Paulo Woodley sang along with the radio, all the way from Lexington, six hours nonstop. He was still singing, even after he'd parked at Smyrna Public Library. They were playing "Fernando" and he cranked it loud and sang with ABBA.

He watched a comely young woman buckling her toddler into his special little car seat in the back of her Lexus. He thought she had fantastic breasts, quivering and firm and nourishing-looking. He stopped singing to say to himself, "Man, if she were my mama I'd never get weaned. She's very comely." He lowered the window and stuck his hand out, waved to her, but she shot him a quick hard glare and then pretended he didn't exist.

So he climbed out and up onto the roof of the Ford Focus wagon, and danced. It felt good. The young mother stopped in the middle of getting into her fancy SUV and stared at him. He felt like taking his shirt off, but it was silk and had a dragon embroidered across the back, he loved that shirt.

The woman got in her car and booked out of there. He had a laugh about that, then hopped down and went into the library to use the bathroom. Six hours driving and he was drinking Dr. Pepper the whole way, Man, his bladder felt like to bust even though he'd peed into an institutional size Puritan oil container a few times along the way. Probably should've peed when he stopped and ate at the Hot Dog Factory. Good dogs. He had a dog with Asian stuff on it, and sweet potato fries. And a dog with chili and coleslaw both on it, with some regular fries, and that was maybe even better. "How do I feel regarding sweet potato fries? I can't say, not with certainty." They tasted good, but he wasn't easy in his mind about the concept.

Once in the bathroom he took his shirt off, like he always did. In the mirror he saw a word across his stomach: GOOSE. Now he remembered writing it backwards, for just this reason.

He came back out and the radio was playing Quarterflash because he left the key in the car. The door was locked, but the window was down, so it was all good. "Man, whatever happened to Quarterflash?" He sat on the hood and listened to the music, and he was thinking what to do next. Coming back to Smyrna was like the best idea in the world when he was up in Kentucky and the second he'd finished his community service (well, technically he still had ten days left, but Man, he needed a change of scenery) he was in the car and on the highway, didn't even call to quit his job at the pancake house.

He'd miss it, though, and he wished he could have a job making just French toast all day, because he had some ideas about that. Recipes to try; variations. You could change up the mixture in so many ways. "Man, I'm never getting tired of making French toast. I shoulda called and told 'em I was leaving. I want to make French toast for all the girls in that convent in Memphis."

He hadn't spent long in Memphis, and he couldn't go back, but he thought it was a pretty good town.

He'd lost his cell phone, too, so he couldn't call his cousin, or anyone, because it had all the numbers in it when he lost it. Well he didn't exactly lose it, but when they were running the wood chipper to grind up all the deadwood they'd gathered up on community service at the UKY Arboretum after that big storm, he'd had one of those sudden urges and he'd just pulled out his cell phone and thrown it in.

The man said, "Want to tell me why you did that?" and Paulo said, "I just do things," and the man said "How's that workin' out for you?" So Paulo had a good laugh about that, but now he didn't have anybody's phone number. He needed to get a hold of his cousin and give him his car back.

And he should have maybe called Sylvia, told her he wouldn't be coming home. She kept threatening to throw him out, so what the Hell, and it was weird living with a girl in her parent's basement anyway. Her dad sure didn't like Paulo, and Sylvia's mother said he was trouble on two legs. She said it the first time he came for dinner, and then in bed that one time, she said he was ten pounds of trouble in a five-pound sack. She said a lot of things, though, and some were a lot nicer. If Sylvia ever found out about that, it'd be over anyway for sure. Paulo knew he crossed a line on that one.

Just then "Sylvia's Mother" came on the radio. Oh, my God, he couldn't believe it. Good lyrics. He thought, Shel Silverstein wrote that. If Shel Silverstein were here, he'd know what to do.

He could hear his mother's voice: Concentre, Paulo meu querido! Foque! He never could. You think about what they want you to think about, and there are a thousand other things you could be thinking at, every one of them more deserving of your attention.

"Not like she was any better. Couldn't focus on one man, that's for sure." And she always picked the jealous ones. When they are jealous, that means they love you, she said that from up on a black horse. "Did that happen? Maybe I dreamed it?" He couldn't remember for sure if his mother ever rode a horse. She did wear an eye patch, like a pirate, though.

In school it gets worse, nothing but detention and F's and stuff, and even if you bear down and ace a few tests, they say you cheated or you're using or something.

And then out in the world it's cops instead of principals, and one day you ride a cop's horse for just a minute, and next thing, you've got to pick up trash in Lexington parks for thirty days.

He should go over to Campbell High and boost a car, he hated that place. No, no, first he had to get his cousin's car back to him, he promised. Then he remembered GOOSE.

It was a good day for coincidences, because right across the street, he knew, was a pond. He got in that pond once with Sandy Ryarton that one night; she'd gotten confirmed at St. Thomas that day and she told him to call her Theresa, her confirmation name. Skating at Sparkles, then some underage drinking and a quick slide into third base in his mom's pink Mary Kay Cadillac, then jumpin' in the pond with Sandy-called-Theresa. That was the best thing that ever happened in his two years of high school.

Anyway, there was a pond, and on the pond might be geese, and he'd check that out. Okay, he should find his cousin first, but he didn't know how.

He'd already gone by the apartment, but somebody else was living there, a real nice chick, about ten years older than him and spreading out a little bit in her back acreage, but that was all good, so he had her phone number but not his cousin's phone number.

He could go on down to Americus and see Grandma, she'd know. He knew a girl in Columbus, and that wasn't far from Americus. Talipa, yeah. Oh, yes. Talipa had a tattoo of Eeyore on her butt.

Maybe they had a book about tattoos in the library. Foque! The library, yes, computers, Internet. He could look up his cousin, maybe his new address was in there. Damn, it always felt good when he worked something out.

First: GOOSE. Michelle would curse him out if he forgot. He crossed the street to the park, then came back and got the tracking collar and a bag of popcorn out of the car. The corn was a little stale, but he ate some. "Why don't they have a restaurant that's just popcorn and licorice and Junior Mints and Milk Duds and hot dogs?"

He heard a honking, and it was geese. Geese in the pond honked and geese came down honking out of the air and settled in the water. Good day for geese. He crouched down by the water and tossed in some popcorn. "Come here, goose. Come on bird. Come on. Come on."

Might take a little while. He kept clucking his tongue and hoped that would bring a goose to him, but he took a little time to look around, sometimes a park was a good place to meet the fair sex, you never knew.

Hey! There was a girl. "Oh, yes. Oh, sweet lord, those are long legs. That's Jacob's Ladder up to Heaven. Man, better keep my voice down, she's only like twenty feet away." He clamped his lips shut, focused on thinking it without saying it. Goose first, girl first? Goose, girl, goose, girl? Think, damn it!

He kept half an eye on her while he talked to this one goose that had swum close enough to gobble some of the popcorn. "Come on, goose. Right here. Right here. You're a Canada Goose. Branta canadensis. Yeah, you're a fat one. Eat that corn, you plumper. Take it. Take it and like it."

He snuck another look at the girl. Tall, got to be six feet, a head taller than him. Those long legs, and strong arms, too. Looked like she'd sweated through everything she was wearing, like for instance her purple sports bra under that weird tee shirt, so probably she had purple panties on to match. Damn, wondering about that stuff was almost as good as finding out.

She was holding a notebook and doing something with her other hand. Is she writing? What's she writing about? Is she drawing? He couldn't stand it. "Hey, how are you! How you doing! Are you drawing? What are you drawing? You drawing something? Can I see? Can I see what you're drawing?" Oh yeah, she's looking. She's looking.

She was staring, right at him, and sort of half-smiling, yes. Good enough; he walked over with his hand out, saying, "Paulo! Paulo Woodley. Damn glad to meet you. You got long fingers. I like that. Strong like a bricklayer. Are you a bricklayer, my lissome young friend? I smell Portland cement, that's why I ask, and your long lovely hands have calluses. Calluses that invite kisses. Oh, yes."

"What in the—" she stopped. "Paulo?" She said his name right; that made him happy.

"Yes! Awesome, now tell me your name and we'll both know. I'd love it we both knew each other's names. Or I can just call you Brickyard Girl or something. Damn, that sounds like an Emmylou Harris song or something, don't it? I like that, but really I like just about any kind of music. I got a question for you, but I really could use your name first. Can I guess? Can I guess your name? Is it Hypatia? That'd be a good name for you." He had moved closer, holding her hand in both of his now. He loved looking up at her. The sun caught blonde streaks and different bottle shades of red in her short hair.

"Ronnie! My name." She was thinking about something, he could tell, she was thinking, thinking, trying to do one thing and think about something else, God, he knew how hard that was, that's how he set the daycare on fire that time.

Maybe his cousin could wait another day to get his car back. "Ronnie! Excellent, I like that. Is it short for Veronica? You like Veronica or Ronnie? I'll call you Veronica. So listen, Veronica, I was thinking of where to go for dinner tonight. I had lunch at the Hot Dog Factory already—hey, ask me how good the hot dogs are."

She had that half-smile, half nervous look he always loved, when a woman looked like that it was like a signpost showing him he was on the right path. "Okay, um, how good are they?"

"They're real good. But I already ate there, so I thought about Scalini's because I love Italian, but I don't want to go by myself, and I thought about Los Bravos because I love Mexican, but I'd really want a very attractive girl with me if I went there, and I thought about Ken's Corner Grill just over yonder because I love redneck food. But not by myself."

"Of course not." That was good timing; she knew to talk when he stopped for a breath. Would she mind going Dutch? And were there any Dutch restaurants around? He couldn't think of any. He liked girls who could get a word in. He liked give-and-take. It was like that big tug-of-war at school that time, his sophomore year. He never went back to school after that. Might as well finish on a good day.

"Oh, and I thought about Minato because I love Japanese, but that's out, you know why?"

"Ah ... you don't want to go without a date?"

"No, it's 'cause I left my chopsticks back in Kentucky!" He laughed for a while. "No, really, I just drove down from Kentucky today. So what you drawing there? Do you want to show me at dinner, Veronica? Bella's, maybe. Pizza."

"No! No, here, take a look." She passed him the notebook.

Geese, some good goose drawings there. Like there was a goose just about to land in the water; looked realistic. He rapidly flipped through the pages. Birds, people, stuff, other things. "Hey! That looks just like my cousin, with the four eyes! Man, I wish he were here, I'd show this to him. You're good, Veronica, that's some good drawing."

She grabbed back the notebook. "Paulo—is your cousin named Wishes?"

"Oh my God! Yes! Wishes, Wishes—if Wishes were fishes, he'd be in this pond. With the other fishes. He'd put Sea Monkeys in this pond. I told him, they're brine shrimp, Artemia salina, you can't just put them in any kind of water, but he never listened. Man, small world, right? Hey! You know Shane? Wishes's got this buddy, Shane, kind of a redneck—like you might think, that's a dumb cracker name, right?—but he totally did this." He turned around and pointed over his shoulder at the green and gold dragon winding across the back of his shirt. "White boy rocks with a needle."

She looked close and saw it was embroidered, with hundreds of tiny stitches. "Shane did that?"

"Yeah. So I brought him his car back. Wishes, I mean. Maybe that'll make up for that thing that time."

"What thing?"

"Thing? I don't know? Just thinking out loud. Anything. Nothing." He threw some popcorn into the pond. Man, I gotta not say so much stuff.

She took a step back, reached in her pocket. "Oh, Boy, there's my phone. Vibrating. Excuse me a minute, I'll be right back."

"No problem, I'm gonna wrangle me that fat goose there."

She stepped away, and he crouched back down and gave his attention to the goose. Just a few feet away; it had eaten all the available popcorn and wanted more. He sprinkled popcorn on the ground between them, and after a little hesitation, the goose waddled up onto land.

* * *

What Ronnie had been trying to remember for five minutes had finally come clear. It was Shane, a couple of weeks ago, saying, quite casually:

"Wishes ain't even the strange one in his family. That's his cousin Paulo. No, I'm not kidding." Usually she didn't pay that much attention to Shane. Maybe I should, she thought. Who knew he could embroider? Or do anything?

She looked back over to the boulder where Aardvark was napping. He could fall asleep within a minute, anywhere. Wishes. She already had her phone out, pretending to look at it; she opened up her speed-dial list and called Wishes.

"Ronnie, hey."

"Listen, this is going to sound weird. You've got a cousin named Paulo, right?"

Silence for a moment, and he said, "About 163 centimeters, 55 kilograms?"

"Right, five feet four, maybe one-twenty. Kind of Latin-looking."

"Where are you? I hear geese. Are you at a market where they sell live geese?"

"No, for God's sake, Wishes, we're at that park with the pond, over by the library."

"Okay, if you can see Paulo, tell me what he's doing."

She twisted and peeked over her shoulder. Paulo was crouched down over by the water, face to face with a large goose. "He's talking to a goose."

"Can you hear what he's saying to the goose?"

"Can that possibly matter? Wait—wow. He's got quick hands, I'll give him that. He just grabbed the goose by the neck, I don't know what the Hell he's doing. Hang on." She marched back over to Paulo, who had gotten the goose between his knees and was holding its neck with one hand. He was slipping some kind of collar over its head.

"Paulo! What the Hell are you doing? You're not even supposed to feed them!" She pointed to the sign that warned: FEEDING WILDLIFE PROHIBITED.

He laughed, yet again. He laughed like a drunk teenage girl. "Ha! They left out some words, it really says, 'Feeding wildlife to other wildlife prohibited'! Like if there was a coyote here, I'm not allowed to feed the fat goose to the lean, hungry coyote! It's prohibited." He got the collar snug on the goose and raised his arms like he was signaling a touchdown. "Done! Ha ha ha! Fly, goose! Fly, you fat bucket of poultry!" The goose, honking vigorously, skimmed across the pond and took to the air.

Paulo grinned hugely at Ronnie, showing white teeth. "Is that my cousin on the phone?"

Ronnie held up a finger, and spoke to Wishes. "He put a collar on a goose. Does that mean anything?"

Wishes was quiet on the other end for a few seconds, then said, "My best guess is it means my girlfriend Michelle is back in Tampico with her cousin Rolando. She's talked Paulo into putting a tracking collar on a Canadian goose, to see if it winters on the Mexican Gulf coast, her plan being to use migrating geese to smuggle drugs or possibly emeralds. Is Paulo driving my car? It's a blue Ford Focus station wagon."

"Yeah, he said he brought your car back. Hold on."

She looked at Paulo, who appeared to be reading her tee shirt for the tenth time. "Paulo!"

"At your service!"

"Are you involved in a drug or possibly precious stone smuggling thing with Wishes' girlfriend Michelle and migrating geese?"

Paulo's grin faded. "This makes me sad. Yes, it's true. "

She spoke into the phone. "That's yes, and yes. On the smuggling, and the car."

"Great, you won't have to drive on all the grocery runs anymore. Let's take my wagon when we go get your stuff out of storage. Can I talk to him for a minute?"

She handed the phone to Paulo. He took it and turned away, cradling it to his ear. "Coz?" He didn't speak for a couple of minutes after that. Ronnie hadn't thought he was capable of shutting up for so long. Finally he said, "Okay."

He handed the phone back to Ronnie, his eyes downcast. "Veronica, my splendid Amazon, we can't have that dinner tonight, but maybe you'll give me a rain check, right? Here." He took a key out of his pocket, handed it to her. "For the car. Sorry about the jug of pee in the front seat. 'Bye." He turned and walked away, toward Powder Springs.

She knew she shouldn't, but Ronnie called after him. "Are you okay?"

He turned around, walking backwards. He looked sad and, for the first time since she'd met him, small. "Gonna swallow my tears." He turned and kept going.

She put the phone to her ear. "You still there?"

"Certainly. Thanks for calling me, Ronnie. Now I know Michelle's alive."

"Yeah ... Paulo just walked off. Is he going to be okay?"

"I'll get his mom to come down from Woodstock. She'll pick him up at Atkins Park Tavern. He'll be full of chicken wings by then and easier to deal with. She'll pay his check and get him a junker from her lot, and he'll be back in Lexington tomorrow. With any luck he won't be late for community service on Monday."

"You sure she'll do all that?"

"She'll do it, she owes him."

She hesitated. "Wishes, it's none of my business, but ... are you sure Michelle's still technically your girlfriend? It doesn't sound like she is."

"She'll come around."

"Huh."

"You'd like her."