“Finally dawns on him. Bravo.” He patted Scott’s post-it-less back as well. “Now, let’s us mingle.”
“You go on.” Scott resisted. That inviting hillside renewed its mute, vocal appeal. “My work’s done here. For now.” He slapped his hands together with loud and comic satisfaction, as if to scatter all his young and dusty years into smithereens.
Gavin rubbed Scott’s forehead, like his personal genie, and then, like Lucy, melted into the swirl.
* * * * *
“Go up higher, man. Get a look-see.” And so he climbed the gentle slope, weaving like a May-pole dancer among young saplings and venerable oaks. He nosed along the path like a needle tracing the grooves on those old records on his dad’s antique turn-table. At last, he turned. Looking down from his dark vantage opened his eyes. Too far up t
