Spencerville

and the ache he still felt in his heart. “Can’t leave, can’t stay…” And he couldn’t even declare a truce, because Cliff Baxter would just take that as a sign of weakness and step up the pressure.
    Keith came around the far end of the lake and started back along the opposite shore.
    Maybe, he thought, Cliff Baxter
could
be reasoned with. The three of them should sit down, have a beer, and talk it out in a civilized manner. “
That
is the answer to the problem. Right.” No ugly scenes, no bloodshed, no rescues or abductions. “Mr. Baxter, your wife and I love each other and always have. She doesn’t care for you. So be a good fellow and wish us well. The divorce papers are in the mail. Thank you, Cliff. Shake?”
    Cliff Baxter, of course, would go for his gun. But if Cliff Baxter had the power of articulate speech, if he were in fact a civilized and clever man, he’d reply, “Mr. Landry, you
think
you love my wife, but more likely you’re obsessed with a long-ago memory that has no reality now. Also, you’re a little bored since being forcibly retired, and you’re looking for adventure. Add to that the fact that you don’t like me because of some childhood conflicts, and taking my wife is your way of getting back at me. This is not healthy, Mr. Landry, nor is it fair to Annie, who is going through a rough time now, what with empty-nest syndrome, the pressures of my job, and the realization that middle age has arrived. Annie and I are happy in our own way, and we look forward to my retirement and growing old together. Right, Annie?”
    Keith didn’t like what Baxter said at all, because it had a grain of truth in it.
    In reality, there would be no such meeting, and Keith Landry, Cliff Baxter, and Annie Prentis Baxter would just stumble and fumble their ways through this, the way most people did, causing maximum damage and hurt along the way. And when it was all finished, there’d be remorse and deep scarring, and no happily-ever-after.
    On that note, Keith entered the tree line and found the creek. He headed back to the farm, resolved now to pack his bags and leave home again, as he’d done twenty-five years before, but this time with less expectation of ever coming back.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    E arly that evening, Keith sat at the kitchen table, trying to draft a final letter to Annie, but he was having trouble with it. Should he suggest a last meeting before he left? Should he be brief, with no long explanations, or did he owe her a full baring of his mind and soul? No, that would just open the possibility of more misery. No long good-byes, no last meeting. Be noble, be strong, be brave, and be brief.
    He wrote, “Dear Annie, We can’t undo the past, we can’t go back to our Spencerville, or to Bowling Green. We’ve lived and made separate lives, and, as I wrote to you once, I’m just passing through and intend to do no damage while I’m here. Take care and please understand. Love, Keith.”
    There. That was it. He put the letter in an envelope and addressed it care of her sister.
    He stood and looked around the kitchen. He’d packed a few things, but his heart wasn’t in it.
    He knew he should mail the letter after he’d left, and he knew he should leave very soon, before something else happened to affect his decision. Every day he stayed here opened the possibility of a confrontation with Baxter, or the possibility of seeing Annie.
    You arrived in life, he reflected, at a time not of your own choosing, then you stayed for a time, also not of your own choosing, and finally, you left, and the only choice you had then was to leave early, but not one moment later than the time you were allotted. Between your arrival and your departure, however, you had some real choices, but choices came in four varieties—good and bad, hard and easy. The good ones were usually the hard ones.
    “Choice. Pack up or have dinner?” He chose dinner and opened the refrigerator. “What should I have for dinner?” Not much choice. “Coors or Budweiser?” He chose a Bud.
    The phone rang, and he chose not to answer it, but it kept ringing, so he changed his mind and picked it up. “Landry.”
    “Hello, Landry. This is Porter. Can you tell which one?”
    Keith smiled and said, “Gail.”
    “No, Jeffrey. My shorts are tight.”
    “What’s up?”
    “Reminding you of the meeting at St. James tonight. Eight P.M. ”
    “Can’t make it, buddy.”
    “Sure you can.”
    “Sure I can, but I don’t want