Traffic was light, and all of the vehicles well behaved. I walked slowly, listening and looking. It was a pleasant morning, promising a beautiful day. I hoped to settle things quickly, so I could enjoy it at my leisure.

I reached the diner unmolested. I took a seat beside the window. Just as the waiter came to take my order I saw a familiar figure swinging along the street—a former classmate and later fellow employee Lucas Raynard: six feet tall, red-haired, handsome in spite, or perhaps because, of an artistically broken nose, with the voice and manner of the salesman he was.

I knocked on the window and he saw me, waved, turned and entered.

“Merle, I was right,” he said, coming up to the table, clasping my shoulder briefly, seating himself and taking the menu out of my hands. “Missed you at your place and guessed you might be here.”

He lowered his eyes and began :reading the menu.

“Why?” I asked.

“If' you need more time to consider, I'll come back,” the waiter said.

“No,” Luke answered and read off an enormous order.

I added my own.

Then: “Because you're a creature of habit.”

“Habit?” I replied. “I hardly eat here anymore.”

“I know,” he answered, “but you usually did when the pressure was on. Like, right before exams—or if something was bothering you.”

“Hm,” I said: There did seem to be something to that, though I had never before realized it. I spun the ashtray with its imprint of a unicorn's head, a smaller version of the stained-glass one that stood as part of a partition beside the doorway: “I can't say why,” I finally stated. “Besides, what makes you think something's bothering me?”

“I remembered that paranoid thing you have about April 30, because of a couple of accidents.”

“More than a couple. I never told you about all of them.”

“So you still believe it?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. The waiter came by and filled our coffee cups.

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “Have you had it yet today?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I hope it doesn't pall your thinking.”

I took a sip of coffee.

“No problem,” I told him.

“Good.” He sighed and stretched. “Listen, I just got back to town yesterday...”

“Have a good trip?”

“Set a new sales record.”

“Great.”

“Anyhow... I just learned when I checked in that you'd left.”

“Yeah. I quit about a month ago.”

“Miller's been trying to reach you. But with your phone disconnected he couldn't call. He even stopped by a couple of times, but you were out.”

“Too bad.”

“He wants you back.”

“I'm finished there.”

“Wait'll you hear the proposition, huh? Brady gets kicked upstairs and you're the new head of Design-for a twenty percent pay hike: That's what he told me to tell you.”

I chuckled softly.

“Actually… it doesn't sound bad at all. But, like I said, I'm finished.”

“Oh.” His eyes glistened as he gave me a sly smile. “You do have something lined up someplace else. He was wondering. Okay, if that's the case he told me to tell you to bring him whatever the other guys offer. He'll try like hell to top it.”

I shook my head.

“I guess I' m not getting through,” I said: “I' m finished. Period. I don't want to go back. I'm not going to work for anyone else either. I' m done with this sort of thing. I' m `tired of computers.”

“But you're really good. Say, you going to teach?”

“Nope.”

“Well, hell! You've got to do something. Did you come into some money?”

“No. I believe I'll do some traveling. I've been in one place too long.”

He raised his coffee cup and drained it. Then he leaned back, clasped his hands across his stomach, and lowered his eyelids slightly: He was silent for a time.

Finally: “You said you were finished. Did you just mean the job and your life here, or something else as well?”

“I don't follow you.”

“You had a way of disappearing—back in college, too. You'd be gone for a while and then just as suddenly turn up again. You always were vague about it, too. Seemed like you were leading some sort of double life. That have anything to do with it?”

“I don't know what you mean.” He smiled.

“Sure you do,” he said. When I did not reply; he added: “Well, good luck with it -whatever.”

Always moving, seldom at rest, he fidgeted with a key ring while we had a second cup of coffee, bouncing and jangling keys and a bhp shone pendant. Our breakfasts finally arrived and we ate is silence for a while.

Then he asked, “You still have the Starburst?”

“No. Sold her last fall,” I told him. “I'd been so busy I just didn't have time to sail. Hated to see her idle.”

He nodded.

“`That's too bad,” he said. “We had a lot of fun with her, back in school. Later, too. I'd have liked to take her out once more, for old times' sake.”

“Yes.”

“Say, you haven't seen Julia recently.”

“No, not since we broke up. I think she's still going with some guy named Rick. Have you?”

“Yeah. I stopped by last night.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“She was one of the gang-and we've all been drifting apart.

“How was she?”

“Still looking good. She asked about you. Gave me this ...to give to you, too.”

He withdrew a sealed envelope from inside his jacket and passed it to me. It bore my name, in her handwriting. I tore it open and read:

Merle, I. was wrong: I know who you are and there is danger. I have to see you. I have something you will nod. It is very important. Please call or come by as soon as you can.

Love, Julia

“Thanks,” I said, opening my pack and filing it.

It was puzzling as well as unsettling. In the extreme. I'd have to decide what to do about it later. I still liked her more than I cared to think about, but I wasn't sure I wanted to see her again. But what did she mean about knowing who I am?

I pushed her out of my mind, again.

I watched the traffic for a time and drank coffee and thought about how I'd first met Luke, in our freshman year, in the Fencing Club. He was unbelievably good.

“Still fence?” I asked him.

“Sometimes. How about you?”

“Occasionally.”

“We never really did find out who was better.”

“No time now,” I said.

He chuckled and poked his knife at me a few times. “I guess not. When are you leaving?”

“Probably tomorrow. I' m just cleaning up a few odds and ends. When that's done I'll go.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Here and there. Haven't decided on everything yet.”

“You're crazy.”

“Um-hm. Wanderjahr is what they used to call it. I missed out on mine and I want it now.”

“Actually it does sound pretty nice. Maybe I ought to try it myself sometime.”

“Maybe so. I thought you took your in installments, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn't the only one who used to take off a lot.”

“Oh, that.” He dismissed it with the wave, of a hand. “that was business, not pleasure. Had to do some deals to pay the bills. You going to see your folks?”

Strange question. Neither of us had ever spoken of our parents before, except in the most general terms.

“I don't think so,” I said. “How're yours?”

He caught my gaze and held it, his chronic smile widening slightly.

“Hard to say,” he replied. “We're kind of out of touch.”

I smiled, too.

“I know the feeling.”

We finished our food, had a final coffee...

“So you won't be talking to Miller?” he asked.

“No.”

He shrugged again. The check came by and he picked it up:

“This one's on me,” he said. “After all, I'm working.”

“Thanks. Maybe I can get back at you for dinner. Where're you staying?”

“Wait.” He reached into his shirt pocket, took out a matchbook, tossed it to me. “There. New Line Motel,” he said.