"Thought I saw a book I wanted," he said sheepishly. I let the polite fiction pass. "They gave me some good advice about the storm when I checked in last night, though."

I glanced up. He looked wistful. I wondered what it had cost him to ask a stranger about the weather.

"They said if I were ever in an open field in a storm I should lie down in a low part so that I wouldn't attract the lightning, but not so low that it might flood if it rained for too long. Although one of them said that anyone struck by lightning is a natural dowser and can see ghosts."

"They believe a lot of strange things out in the country. Ever seen a dowser work?"

"No, but I'd like to."

"I can't really approve of that kind of thing."

"Really?" he asked, looking interested. "Why not?"

"Well, it's silly, it seems that way to me. I mean, I'm as ignorant as the next man about the mysterious workings of the universe, but I don't believe in crystals and talking to bees and stuff."

He smiled a little. "It sounds interesting, though."

"I like sources and facts."

"And now you run a bookstore. Kind of fitting."

"I like to think so."

"I actually came in for something yesterday, then forgot about it," Lucas said awkwardly, into the silence that followed.

"Oh? What can I help you with?"

"I need to order a book. It's kind of uncommon, I was hoping you knew where I could find a copy."

"Do you mind getting it used?"

"I don't think you'll find it any other way. It isn't in print anymore." He took a sheet of tightly-folded paper out of an inside pocket of his coat and opened it, smoothing out the creases before passing it across the counter to me. There was a title, an author, a date and a publishing house. Enclosed in the paper was a photograph as well. Dark blue, hard-cover, and rather small.

"It has some interesting illustrations," he said, as if to explain away why he needed it. "I used some of them as models when I was in school."

"Models? Are you an artist?"

"Not really," he replied. I looked down at his hands and saw that there were calluses on the inside edges of his forefingers and thumbs, and that the cuticles of his fingertips were discolored with paint stains. "I'd like to get it before real winter sets in. I didn't think I'd need a copy of my own – that's a copy I took out of the library in the city, that photograph – but now I think I will."

"No problem. I'll put the order in today and we'll see if we can't get it before the roads close again," I answered. "Is that the only one? If you order a few at once, it saves on postage."

"Does it?" He looked down at the photograph thoughtfully. "Yes – whoever you buy it from, ask if she has other volumes she'd recommend as companions."

"Or he," I said with a smile.

"Or he," he agreed. A little too quickly, looking back.

"Any price limit?"

"Well, the book shouldn't cost much, it's not that valuable," he said. "That and one or two recommendations. Before postage and whatever fees you charge."

"That's a decent budget," I said, making a note of it on the paper he'd given me.

"I like books," he answered. I saw a fleeting grin cross his face before he adjusted the strap of the bag he was carrying on his shoulder. "Looks like the rain's letting up, doesn't it?"

I glanced out the window. "Some, yes. Heading home?"

"I should, as long as there's no lightning."

"Dowsing is probably fun, but getting struck by lightning isn't," I agreed. "I'll call around about the book. Want me to call you when I know?"

"No," he said, glancing around the shop. "I'll be in town pretty regularly, I'll check in."

"Your tutoring," I guessed.

"Yeah. He's doing well," he added. "I should go. Thanks, Christopher."

"My pleasure. Safe journey, Lucas."

He smiled a little, thanked me again, and walked out into the street, where the rain was nothing more than a light drizzle and the sun was even threatening to emerge.

***

"Christopher, I've been thinking," Marjorie said, when I called to ask her about ordering the book for Lucas. "I keep planning to lure or berate you back to the city, but so far it hasn't worked and I'm beginning to blame myself for you moving away in the first place."

"Jeez, what brought that on?" I asked. "By the way, thirteen down, yesterday's paper – five letters, pounding tool."

"Anvil. Bad clue."

"Yeah," I said, copying it into the crossword.

"The thing is," she said, as I wrote, "I remember telling you that you should buy a bookstore because you'd only really be happy if you were around books."