*She never spoke?'

*Not a word. So maybe she had a reason but wasn't saying. But my theory? My theory is that she didn't know the answer herself. World is full of people so troubled they don't even understand themselves. You could offer them a thousand dollars to explain their motivations, but they can't tell you what they don't know. And most of those miserable creatures find their way through here soon enough. So, I'm sorry, Mr McCann. If there was a reason, it died with her. But if you ask me, it's a question that never had an answer. Because there's just no explanation that makes a lick of sense.'

*I suppose you're right,' Nathan said. And stood mute for a moment. *But she wasn't the only one in on it. There was the boyfriend as well. I wonder what he would say.'

*If you're willing to put up with another of my theories . . . Day before yesterday his mother came in and made bail. Mortgaged her house to make bail for the boy. Now, it's just a gut feeling, mind you. Call it a detective's intuition. But I'm hoping that poor woman has family to take her in when she loses that house. Because I saw the look in that boy's eyes on his way out the door. And I'd bet good money we're never going to see the whites of those scared eyes around here again.'

Nathan digested this news briefly. Inclined to accept the detective's instincts. Somehow the assessment felt right to him as well.

*Well, you'll be wanting to go see Mrs Bates . . .'

*Well, not wanting to, but . . .'

Gross rose and opened the door for Nathan, who found his way back to the parking lot on the first try.

At the corner drug store, Nathan found a dignified, appropriate card of condolence.

He paid for it, and took it to the post office.

There, with his good silver pen, in his best, most careful penmanship, he wrote in the card: Dear Mrs Bates, I am sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you in this most difficult time.

Very truly yours, Mr Nathan McCann Then he sealed it into its envelope, addressed it to Mrs Ertha Bates, purchased a stamp, and sent it on its way.

2 October 1967.

The Day He Watched You to See How You Had Grown.

Seven years to the day after finding the infant boy in the woods, Nathan rose early on the pretext of going duck-hunting.

Because he had told Flora, perhaps even one time too many, that he was going hunting, he had to be careful of each detail. He had to remember to bring the shotgun he did not intend to fire. He had to wear the proper pants and boots. To bring a heavy jacket he would only leave in the car.

Then, just on his way out of the house, he realized he had almost forgotten to take Sadie along.

Subterfuge had never been a talent of Nathan's, if for no other reason than lack of practice. But likely there were other reasons as well.

He had not devised this story to cover his tracks out of dishonesty. It was more a matter of privacy. For once in his life, Nathan wanted to do something with complete privacy. He was not ashamed of his actions. He just wished to justify them to no one.

Well, that was not entirely true. He was a tiny bit ashamed.

Sadie began jumping straight up into the air as he approached her run, despite her advanced age, and Nathan's heart fell. How could he tell Sadie they were going hunting, and then not take her? He had never lied to her before. He had never let her down.

No, Nathan realized. He couldn't. He would not make a liar of himself after all these years. Not to his dog. Not to his wife. He would have to go hunting later in the morning. Even though it would be long after dawn. Even though conditions would be poor for hunting. He would likely come back every bit as empty-handed as he had that morning seven years earlier. But no matter. He would hunt.

But first he would drive to the Bates home. And wait quietly out front.

Autumn leaves lay gathered on the roof of the house just as surely as they had seven years before. Did they do this each year without intervention? Nathan wondered. Had she ever bothered to have the roof and gutters cleaned?

Still, the roof had not caved in. Even Nathan had to admit that.

It was after dawn when they appeared at the front door. But not much after. The light was still slanted and hazy when the door opened and Ertha Bates walked out on to the porch, a small, dark boy in tow.

She wore huge fuzzy yellow slippers and had her hair up in curlers. The boy wore a snowsuit that looked two sizes too big.

She looked astonishingly older, Nathan thought, and many pounds heavier. He was truly startled to see it. As if she had gone from her late forties to her late sixties in only seven years. Perhaps the care of a small child could do that to a person. Nathan briefly pondered what it might have done to him. But it didn't matter, really. His insides still ached and burned at the reminder that he had been robbed of the chance to try.

He didn't look at her long. He hadn't come to look at her. But the boy's back was turned toward him, to his dismay.

He seemed so tiny. Were all seven-year-olds so tiny? Nathan couldn't imagine they were. Maybe his poor start in life had stunted his growth in some way. Or maybe he was normal size for his age, and only looked small to Nathan. Maybe it was the sense of helplessness that made him seem so fragile.

Or maybe he just hadn't grown into that hand-me-down snowsuit.

Mrs Bates took him by the hand and walked him down the steps and out to the curb. Gave him a brown paper bag and walked back inside, leaving him alone to experience the second grade.

The boy stood at the curb, limply. Maybe sleepy, or maybe just bored. His breath appearing in great visible clouds. Now and then he wiped his nose on the back of one mitten.

Then he pulled off the mittens and unfolded the top of the paper bag, peering inside to see what he had been given.

Nathan thought of the baseball mitt he had dropped at the boy's house just two nights ago. For his seventh birthday. His hands looked so tiny. It had been a youth mitt, of course. And the man at the store had assured him a seven-year-old could enjoy it. With a great deal of room to grow, of course.

But now Nathan wondered if it was too big for the child even to use.

It always happened this way. Every birthday and every Christmas. Every time Nathan bought and delivered a present, helplessly guessing at what the child might want, he second-guessed himself with frustrating vigor. He had grown tired of it years ago, yet was still unclear as to how he could make it stop.

The boy looked less innocent and fragile from the front. But Nathan really wasn't parked close enough to see much. From where he sat he couldn't see the boy's face well enough to recognize him if he saw him again. And that had been the idea, Nathan supposed. To know him by sight if he ever crossed paths with the boy on the street.

Did he dare move his car a little closer? He certainly didn't want to be taken for any sort of child predator or stalker.

He looked briefly down at the ignition, unable to remember if he had left the keys hanging there. He had not. Before he could go into his pocket after them, he looked up to see the big yellow school bus pull up, blocking his view of the child.

Then it pulled away, leaving an empty curb.

So, that was it.

For seven years he had not allowed himself to do this. And he had promised himself he would never do it again. And now it was over.

And what had that accomplished? Nathan wondered.

Just a way of getting his hopes up high enough to be dashed again. But, hopes of what? Nathan wasn't even sure. Just chasing a vague idea of something that would fill him up inside. And proving himself wrong yet again.

He looked over the seat at Sadie, the older, grayer Sadie, who should have been retired by now, but who returned his gaze intensely. Hopefully.

*All right, girl,' he said. *We'll go hunting.'

He came home shortly after eleven, empty-handed.

Flora looked up from her magazine. *You never come home from a hunt without ducks,' she said.

*Today I did.'

*The only other time you came home with nothing was the day you found that baby.'

A long silence. Flora went back to her reading.

Just as Nathan thought she'd say no more about it, she spoke up again. *Wait. Isn't this October second?'

*I think so. Why?'

*That was October second, too. Wasn't it?'

*Yes. I guess it was.'

*That's a coincidence.'

*Yes,' Nathan said. *I suppose it is.'

*In the future, maybe you'll get smart and just stay home on October second,' Flora said.

*Yes,' Nathan said. *I really hope I will.'

Part Two.

Nathan Bates.

2 September 1965.

Feathers.

Two years before that, on the afternoon before his first day of kindergarten, Nat Bates found a baby bird in the front yard. Under the maple tree.

It was almost too much to bear.

One new thing to accept, that was difficult and exhilarating and stressful and wonderful enough. But kindergarten and a baby bird was almost too much. Like something in his chest might burst, and then that would be the end of him.

At first he didn't even know what the tiny lump under the maple tree was. He knew only that it was alive. It didn't look like a bird. It didn't look like anything he had ever seen before. It had no feathers. It was no bigger than his palm. Pink. Bony, like the pictures he'd seen of dinosaurs, with the skin stretched over those bones looking strangely translucent and wrinkled.

It opened its beak as if demanding something from Nat. Something he was sure he didn't have.

He scooped it up in his hands and carried it in to Gamma.

*Oh, dear,' she said.

She didn't like animals in the house, Nat knew. But he felt he'd had no choice this time.

*What is it, Gamma?'

*It's a baby bird. It must've fallen out of the nest.'

*Maybe I could put it back.'

*Now, how are you going to get all the way up there?'

*I could climb up.'

*With a baby bird in one hand?'

*I could borrow a ladder from Mr Feldstein. If you could hold the ladder, I bet I could.'

*It's too late, anyway,' Gamma said. *You touched it. You can't put a bird back in the nest once you've touched it. The mother won't feed it any more. Not once it smells like a human.'

Nat considered this for a time. Unwilling to accept any solution that ended badly for the bird he had touched.

*I guess I'll have to feed it, then.'

*Oh, Lord,' Gamma said. But she did not say no. Seeming to know from experience that he would not accept it as an answer.

Nat rinsed out an eyedropper in the bathroom sink while Gamma went to fetch the heat lamp she used when her back went out.

They made the baby bird as comfortable as possible in an old hat box a which Gamma had been unhappy to give up a cushioned by a handful of Nat's white socks.

*His name is Feathers,' Nat said.

*You may not name him,' Gamma said. *If you name him then he becomes a pet. And you'll want to keep him. And I don't like pets, and besides, you can't keep a wild bird, anyway. He'll either die or fly away. So you can't name him.'

*But I already did,' Nat said.

Gamma sighed deeply. *Besides, that's a silly name for him. He doesn't even have feathers.'

*But that's just it,' Nat said.

*What's just it?'

*It's like a wish.'