Danny paid and overtipped so much my eyes bulged out of my head. He picked up his bags and moved toward the sidewalk.

«Hey, Colon. Come here a minute.»

I'd never been called «Colon» before. Colin, usually. Even Collar once, but Colon was a new one.

«Yes, Milt?»

«You take care of that big boy, you hear me? Christ, I wish _my_ son was like him.»

Fast tears came to my eyes and I had to turn away quickly or else he would have seen me with a very wet face.

«I will. I promise.»

Danny stood at the door with his suitcases and his smile. He was waiting for me: Colon.

The table was set. I brought out the only _piece de resistance_ I knew how to make well – spinach lasagne. As I walked to the table, I suddenly realized something and would have smacked myself on the forehead if I'd had another hand.

«Oh _hell!_»

Danny lowered his glass of beer from his lips, leaving a white foam mustache. «What's the matter? Did you forget something?»

«Oh Danny, I made _lasagne_! I completely forgot about what you eat in Italy. You must have this three times a day there!»

He shook his head and gestured for me to put it down. Then he bent his head over like a long-necked bird and scrutinized it.

«Cullen it's . . . _green_.» He smiled beatifically.

«Of course it is! It's spinach lasagne.»

«_Spinach_? Oh.»

«Yes, spinach. I'm a vegetarian. That doesn't mean it's not good.»

«Uh . . . oh.» He was about to take a sip of beer, but put the glass back on the table very gently.

«What's the matter with that? This is the first time I've felt like crying all day.»

«Don't do that. It's just that vegetarians make me nervous.»

«_War_ wouldn't make you nervous, Danny James. Do you enjoy eating dead flesh?»

«Uh . . . oh.» He took his fork and poked at my masterpiece as if he were inspecting a minefield. «Is it _really_ good?»

I squinted flame and acid his way and forked him up a piece as big as a manhole cover. It sat firm and proud . . . and green on his plate.

«You eat that!»

«But it might be hot. Green things stay hot longer, you know.»

«_Eat!_»

His smile fell but he began to eat and three helpings later he was still going strong. He hadn't said another word, but his face had relaxed and his cheeks stayed full. I know because I watched him like a hawk.

«So how is it, Popeye?»

He patted his tummy. «I stand corrected; spinach lasagne wins! So what's for dessert, kelp cake?»

«I should feel insulted now, but I'm still too glad to see you. You're a wonderful friend for coming, Danny.»

He bowed his head my way and pushed a spoon a little to the left. «Are you okay, Cullen?»

«I'm a lot better since I got the telegram saying you were coming. Overall? I'm much better now. I think about the child sometimes, but that's only natural.»

He put his hands in his lap and leaned forward as if he were about to whisper a secret. «I know it's easy for me to say it, but I don't think you should worry about that if you can help it, Cul. You aborted because you had to. You didn't love the man, I'm assuming. What better reason could you have had than that?»

«Oh, Danny, I know. I've run all that through my mind, but it _was_ a person in there. There's no way I can get around that.» Tears came to my eyes. It seemed I wasn't over anything yet.

Danny shook his head and looked at me very sternly. Then one of his hands came up from his lap and he placed it on the table in a tight fist. «You're wrong, Cullen. The seed _isn't_ the flower. I'm not trying to be facile either. What kind of life would that child have had? Huh? Even if you _had_ wanted it, there would have been so many times you'd have resented the poor thing and your decision to have it. Look at our parents and how many times they wanted to brain _us_ when we were growing up. All my life I've heard people say it's a nip-and-tuck battle for parents to love their kids all the way through. As good a person as I think you are, I do think you would have scarred the kid somehow. It may not be a very nice thing for me to say, but we really _don't_ need anymore walking wounded on this earth, you know?»

«I'm not saying you're in any way wrong, Danny, but life just isn't that simple. If it was as easy and clear cut as you say . . . If it was as logical as that, I wouldn't continue to feel as bad as I do. I know what you're saying, and you're absolutely right in a way. _But_ logic and rationality only go so far. Then you know what happens? Ha! Then your old heart adds its two cents and everything reasonable goes right-out-the-window.»

I took out a cigarette and lit up. We were quiet, comfortably quiet for a while. Even with talk of the baby, I felt more at ease than I had in ages.

Danny sighed and frowned. «You're right, Cullen. A hundred percent right. Remember how I was after Evelyn died? Every time I tried to tell myself to just calm down and get back to living my life, my emotions said, 'Fuck you, Buddy, we hurt!'

It was not a funny thought, but the way he said it made me grin. He grinned back and I reached across the table and took his hand.

«You know something funny? You almost always blow smoke out of the side of your mouth, Cul. I remember that from before. Are you aware of it?»

«Huh?»

«You shoot the smoke out the side; like you're making a little comment or something. Never in front.»

«Now I'm going to be self-conscious.»

«Cullen, you're the prettiest woman I know. You have every right to be self-conscious.»

He said that without any hesitation, but wouldn't look at me when he did. How many good men are there in the world who are both shy and complimentary at the same time? The men I'd gone out with recently were full of both compliments and eye contact, but I often got the feeling neither meant a damn.

He took a coin out of his pocket and did a lovely little trick with it – flash, whoosh, gone! – just for me.

«That's neat, Dan. Do it again!»

«Nope! Never ask a magician to do his tricks twice in a row. You'll figure them out and they'll lose all their magic that way.»

I went into the kitchen to get the dessert – a giant, horrendously gooey chocolate cake that looked great and broke all the rules.

Danny's whole face lit up as soon as he saw it. That night marked the beginning of our many-year contest to see who had the greater madness for sweets.

When I put it down on the table, he reached over and pulled the whole thing in front of him. «Oh Cullen, that was really nice of you to get this for me. And what are you having for dessert?»

Over coffee and cake we talked about everything. His words were so like his letters; taking their time to get wherever, funny, self-deprecating. It was plain he saw himself as a hell of a lucky guy who had been plopped down in a fascinating, illogical world for no reason other than to have a good look around, hands in pockets and a little surprised whistle on his lips.

Years before, I had taken his «way» for naivete when I first knew him, but it wasn't that. It was a healthy, magnificently unpolluted sense of wonder. Life was wonderful – or at least full of wonders – for Danny James. He would look at a junkyard and be thrilled by the weird mix of colors in there. When he prodded me into looking, I would see a junkyard. Not a good or a bad one, simply a junkyard! Yet his wonder was not annoying or particularly contagious either. Most of the time you didn't even know it was there until you looked up at him and saw those quiet brown eyes staring at whatever it was, a slight, pleased smile on his face.

I grew to hope for that smile; it was really the only way I could tell what was going on in his mind. As I've said before, it was very hard to tell when he was mad about something, and only slightly less difficult to tell when he was happy. His wasn't a stone face, exactly, but rather a handsome one with a set, bemused expression that rarely changed, and kept secrets – both his and your own – like no one else I had ever known.