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huge credit payments and wasn't able to keep up with them. There were always promises and more promises that he'd take care of them, but I've been bracing myself, expecting to hear from the companies or from some collection agency. So far no one's called and I'm sure not going to call them."
                  "By the way," I said, "I have a question about one of the photographs in the boxes." I described the framed five by seven color snapshot.
                  Iris told me that the couple on the porch was, indeed, Charlie's parents, Clyde and Lois Wilson, who still lived in Charlie's home town of Everly. The picture was taken by a neighbor last December when she and Charlie had flown out to California for a visit over Christmas.
                  I told her I'd keep her posted.
                  The sun was almost down by the time I finished sifting through the sales log and address book, making notes as I went along. Leaving the two books, Charlie's wallet, the credit card lists and the photo of Charlie and Iris in California on top of my desk, I folded the cardboard flaps in and set the third box beside the couch with the briefcase and the first two boxes. Time for a break.
                  I realized I was hungry and went back to the kitchen. I didn't remember eating lunch, just the sugar cookies at Iris Wilson's house. I put a pot of water on to boil for pasta and got out my two staple items, extra virgin olive oil and fresh garlic. I chopped three of the biggest cloves I had and added them to a skillet where a good sized dollop of the olive oil was heating. When the pot of water boiled, I poured in half a box of rigatoni pasta along with a dose of salt. When the garlic was lightly browned, a crucial point when any more heat will burn it, I tossed in a handful of fresh spinach leaves from the fridge and covered the pan. The cold spinach would reduce the heat in the pan, so the garlic wouldn't burn. I drained the pasta, and dumped it right into the frying pan on top of the garlicky spinach, shaking the pan to mix it all together. It smelled terrific and, with some shredded Asiago cheese on top, would taste even better. 
                  Look out Emeril. Here comes Rudy. Bam!
                  Setting a heaping plate of pasta and a cold Coors on the footlocker, I relaxed on the couch and watched the evening news, the local variety. All the national news shows carried pieces that were depressing in both content and the fact that there was nothing I could do about any of it. So I'd stopped watching them. The local Cedar Rapids edition is more to my liking and occasionally, there are news stories that I can relate to and even find uplifting.
                  After dinner, I read for a while in my old recliner. I was rereading a C. S. Lewis favorite, "Right and Wrong as Clues to the Meaning of the Universe." According to Maxine, I was a 'seeker', but I was never certain if she thought that was a compliment or an insult. I didn't know if it was true, either, but I was intrigued by Lewis' logic. I doubted if anyone could really know if God existed, but I enjoyed reading Lewis and maybe he'd convince me at some point. Or God would, if He existed.
                  If I did find out He existed, I was certainly going to ask Him about Caroline and why He took her from me.

Chapter 4
     
                  The phone rang at 9 o'clock Wednesday morning. It was my sister.
                  "Rudy. Have you found out anything yet?"
                  "Uh, no Max," I hesitated. It was true that I hadn't found out anything but that was only because I hadn't made even the most basic of attempts. I wasn't certain that I wanted to look into the situation at all and was mulling over the consequences of my intervention in my sister's marriage. And I really wasn't sure what I should do with the information if I did find out