"There isn't a tomato to be had at the moment, but I have onions if you want them," I said.

"Thanks."

"Slice the cheese?"

"Of course."

I watched his fingers wield the knife more skillfully than most, spread mustard on the bread, pluck shreds of turkey apart and layer them evenly. Two white plates, brown bread, end of an onion slice, the bright yellow tang of cheese. He didn't enter the other room until I did, and he kept his eyes on the table where we sat. He must have been curious, but I can imagine he thought it was rude to look around the single room I lived and slept in.

"So you came here," I said, swallowing a bite of food, "to escape people, then."

"I thought so," he shrugged.

"But you haven't. If anything..."

"Yes." He laughed a little. "All I escaped was anonymity, which wasn't what I wanted at all."

"No more crowds to hide in."

"No. I never really know how familiar to be with anyone here. They all seem to know me much better than I know them. I think they pity me. Or they think I'm weird. That's what the boy says."

"Oh yes?"

"Well, not in so many words. People ask him about me."

"They've asked me too."

"I thought they would."

"I would think it would drive you back to the city."

"Oh, no. It's a small price."

"A small price for what?"

He didn't answer for a while. "Nothing. I mean. It's a lesser evil. I thought I wanted to get away from people – really I wanted to get away from people who knew me, and of course that didn't work. But...well, things change, don't they?"

It occurred to me, quite suddenly, that Lucas was once again hiding something from me. It wasn't my business – it wasn't as though he had made any kind of promise to be truthful to me. Still, it was unnerving. He hid from the rest of the world but the understanding I had of him, and thought he agreed with, was that he never had to hide from me and in return I would never give him reason to. I might scold or reprove him, because friendships can't exist with less. But I would never give him cause to be afraid to speak.

I wondered if Lucas had ever actually had the escape he so desperately wanted – not from people but simply from all of it. Did he want to crawl into a dark place and hide like an animal? Did he want a person who would be his harbor?

I didn't know what he wanted. Most peoples' wants are so transparent and so common that you hardly think about them. Some want fame, some want money, most want love. I couldn't puzzle out Lucas at all, though. Refuge is not something people want, just something they need because their other wants aren't met by the crowded heat of humanity.

"Christopher?" he asked, worriedly. "Did I say something stupid?"

"What? Of course not," I answered. "I'm sorry – the paint fumes, they make me a little dizzy. Is your sandwich all right?"

"It's good, thank you."

"You like it here in the country, don't you?"

"I don't suppose it's really a matter of like or dislike," he answered.

"Isn't it?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"You can't be too unhappy, if you didn't think about it at all," I prompted. "If you'd hated it, you'd have left by now."

"I like my cottage. I spend most of my time there."

"You don't get lonely?"

He gave me a searching look. "I keep my own company. Do you ever get lonely? You live alone."

"In the middle of Low Ferry. I never have the chance."

"Loneliness isn't necessarily..." he seemed to be groping for words. "Some people are incapable of being alone – you can't blame them for it, it's just the way they are, no different from having big feet or blue eyes. Some people like it too much." He glanced around quickly and pushed his plate away. "Thank you for the sandwich, but I should go. The boy will be expecting me and I have other errands to run."

"Of course," I answered, a little startled by the sudden change in subject. "I'll walk you out."

At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and turned, looking up at me where I stood a few steps above. He was frowning more in thought than in concern.

"I'm not fond of being alone. It's just necessary sometimes," he said. "You're welcome to visit whenever you want."

"I never thought otherwise," I reassured him, as he walked to the front door. "Are you enjoying your book, by the way?"

"Very much, thank you," he said. "It's an education."

"Oh?"

"I'm sorry, I really should go – thanks again," he called from the porch step. As he walked out towards the street I came forward and touched the door. It was dry at the top, only a little tacky at the bottom. Time to start painting again. I wanted to be finished that day, so that it wouldn't be on my mind on Halloween.