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appeared taller once she saw him backing off. He had put her in control once again.
    In a moment of clarity, Billy’s consciousness pulled outside himself to watch his interplay with Alice. The change in focus calmed him. “It’s not that easy this time, Mom.”
    She stared, eyes wide, teeth set.
    â€œI want to know what’s going on.”
    â€œNo.” A smirk came over her lips. “It’s none of your business.”
    â€œHe was my father. I have a right to know.”
    â€œYour father,” she scoffed. “It has nothing to do with him.” She looked away. “He didn’t raise you. He didn’t give up everything.”
    â€œHis life,” Billy said. Then, knowing he would never get through to Alice, Billy turned and headed for the front door. The living room looked darker, dingier, than ever. The house was unkempt, uncared for.
    â€œYou come back here.” Alice yelled, but he was out the door and in the truck.
    He didn’t know where to go, so he headed toward Scott’s house. After a while, the sign for Shannon appeared. Fifty-two miles. Through the mountains, it would take nearly two hours. How long would the library be open, he wondered? He forced his foot on the gas pedal. He could make it in an hour and a half. There was a good chance the Shannon Library would be open until nine in the summer.
    At the top of the ridge he pulled over to take a quick look into the valley. He took off again, driving faster. He made Shannon in an hour and forty minutes.
    The library was located on Fourth Street. Billy went straight to periodicals and asked for three years of back editions to the local papers, all three pivoting on a time twenty-two years previous. By the time the attendant located the microfiche, only fifteen minutes remained before closing. The young man — probably of high-school age — apologized for having difficulty locating the material.
    Billy focused on frontpage news only, trying to rush through the weeks as quickly as possible. The boy told him it was time to close up just as Billy read “Football star killed near Pine Creek.”
    â€œI need to stay,” Billy said. The date on the paper was eight and a half months before his birth.
    â€œI’m sorry,” the boy said shyly.
    An older woman stepped up behind the boy. Her arms were crossed. “We’re closing.”
    â€œCan I get a copy of this to read?” Billy asked.
    â€œNot tonight,” the woman said.
    Billy wasn’t about to argue. He didn’t want to wait until later to read the paper. Before removing the film from the machine, Billy scanned the article quickly, but saw little he could make out under such conditions. “I’ll be back after work tomorrow,” he said. “We close at four on Saturdays,” the woman said. “Nine on Thursday and Friday.”
    Outside the old stone building, the wind had picked up. Clouds filled the sky. Leaves and paper, street garbage, shuffled noisily along the sidewalk. The leaves on the trees were turning up before rain.
    Billy walked to his truck in the side lot. He sat quietly and watched about seven other library customers exit the parking lot. A young couple left the library hand in hand. What a date, Billy thought. How utterly adult and real. He was touched. Had he ever gone to the library for a date? He couldn’t remember doing so.
    After the lot emptied, the employees came out in one group. There were only the three of them. The older woman stared at Billy as she passed. He started the truck and pulled out of the lot. What did she think he was going to do? Break in and steal a look at a twenty-some-year-old newspaper?
    He rolled down the window and let in the crisp air. He drove around town, trying to decide where to go next. He had no clothes with him, but he’d rather wear what he had on a second day than go home. Eventually, he stopped at an all-night diner for coffee-to-go,