "things are fine. Like your folks with you, encouraging you, looking after you, and making you feel secure. That's all I really wanted for them, to make them feel secure."

"You're too modest," Carrie told him.

"I have lots of memories," he looked out at the fields again. "Memories in that book, of school, university, holidays. But lots more memories of Janey, of Tom and Murph, the memories in that book aren't better just because the colours are brighter. The food was better," he admitted and he took a swig from the bottle, "but I don't look at that book and think 'this is what my life should have been like', that's ridiculous!" He smiled, "My life was always going to be who I spent it with."

"Your attitude to life," she told him quietly, "I admire it."

"Thanks," he told her with a short smile, "So which of my friends took your fancy then?" he asked suddenly changing the subject and she laughed, he laughed too. "Charlie was such a ladies man," he poked the page.

"I know," she smiled, "I can't believe the amount of girls he got through," she grinned. "I'd be interested to see his scrapbook." Donald laughed. "I liked your paintings," she told him quietly, "and all your little drawing and doodles," she smiled, "they really add to the stories."

He smiled, "Murph used to make me draw things for her. Animals she read about, so she'd know what they looked like. I was like an encyclopedia to her when she was small, I quite liked that, I guess that's why I sent you the book, let you see for yourself rather than have some old buffer write his old memories down, like getting a letter from Grandfather Time."

"Is Murph not coming home this weekend?"

"No," he answered softly, "she'll come back next weekend though, got a letter this morning."

"She loves it. Like you loved this," she tapped the book.

"I guess you're right," he laughed a little. "Course you are."

They were quiet for a moment and they drank their beers and watched the sky get darker as the sun dropped further. "Friday night, Carrie, do you really have nothing better to do than sit here?" he said lightly.

"I guess not," she sighed and smiled. "My friends, I told you, didn't I? They're all couples, they've got each other. I thought it might work, you and me being friends, if you want," she tried.

"That's real sweet of you," he smiled down at her, "but if you get a better offer, I won't be offended."

"I like you,' she told him and she blushed and shook her head. "Not 'cause you make me feel secure or whatever else it is… You're smart, Donald, that's pretty rare round here," she smiled.

"Thanks, Miss Hanley. You're smart too, I guess that's why I like you." He looked out at the fields, "that's why all the boys like you."

"All the boys do not like me," she grinned, "I'm past it now, Donald. Forty in September."

"Forty, eh?" he smiled to himself, "practically Methusulah. Oh," he got to his feet, "Come on, time to go inside," he pointed at the cloud and she stood up and walked through the door he held open for her.