Indy dropped Marion off at the airport early so that she had plenty of time to catch her flight and so that they skipped the morning rush hour. He carried her suitcase in to have it checked and then accompanied her to the boarding gate. There they had a lazy couple of hours before the flight, talking about everything but Helena.

He got up to walk around and stretch his legs when the sight of planes taxiing on the runway caught his eye. He took all of these modern conveniences for granted. When he was born, airplanes had yet to get off the ground. Orville and Wilbur had yet to take their invention from Ohio to Kitty Hawk until he was four years old. And now, his wife was going to spend just a small portion of her day going coast to coast to see family.

Marion could see he was pensive. "What's on your mind?"

"Did I ever tell you about the time I took a plane from Hong Kong to the middle of India while stowed with live poultry."

"A few times."

"That's because it's a good story."

"Are you standing here missing the days when you had to ride with the chickens?"

"It used to be that just going somewhere was an adventure. Everything's so much more convenient now, but it's also so tedious."

"At least I know that the pilots won't skydive out of the airplane mid-flight."

"You were listening."

"Always," she said and hit Indy on the shoulder for the mere suggestion. "It looks like my plane is boarding. Thanks for keeping me company."

"There's no one whose company I would rather keep." Indy thought for a moment. "When you see Helena tell her…" And then he lost the words. "Tell him that he has my number."

Marion scoffed, and then gave him one last kiss before disappearing down the jetway.

When he got home, Indy gathered his hammer and some nails from his toolbox. He picked up his extension ladder from off the garage wall and slung it onto his shoulder. The gutters in the back had gotten loose. A few feet of them hung precariously off the side of the house, and he planned on tacking it back up, even if Marion warned against it. Besides, the gutters were quickly filling up with October leaves. He could clean them up while on his ladder.

Marion may not approve of him cleaning out and fixing the gutter, but if she asks, he'll say that it was the neighbor kid. His name is Sammy, or something like that. He was always coming over and asking if they needed any help around the house in exchange for a twenty. If Marion answers the door, then he might spend the afternoon trimming the bushes and mowing the lawn, but Indy always sent him away empty handed. He had a sneaking suspicion that the kid doesn't ask the thirty-something couple across the street.

He steadied the ladder along the side of the house, testing it firmly before ascending. He made his way around the house in this manner, scooping up leaves from the gutter and dropping them to the ground where the wet clump landed with a satisfying plop.

Eventually, he made his way to where the gutters hung lazily off the side of the house. He righted them and proceeded to nail them into place, but to get the final two nails in, he had to arch to the side, away from the ladder. He got a bead on the nail with his still working left eye and swung.

His arm movement threw him off balance, sending him backwards. For a brief moment he felt disconnected from anything, about to fall two stories. But Indy right himself, grabbing onto the gutter and inadvertently pulling it from the side of the house. Several new nails popped out, but in the end it held, preventing Indy from falling.

He climbed down to gather himself. He wasn't able to finish the work right away, and, briefly, he even considered seeing if Sammy could step in. After a few moments, when his heart stopped pumping so quickly, he went right up and finished the job. He would definitely tell Marion that Sammy did all this work. He might have to pay the boy after all, if only to keep his mouth shut.

Next door there was a bustle of activity, a train of movers ferrying boxes into the house. He remembered Marion mentioned that new owners started moving into the Roberts house. It hadn't been on the market long. The family had vacated only a couple of months ago, upgrading to something bigger that would accommodate their growing family. They were always cordial, but Indy never got to know them all that well. With so many young children, it always seemed like things were in constant motion. I guess he had missed that stage of family life.

Marion had suggested that he welcome the new neighbors, and since he didn't follow her advice about the gutters, perhaps he should at least indulge her request about the new neighbors. He headed over.

He found an older gentleman out back surveying the lawn. He certainly wasn't a mover, so Indy assumed this must be the new owner.

"Hey there!" Indy shouted. "I live next door. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."

"That's, well, very neighborly of you," he responded. "This might seem a bit forward, but do you know anything about wasps?"

"Not much beyond the fact that they bite, and I would rather avoid them."

"I'm afraid we might have some sort of an infestation. But I just can't find their point of origin. Oh, well. There are worse things you can discover about your new house. I just hope the colder weather keeps them sleepy before I can flush them out."

"If you need help, we're just next door. My name is Indiana. Indiana Jones."

"That's a formidable name, indeed. I'm Fred Martin. It's a pleasure to meet you. These days, it's hard to know what kind of a neighborhood you are moving into. I've found that people are less sociable than when we were younger."

Indy assessed the man's age. He must have been a few years younger than himself, perhaps in his mid to late seventies, although he was well preserved. Still sporting a robust head of hair at his age, Fred had a near perfect part down the right side of his head. His hair split with military precision, like a row of soldiers. He wore kakis and a tucked in dress shirt without a crease to be seen on his torso. This was a man who never dipped below business casual in his attire.

"I hope the move is going smoothly."

"It certainly is. We've got plenty of help. Christopher! Come over here and meet my new neighbor!" One of the men carrying boxes, gently placed one on the ground and headed over. "This here is my son, Chris."

"Are all the rest of these men your progeny as well?"

"Oh, no. It's just that Chris can't stand sitting still when others are doing work." Fred slapped his son on his back. "It goes to show I did something right raising him."

Indy shook hands with Chris who was a healthy straight-backed American with a rigid jaw. Indy wouldn't be surprised if he was the high school quarterback in his day.

"I'm just happy to help, pops. We're excited that you're living closer."

"He wants to keep an eye on me," Fred said. "He doesn't think his mother and I can handle ourselves in our old age. What about you? Do you have family nearby?"

"No. My wife is actually out of town visiting relatives in California."

"California? That must give you an excuse to flee for warmer weather during these New England winters."

"We haven't been able to take advantage yet," Indy said, hoping the conversation would change.

"Come on in, neighbor. My wife, Anna, can make you some coffee, or tea if you would prefer."

Indy hesitated. But he decided to take Marion's advice to heart. "Sure. Coffee would be fine."

Indy and Fred carefully stayed out of the path of the movers as they enter the kitchen where Anna was methodically unpacking boxes. Fred introduced Indy to his wife. "Now. Where is our coffee pot?"

As if on cue, Anna picked it out of the box and handed it to her husband. "I was just about to find a home for it. Here you go."

"This is why we have had such a successful marriage. She finds things for me."

"Well, I wouldn't be able to find so much if you didn't lose so many things. We both do our part."

Fred laughed as he plugged in the coffee pot and started grinding coffee beans. "You're a real connoisseur," Indy complimented him. "You grind your own beans and everything."

"Oh, yes. We've even thought about buying our own espresso machine, but they're not easy to get in the States. There was a time when I gave up coffee. I supposed it was for my health, but I don't really know why. But this woman brought me back from my monk-like existence."

"He exaggerates," Anna said. "But, it's true. I can't do anything without a morning cup."

"Do you get to leave the U.S. often?" Indy asked. "To visit family?"

Fred hesitated. "Why, what do you mean."

"I didn't mean to overstep. I can detect a German accent."

"Really? You can hear an accent in how I speak?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong. Low Saxon German. You kind of sharpen your rounded vowels. It's slight, but it's there."

Fred's eyes darted back and forth as if he were deciding what path to take. "You are right, of course," he said cheerfully. It's just that I've lived so long in this country that I haven't heard anyone mention an accent in quite a long time."

"Well, I didn't want to dredge anything up."

"It's perfectly all right. It's just that I rarely think of Germany these days. My family got out before that madman took over. It was clearly for the better. I wouldn't have met my Anna here."

Anna walked over and squeezed his hand in support. And then she poured a cup of coffee for the two of them.

"But that's a remarkable piece of detective work. I should ask if you or your family are from Germany."

"Not at all. But I was over there during the war, of course." And then Indy added, "And quite a bit before that."

"Well, thank you for your service." Indy had heard the phrase often. People repeated it like a reflex, without thinking, but he had never heard it said quite the same. He could sense a tinge of sarcasm, like a bitter root left in a soup. "In what capacity did you serve?"

"I worked for the OSS."

"Really? Well, you must have some stories."

"Of course." And then Indy leaned in. "Can you keep a secret."

"Absolutely," he said, his excitement returning.

"Well, so can I."

Fred laughed and slapped his knee as if to give it an exclamation mark. "I should have seen that coming. Does that mean you worked for The Company?" He said the word company as if he were saying the boogie man to a young child.

"I didn't stick around that long. I had to get back to my civilian life."

"And I don't want to be intrusive, but I can't help but ask if it was during the war that you lost, you know," Fred pointed to his own right eye.

"You would think. But it was afterwards. Let's just call it a work-related injury."

"What did you say you do?"

"I didn't. I used to be a professor."

"You make it sound as if that's dangerous. You were a professor of what? Mining equipment?"

"No. Archeology."

"A lot of digging around old pyramids, then?"

Indy gave it a moment's thought. "More or less."

"It sounds fascinating."

"Some days were more exciting than others."

"I hate to be rude, but I should help my wife with the unpacking."

"I understand. The last time I moved it was quite some time ago. And I said to myself, never again."

Fred led Indy through the living room where Anna was now delicately unboxing pottery and placing it on their fireplace mantle. As the two passed her, she inadvertently tipped one of the ceramic pieces over. Before it shattered on the ground, Indy had grabbed it.

"Oh, my goodness!" Anna said. "Thank you. I feel like such a klutz."

Indy observed the work, turning it around to take in all angles. It was shaped to resemble a duck, with wings on the side, but a spout where the head would be.

"Is this Mapuche?" Indy asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Anna said. "I think it's just a reproduction. We just like the way it looks over our fireplace."

"It looks like the real thing. I can get someone to authenticate it for you, if you like."

"I appreciate that, but it's not necessary."

After delivering the pottery to its intended destination, Indy turned to see several paintings out of their boxes and leaning on the couch and chairs, ready to be hung. A ghostly portrait of a young woman attracted his attention. The woman wore a flowing gown that almost disappeared into the background. She held a flower in her right hand to her side, and her countenance appeared somewhat stern, almost advanced beyond her years. There was something familiar about the painting, but Indy couldn't place where he would have seen it before.

"I see you appreciate art. What a collection."

"It's not all real," Fred said. "Like the pottery, much of it's just reproductions. But we like to surround ourselves with beautiful things. It doesn't matter so much whether it's an original."

Fred led Indy to the front door with a bit more urgency and apologized once again for having to end their afternoon cup of coffee early.

That night, Indy called Marion to see how her flight was and how she was settling in.

"It turns out that they don't have Octobers in California," she said. "The weather is wonderful. It's like getting a bonus summer."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"What about you, though? I don't want you to get bored without me. Are you keeping yourself busy."

"You don't need to worry about me. I have a few projects to finish around the house before you get back." Indy thought back to what he saw inside Fred's house, the pottery and the painting. If real, they were separated by hundreds of years and half a globe. But he couldn't shake the feeling that they were connected, that there was some story that tied their destinies together.