“Now?” I said.

“In the morning.”

“I want to go back to Granny’s for an hour or so.”

This annoyed her. She wanted to leave before dawn, and she persevered. “I need to get back,” she said. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.” This was the first time Clarissa had had a hint of surliness, but she made up for it later that night.

She and I were bunked in the same room. This motel was the kind a traveler would consider a charming, memorable find, as its architecture and decoration perfectly identified a specific year in a specific decade in a specific location that could not be seen anywhere else. Built in the ’30s, the bathrooms had porcelain sinks and tubs that weighed a ton. The rooms were long and narrow and the ceilings and walls were lined with long planks of dark pine. Wrought-iron hardware strapped each doorway and artisan-crafted sconces silhouetted tin cutouts of cowboy scenes through translucent leather shades. Clarissa and Teddy took one end of the room and I slept at the distant other on a sofa bed that sunk in the middle with a human imprint. We had amused each other by spreading ourselves on the floor and playing a game with a deck of cards that at one time had been so waterlogged it was three times its normal height. Clarissa and I tried to play gin, though we struggled to remember the rules, but Teddy made it impossible because he kept grabbing the cards and rearranging them. Clarissa began calling him Hoyle and I would say to him, “What do you think, Billy Bob, can I play that card?” And he would either pick up the card and drool on it or slide it back to one of us, which would make us laugh.

Clarissa and I were now used to seeing each other in our underwear. We both slept in T-shirts and underpants. She turned out the lights and we slipped into our respective beds. She spoke softly to me from across the room. “What was it like today?”

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?”

“For asking,” I said.

“Daniel,” she whispered, I think to say, of course she would ask.

We didn’t speak for several minutes. I didn’t want to tell Clarissa about the inheritance because I wanted to digest it myself first, and I didn’t want anything external to affect our little trio. Then there was a rustle of sheets, then footsteps. Clarissa came across the room and knelt beside my bed. She reached her arm across the blanket until she found my shoulder and laid her hand on it. Her fingers crawled under my sleeve and began a small back-and-forth motion. She rested her head on the bed and her hair fell against my arm. I didn’t move.

“Oh, Daniel,” she said. “Oh, Daniel,” she whispered.

I didn’t know what to do.

“I love that you love Teddy.” The upper one-eighth of her body caressed the upper one-eighth of my body. She moved her hand from my shoulder and laid her palm against my neck with a slight clutch.

“We should go to the house tomorrow, if that’s what you want. I’m sorry about today. I’m just impatient; impatient for nothing.”

She closed her eyes. My arm, with the bed as a fulcrum, was locked open at the elbow and sticking dumbly out into the room. It was the part a painter would have to leave out if he were going to make the scene at all elegant. I evaluated Clarissa’s tender contact and I decided that it was possible for me to put my free hand on her shoulder and not have the action considered improper. I bent my elbow and touched her on the back. She didn’t recoil, nor did she advance.

I didn’t know if Clarissa’s gestures toward me were platonic, Aristotelian, Hegelian, or erotic. So I just lay there, connected to her at three points: her hand on my neck, my hand on her back, her hair brushing against my side. I stared at the ceiling and wondered how I could be in love with someone whose name had no anagram.

Later, she dragged her hand sleepily across my chest and went back to her bed, leaving a ghostly impression on me like a hand-print of phosphorus.

Teddy woke later than usual and Clarissa and I slept through our usual 7 A.M. get-up. By nine, though, we had eaten, packed, and loaded the car. We got to the end of the motel driveway and when we stopped, I said, “I don’t want to go back to Granny’s.” And then Clarissa argued, “But you said you did.” Then I came back, “It’s out of our way.” Then Clarissa said, “I don’t mind. I think you should go.” Out of politeness, we had switched sides and argued against ourselves for a while to show that we understood and cared about each other’s position. Clarissa turned right and we eventually found ourselves once again driving among the pecan trees.

There were no cars out front and the house was locked up. I knew what I wanted to do, find Granny’s grave. Clarissa said, “I’ll leave you,” and ran after Teddy, who had charged immediately toward the river. I stood before the house and listened to the breeze that rustled through the groves. I decided to walk near the river, upstream, to avoid the bustle of Clarissa and Teddy, who were downstream. I started out, but the pink Dodge caught my eye. I returned to it, felt around under the paper sacks filled with dirty laundry, and got the metal box I had chosen as my sole artifact of my life with Granny.

I walked through the forest and came upon a wooden bench-a half slice of a tree trunk-that faced the shallow and crystalline river. There was a hand-painted stone with Granny’s name and dates on it, and a small recently disturbed patch of dirt. This diminutive marker was under the tallest and most majestic pecan tree on the farm, and I guessed that was why Granny chose the spot. I sat on the bench and looked toward the river, trying to meditate on this house and land, but couldn’t. My mind has always been independent of my plans for it. I reached in the metal box and picked up the small cache of letters. I thumbed through them and took out the two from my father. I read the earlier one from 1979, which was about Granny. It was a snide criticism of how she ran her property, followed by some tactlessly delivered advice on how to fix things.

The second one was about me:

January 8, 1980

Dear G.,

I’m so glad you were able to see Ida before the trip. She’s our little heartbreaker don’t you think? I have a photo of her with a cotton candy we took at the San Antonio Fair. She looks like an angel. She knows exactly who Granny is too. We show her your photo and she says Granny. She’s only four and she seems brighter than everyone around her. The song says there is nothing like a dame and there ain’t. I didn’t know how much I wanted a girl, but when Ida was born, that was it for Daniel.

The letter went on, but I didn’t. Sitting graveside, I knew that these few words would be either my death or resurrection. Two months later, on a still California night, I would know which. It was there that I breathed my last breath in the world that I had created.

Clarissa and Teddy came up along the river. She spotted me and yelled “hey,” then picked up Teddy and came over. “Guess what?” she said, holding up her arm. “I found my watch. I love it when lucky things happen.”

Clarissa fired up the Neon and drove us out to the highway, where we settled into the ache and discomfort of the long road home. We didn’t speak for a while, though I kept a broad smile on my face meant to hide my clammy shakes. All of us including Teddy were impatient to be home, and our three-motel trip to Texas turned into just two motel stays on the way back because of Clarissa’s driving diligence. She kept us on the road deep into the night, and I often worried that we weren’t going to find a motel with a vacancy.

I felt inadequate around Clarissa as we drove. I waited for her to speak before I felt allowed to. I tended to agree with everything she said, which made me not a real person. There were times when we drifted into solitary thought with no awareness of the passage of time. Once we started to again sing “ California, Here I Come,” and I bleeped myself with a loud buzzer tone when words with the letter e came up. Clarissa turned to me and laughed, “You know what we are, we’re a mobile hootenanny.” I roared at the word “hootenanny.” Then we fell to silence again. In Albuquerque we had the best tacos of our lives, and I forced Clarissa to stop at the municipal library for ten minutes where I Xeroxed twenty pages from various investment books while she fluffed and dried Teddy.