The Men, The Ladies and The Wallet

They set off early under a bright morning sun. Eight o’clock and already it was hot. The Buick’s air conditioner blew gracious cool air, conversation snapping along with the miles as they made good time on the highway. Bert drove, Edgar up front with him, navigating. The ladies sat in the back, nattering on about grandchildren and the countryside.

They were kings and queens of the road.

“Getting a bit hot back here, Bert,” said Flora.

“The air conditioner is on.”

Edgar put his hand up to the vent. “It isn’t very cold.”

Bert fiddled with the controls. Everything was on full out. He put his own hand up to the driver’s side vent. It was cool, but not cold. “That’s funny.”

“What is?” Ivy’s ears pricked up like a rabbit’s, her sense for the peculiar keenly honed after fifty-two years of living with Bert. “What is?”

“It’s just not very cold.”

They sat in silence, trying to figure out what it might mean, estimating what it might cost.

“You’re sure you have the AC button pressed?” Edgar checked the controls himself. “I always get that messed up. Putting on the cold air without pressing the button.”

But the button was pressed, the green glow of AC confirming it.

“When did you last have the car serviced?” asked Flora. “I always tell Edgar to take ours in every three months. To hell with the money. I don’t want to be stranded in the middle of the 404 one night because of something we could have prevented.”

And Edgar does it, thought Bert. He does it because you tell him to.

He aimed the air vents towards the back seat and put out a little more gas. Let’s get to Sarnia and have lunch. Let the car rest. Everything will be fine after that.

The air was cool. Not cold.

“Somebody’s dropped their wallet.”

A sharp stab of arthritis pain reminded Flora that she couldn’t bend down as far as she once could. She straightened. Air whistled through her clenched teeth. “Edgar!”

Her husband lumbered back and stooped to pick up what she was pointing to.

“Mind your hip.”

“Best leave it where it is.” The leather pouch had been partially hidden behind a newspaper box. “Someone will come back looking for it.”

Ivy joined the group, having stopped to look in on a panting, back seat terrier. “What have you found?”

“Somebody’s dropped their wallet.” Flora took the leather pouch from Edgar and began to sort through it, looking for clues. It was a new wallet, finely stitched. The toffee leather still retained some luster. Thick with credit cards, bills and photos, it didn’t close quite snug.

“Any money in it?” Bert sauntered back to the group. The midday heat was making him irritable. His belly rumbled for lunch.

“Two crisp one hundred dollar bills.”

“Jackpot!” Edgar smacked his hands.

“A few credit cards.” Flora reached into her handbag for her glasses.

“Oh dear,” said Ivy. “Someone will be missing those.”

“A bank receipt. A lottery ticket.”

“Which one?” Edgar leaned over his wife’s shoulder and peered at the ticket in the pocket of the wallet. “Super 7! Hang onto that. Could be a winner.”

“Some photos.” Flora continued to leaf through the contents. “Lovely children.”

Ivy leaned in for a better look. “Isn’t that nice.” She pointed to one of the scrubbed and shiny girls smiling up at them. “She’s a doll.”

“Edgar’s right,” said Bert. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and looked up and down the sidewalk, busy with lunch time patrons. “Leave it here. Someone will be back to look for it.”

“Nonsense,” said Flora. She snapped the wallet shut.

“Then give it to a policeman,” said Edgar, “but let’s check that lottery ticket before you do.”

Flora pursed her lips. The heat was aggravating her joints, making her knees and knuckles ache. She would need another dose of aspirin at lunch. “We’ll return it to the fellow who lost it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bert glared at Flora. She was a good woman, but he couldn’t fathom how Edgar had put up with her all these years. The ideas that got into her head... “We don’t know where he lives.”

“Look at the name on the credit cards.”

“Look for his driver’s license in there.”

Flora had the wallet open again before Ivy could finish. In a separate pocket on the outside of the wallet, she dug out a driver’s license. “Here he is.”

“Our mystery man.”

“Robert Henry. 156 Roger Street. Sarnia.” Flora studied the driver’s license with Ivy peering over her shoulder. “Those can’t be his children in there.”

“Let me see.” Edgar ducked out of the way of a swinging briefcase. The four were taking up the middle of the sidewalk, forcing the office workers on lunch to dart around them. “Coloured fellow, is he? Wonder who’s kids those are in the pictures, then?”

“No doubt they’re his.”

Edgar winked at Bert. “Something funny is going on there if those are his children.”

Bert wasn’t into the joke. Bert wanted a sandwich and to get back on the road, just as they had planned. He didn’t care about any Robert Henry, black or white or the children in his wallet. “Look, Flora, we don’t know where this fellow lives. Just leave it for him to come back and find.” He patted the top of the newspaper box. “Leave it on top of here.”

“We can’t do that,” said Ivy.

“Then let’s find a police station and turn it in.”

Flora snapped the wallet shut again with the same resolve. “We’ll take a few minutes and find his house.”

Bert rolled his eyes and finished with them on Edgar. Get control of your wife, man. Put on some pants!

His pal shrugged. You know as well as I do. You can’t talk sense to them.

“Perhaps we could find a map,” suggested Ivy. She took Flora by the arm and led her towards the restaurant.

“We’re not driving aimlessly around a city we don’t know, looking for this fellow’s house.”

“You’d want someone else to do the same thing.” Flora turned to face the men. “If you lost your wallet and then someone showed up at the door with it, you’d be very grateful. To think that complete strangers had taken the time to find you. You’d be very pleased.”

“I’d think they were damn fools.”

“Bert!” Ivy used a tone only a wife with a golden anniversary under her belt could use. “Mind your manners.”

Edgar tried to make peace. “C’mon, let’s get some lunch. We’ll know better what to do when we’ve got something in our stomachs.”

The ladies took up arms again and strolled ahead of the men.

“We’ll miss our reservation if we hang around here,” Bert grumbled to Edgar. “We’ll get to the hotel tonight and they’ll have given away our rooms. All because of this fool’s bloody wallet.” He removed his sun hat and wiped his brow. The heat was insufferable.

“Maybe,” said Edgar. His eyes gleamed. “Maybe this Henry fellow will give us a reward for finding his wallet. I’ll bet he’s got a few bucks.”

It was cool inside The Olympia Restaurant and full of customers. The four waited for a table to open up.

“I’d rather have a booth,” Ivy whispered to Bert, who passed this information along to the hostess, a skinny thing in a cat haired black skirt and white blouse. “It’s more private.”

They waited an extra ten minutes and were rewarded with a booth at the back of the restaurant.

“Perhaps we should ask someone here?” suggested Ivy, looking around the restaurant. On previous trips, she and Bert had eaten at The Olympia. Inexpensive and within their budget. Strong coffee and American beer on tap.

“I’ll ask the waitress. She can give us a phone book and we’ll look this fellow up.” Flora looked at Bert to show him how simple it was. A good deed with time to spare.

“I’ll have the steak sandwich.”

“Make that two.” Edgar always ordered whatever Bert had. “I’ll see you one steak sandwich and raise you a side order of onions.”

Two beers went on the tab. The ladies consulted the menu and ordered egg sandwiches with side salads and coffee.

“Cream, not milk,” requested Ivy.

“And do you have a telephone book?” added Flora.

The waitress was besieged with orders. “Um, a phone book.” A ringlet of her hair hung over her forehead, a swinging pendulum of anxiety. “I don’t know.”

“We’re trying to find someone,” said Flora. “This fellow’s gone and lost his wallet. Do you know him?” She held up Robert Henry’s driver’s license.

“Sorry.”

“Do you know where Roger Street is?”

“Sounds familiar. I just moved here.” She was a young girl. Long hours on her feet had left dark circles under her eyes and tortured her nails.

“If you could get us a phone book, we’ll try and look him up.”

“But, if it’s too much bother...” said Bert.

The waitress hurried away with their order. They sat in silence, the four of them, figuring out what they wanted to do and how best not to convey it.

“I’ll bet he’s going mad right now, looking all over the house for it.”

“I’ll bet he is,” agreed Flora.

“I lost my wallet once,” said Edgar, surveying the specials. “Never did get it back.”

“How much money did you have in it?”

“Just a few dollars. But, it’s things like your social insurance and credit cards that you miss. It takes days to get all that sorted.”

“Dreadful,” agreed Ivy.

“Mr. Robert Henry won’t have to go through any of that.”

The waitress returned to the table with luke warm waters. “Can’t find a phone book,” she said. “There’s a pay phone downstairs, by the washroom. I think there’s still a book attached to it.”

“There’s no telephone book in the kitchen?” asked Flora.

“The cook said no.” And then their waitress was gone to serve other tables. The lineup at the door was growing.

“We got here just in time,” said Edgar.

“They must have a telephone book,” said Flora. “They’re just too busy to have a proper look.”

“Let’s go and look downstairs.”

“You are not,” said Edgar. He pointed his finger at his wife. “You go down there and you’ll end up on your keister.”

“I’ll go,” said Bert. He rose and hoisted up his trousers. He was fed up with this whole mess. A few minutes downstairs alone, where it would be quiet, sounded like the peace he needed.

“Go with him, Edgar.”

The other man rose to accompany his friend, grimacing as his lifted his hip. “Let’s go and have a look, partner.”

Steak sandwiches and a telephone book downstairs. Friends to the bitter end.

But, they both forgot their glasses, sending Edgar back up the stairs. He’s right, thought Bert, watching his friend climb gingerly up the steep steps. Flora would have slipped coming down there, right on her back. They didn’t need that.

He flipped through the phone book, squinting in the poor light to find the H’s. He was beginning to regret this trip. Many times, he and Ivy had done it without any bother. They drove, stopped for lunch, crossed the border and kept going, completing the first leg of the journey around five, just enough time to pull up the swim trunks and paddle about in the motel pool before dinner. Having Edgar and Flora along was complicating things. They got along well enough, all of them, but that was once or twice a week, over a game of rummy or driving to the mall to run a few errands. They had never been away together. Not on a two week trip.

Not without air conditioning.

“Flora says to do a proper job of it,” huffed Edgar, coming back down the stairs. He’s got a bad hip himself, remembered Bert. We don’t need him taking a tumble.

But, his friend was careful to hold onto the flimsy handrail, taking one step at a time. He arrived at the bottom and standing next to Bert, put on his glasses. “Let’s have a look now.”

“It’s already in the H’s.”

“I’ve gone and forgotten the bloke’s name.”

“Henry. Richard.”

“No, it’s not.” Edgar leafed a few pages. “Here’s Handy. Henrich. Henry. J. Henry. Keith Henry. M. Henry. O. Henry.” He snickered. “Hello. I’ll bet he gets ribbed a bit.”

“Robert Henry,” said Bert, the black man’s name and face coming to him. It was moldy in the basement. He wanted to sneeze. “No. No Robert listed. Nothing under R, either.” He snapped the book shut, almost catching Edgar’s finger. “He may not even have a phone.”

Edgar raised his eyebrows. “Ah, don’t talk nonsense. Everyone has a phone.”

Bert wanted his sandwich. “Do I need to push you up those stairs, old man?”

Edgar made a hand as if to whap him. “You can go first and tell the ladies we failed our mission.”

“Did you check the street numbers?”

“He wasn’t in the book, Flora.”

“Yes, but did you check the street numbers beside all the Henry’s, to see if they matched up with the one on the driver’s license?”

Neither of the men answered, their mouths full of steak and beer.

“You can’t send a man to do a woman’s job,” said Ivy. She wiped the corners of her mouth, stood up and brushed the crumbs from her dress.

“Where are you going?”

“To look at this telephone book and see if any of the addresses look familiar.”

“You won’t.” Bert’s face flushed. With a mouth full of food, he looked as if he might be choking. “It’s a dungeon down there. Sit down.”

Ivy sat down. She sat down not because her husband had told her to, but because she knew he was right. She could get down those stairs, but she might not get back up. They had sold their house and moved into the apartment down the hall from Edgar and Flora to avoid using stairs. She folded her arms and looked about the restaurant, looking everywhere but at her husband.

“Edgar, you go back down after you’ve finished eating,” said Flora. “Take the wallet with you and check the addresses.”

Everyone chewed in silence. Eventually, Ivy picked up her sandwich and finished it off, leaving bits of crust which she found to be dry.

When the bill came, Flora calculated out what everyone owed. She reached into her purse and put down the precise change to cover her and Edgar’s meal.

“Go look now,” she said, “and be careful.” She handed him the wallet.

None of the addresses matched up.

There was no one standing at the spot where the wallet had been found. No one was looking concerned or distressed. They went to the car and took up their positions.

Bert let the Buick’s engine idle, let the air conditioner cool down the inside of the car.

“You can fry eggs out there,” remarked Edgar. “Yessir, yes you can.”

The downtown core was deserted, everyone back in the chilly confines of their office buildings and shops.

Cool air blew out of the vent. Cool air. Not cold. It felt a touch warmer than it had before.

Bert was worried.

“Let’s ask someone how to get to this fellow’s street,” said Flora.

“Who are we going to ask?” Edgar shifted his weight and adjusted his shorts. “There’s no one out here.”

Bert navigated the Buick back onto the main road, back out towards the highway which led to the bridge and over the border.

“Pull over and we’ll ask someone.”

“Who are we going to ask, Ivy?” With his hand over the vent, Bert could feel that the air was definitely warmer than it had been before lunch. “Shall I ask that lamp post over there?”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Bert Caldwell.” His wife rolled her window down an inch. “There’s something wrong with that air conditioner too. I’ll tell you that.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

“You should have taken the car in to have it checked over before we left.”

“I should have you checked over.”

“Come on, now.” Edgar twisted around to look at Ivy, then back to Bert. “What are you two bickering for? We’re on holiday.”

“There’s someone over there,” said Flora. “That fellow on the bicycle.”

“I’m going to the police station.” Bert gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “We’ll drop the wallet there and then be on our way.”

“Bert, you pull over right now and ask this man.” Ivy abandoned all formalities in front of the present company. “Stop being so obstinate or you can just turn this car around and take me home!”

He pulled over. He cruised alongside the man on his bicycle before they came to a stoplight and everyone stopped. Ivy rolled her window down, blasting the car interior with hot air.

“Yoo-hoo,” she sang.

Bert cringed.

“Excuse me.”

The man on the bicycle was happy to be helpful.

“Where you folks headed?” He leaned his bicycle up against a post, removed his helmet in a glaze of sweat and came to the window of the Buick. He rested his gloved hands on the rooftop.

“We don’t live around here. We’re from Toronto. But, we stopped for lunch.”

“I see.”

“We found a wallet on the sidewalk. You don’t happen to know this fellow, by any chance, do you?” Ivy took the wallet from Flora and held it so the bicycle man could see the driver’s license.

“No, can’t say I do.” He took a long look at the photo to be certain. Greying and fit, the bicycle man appeared unconcerned about the hot weather or having his workout interrupted. A single drop of perspiration hung from the tip of his nose.

“We couldn’t find him in the telephone directory.” Edgar rolled down his window to join the conversation.

“I don’t know him. I know where that street is, though. North end of the city.” The bicyclist wrinkled his brow and looked off towards the lake. “New subdivision, if I remember rightly.”

“Perhaps you’re going that way?” asked Bert, leaning over.

“Not today. No.”

“Never mind,” said Flora. She fanned herself with her hand. “We’ll take it to him. Could you tell us how to get there?”

“Oh, sure. Sure I can.” The bicycle rider continued to furrow his brow. “You need to keep going up here, past the highway. Quite a ways past the highway.”

“How far?” asked Bert.

“Oh, I’d say about ten, fifteen minutes past. You’ll come to a road. Cathcart. Turn right on Cathcart.”

“Right on Cathcart,” said Ivy.

“Go along there for a bit until you see Murphy Road. Turn left.”

“Left.”

“Go to the end of that and then...” The bicycle man let his eyes drift up into his head while he visualized the route. “Then turn right again. You’ll be on Lakeshore Road. Roger Street is just along there a bit.”

“How far?” Bert undid his seatbelt and leaned across the front seat to get a better view of the bicyclist.

“Oh, about a mile. Maybe a bit more. Keep going. You’ll see it. On your right.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” said Ivy.

“You sure you got all that?”

Ivy pointed to her forehead. “All up here. The body may not be what it once was, but I have the mind of a teenager.”

The bicycle man chuckled. “Where are you folks headed?”

“To West Virginia. We’ve rented a place for a couple of weeks.”

“Nice.” The bicycle man waved at a car that passed and honked. “Mighty nice of you to return this fellow’s wallet.”

“You’d do the same thing,” said Flora.

“He’s got a big wad of cash in there,” said Edgar. “We’re hoping for a reward.”

“Edgar, that’s not the reason we’re doing this.”

Bert started up the car.

“Thank you for the directions,” said Ivy.

“It’s mighty nice of you to do what you’re doing.”

“Don’t get heatstroke out there, buddy,” said Edgar.

The bicycle man went back to his workout. The windows on the Buick went up.

“Air conditioning on full, please, Bert,” said Ivy. “I’ve decided to stay with you on this trip because I’m the only one who can keep you in line.”

“Full steam ahead!” roared Edgar. He was hot, but he felt good.

Young and excited.

They drove for seven miles along Lakeshore Road.

“Are you sure he said turn right?”

“He said turn right. Edgar, did he say turn right?”

“Don’t ask me. I can’t remember one thing he said.”

Flora confirmed it. “He said right.”

Eight miles and still no Roger Street on the right or left. They checked each street sign, winding their way along the north end of the city. An absence of stoplights implied the road was endless. The lake shadowed them on the left side, blocked partially by enormous houses. On the right side was more of the same, one large brick house after another guarded by spacious front lawns and paved driveways.

“Lovely places along here,” noted Ivy. She would have enjoyed the drive, admiring the homes and gardens if there wasn’t a mission to complete.

“Is that air conditioning on full?” asked Flora.

Edgar had fussed over the controls ever since they’d turned onto Lakeshore Road. He didn’t need to respond.

“The air conditioner is broken, Bert.”

“I know that, darling.” His clenched his teeth. Bert knew very well it was broken.

“Rudger Crescent,” said Edgar as they passed the next block. “Close, but no cigar.”

Flora rolled down her window. “I need some air.”

The others followed suit, rolling their windows down and creating a strong breeze in the car. The ladies put their hands to their heads, trying to hold their hair in place.

“I wonder if that’s the street he was thinking about?” asked Flora.

“Here’s a street up here,” said Edgar. But, it was not Roger Street. “Blackwell Sideroad.” Sweat rolled over his brow. He wiped it with a handkerchief, pulled from his pocket.

“We can’t continue on our trip without air conditioning,” said Ivy. “We’ll melt.”

There was some contemplation.

“Probably the freon,” said Edgar. He had to speak over the wind’s howl to be heard. “I had that trouble with my car. Cost me a bloody fortune to have it fixed.”

Bert tried to trick the air conditioner. He turned the controls off and then on again. He felt the air from the vent. Warm as the summer day. He turned everything off.

Defeated.

“For Christ sake, we’re lost! What are we doing?”

The scenery outside changed. The residential homes began to spread out and trickle away to farm land. Rounding a drawn-out curve, the speed limit bumped up to 70. A golf course rolled up on their left.

“I think we should turn back,” said Flora.

Ivy shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “He definitely said right.” She had heard the bicycle man correctly. She was sure of it, as sure as May 14th was her grandson’s birthday. “Maybe he meant left.”

“This is too far.”

Stalks of corn surrounded them, suffocating the roadway.

“Boy oh boy, it’s hot.”

“Turn back, Bert,” said Ivy.

He was driving for sake of driving, trying to imagine what could be wrong with his air conditioning. Leaking freon? Bert could not remember seeing any leaks under the Buick.

The wallet.

They would be well over the border by now, well on their way towards an ice machine and satellite TV. The air conditioner would be working fine.

The goddamn wallet.

“Turn around.”

He pulled the Buick over to the shoulder, braking harder than he’d intended, jerking the occupants forward. Gravel churned under the car’s wheels. A white plume of dust blew across the roadway.

“Easy now,” said Edgar.

Bert switched off the heaving Buick and turned to look at the ladies in the back seat. “Now. I have given up control. I am merely the chauffeur, at your service. What would you like me to do?”

“Turn around,” said Flora.

Ivy crossed her arms. “You don’t have to be like that, Bert”.

“Like what? You seem to have all the answers. I’ll just be the driver. What would you like me to do now?”

“Come on, come on,” said Edgar. He shook hs head. “Let’s get out of this mess.”

“Turn around and go back, Bert,” said Flora. She pursed her lips and looked out the window at the rows of corn.

“I didn’t lose my wallet,” Ivy continued. “I didn’t forget to take the car in for servicing before we left on a road trip.”

“Shut your yap, Ivy!” It was meant for only husband and wife to hear, but it was heard by all. A long truck barreled past them and sent the car into spasms.

Edgar got out. The arguing made him nervous. They were all friends, good friends. It had been his idea that he and Flora join the Caldwells on this trip. A holiday together. Some memories. He was well aware this might be the last one. When you got to be his age...

He looked up and down the stretch of highway. “There’s a gas station up there.” He shielded his eyes to block the sun’s glare. “I can see something up there.”

There was no response from the car. Everyone was looking out their own window, brooding.

“Looks to me like an Esso station. Drive up there and we’ll ask where this street is.” Edgar climbed back into the car, easing himself in to avoid any pain in his hip. “Let’s get this fellow his darn wallet and then we can figure out what we’re going to do about the car.”

Bert turned to look at the ladies. “Is that fine with everyone in the back seat?”

There was no response from his wife.

“Let’s go,” said Flora. She wanted to get out of the car. The humidity was making her ankles swell.

Bert started up the Buick and pulled back out onto the highway.

“There we go,” said Edgar. He gave everyone in the car an uneasy grin. “There we go now.”

Everything will be okay. Mark my words.

At one point in its existence, the gas station had been part of the Esso retail experience, but now all that remained was a mutated sign.

Grove Gas.

It read.

There were two mismatching pumps and a store with filthy windows.

But, there was air conditioning and the four were so relieved to be out of the heat, they took little notice of the business’s dilapidated condition.

“Let’s just stay here, shall we?” said Flora, looking about the dim place. She wished for an ice cream cone.

“Hey,” said the clerk behind the counter.

“You got it nice and cool in here,” remarked Edgar. He sauntered up to the counter, happy to do the talking. “We’re a bit lost.”

“Oh yeah?” Young and bleary eyed, the clerk reluctantly lifted his shaggy head from the piece of tape he was working to peel from the counter.

“We’re looking for Roger Street.”

“Nope.” The clerk squinted. “Don’t know it.”

“Do you have a map somewhere?” asked Flora. She stepped in beside her husband. “We could look on that.”

The clerk made a cursory scan of the mystery items behind the counter. “Uh, no, we don’t have any maps.”

“You don’t sell any maps and you’re a gas station?” Bert stood by the door watching for leaks under the Buick.

“’Guess we’re out.”

Things were not going as Edgar had hoped. “Is there someone else we could ask?”

“Um.” The clerk removed his ball hat and scratched his head. “I could ask my Dad, but he isn’t home.”

“Maybe you could call him,” suggested Ivy. She browsed the store shelves for something without dust on it.

“But, he isn’t home.”

They all deduced that the clerk’s father lived somewhere else.

“Do you guys know anything about car air conditioners?” asked Bert. He was finished with the wallet nonsense.

“You might try the golf course.”

“To fix the air conditioner?”

“No. They might have a map.”

“Right,” said Flora. “We’ll try that.” She came away from the counter, ready to leave. The store had a funny smell, one she could not place. It didn’t smell right. She preferred the hot car.

“There’s something wrong with the air conditioning in my Buick,” continued Bert.

“My Dad is the one who would know anything about that,” said the clerk.

“But he’s not home,” said Ivy.

“Right.”

“It sure is nice and cool in here,” said Edgar.

The golf course was nothing more than a green farmer’s field with flags. Unexpectedly, the pro shop was closed.

“Too hot, I suspect,” said Edgar. Far out on the course, they could see two figures pulling golf carts. Edgar began to walk towards them.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to ask them if they know where this blasted street is.”

“You are not.” Flora stared him down. “You’ll have yourself a heart attack walking all the way over there.”

“Or get hit by a ball,” said Ivy.

“I walk five times that every morning.”

“Not in this heat.”

“Idiots,” Bert muttered. “Out playing on a day like this.” He felt a little lightheaded and weak.

They strolled back to the deserted parking lot.

“Edgar” said Flora, “have a look in that car and see if they have a map.”

The car Flora was speaking of was the only other vehicle in the lot, a British convertible, the top down and the tan leather upholstery baking in the sun.

“Have you gone mad, woman?” Edgar looked at his wife in astonishment. “I’m not breaking into some fellow’s car.”

“You’re not breaking into it. The top is down. Just have a look in the glove compartment and see if he has a map in there.”

“Don’t be daft.”

They stood looking at the car.

“Fine.” Flora slung her handbag behind her shoulder. “I’ll do it then.”

“I’ll do it.” Bert stepped in front of her. He’d had enough now. He wanted out of the heat. He wanted to get moving, get somewhere, anywhere but a golf course parking lot in the middle of nowhere. “You three keep an eye out.”

The others scurried into lookout positions. Edgar trotted back up the path to watch for the two golfers. “All clear.”

Bert shook his head and approached the convertible. Now he was breaking into cars. He looked at the vehicle’s dash. No air conditioning problems here, he noted. No air conditioning.

Ivy impatiently waved him on. He opened the passenger door and sprung the glove compartment.

Someone would call the police. Sirens wailing, they would rush over and arrest him.

He uncovered a cell phone and a plastic bag. A thin, brown envelope which he didn’t examine and underneath it all, a pile of maps.

He glanced up at Edgar and gave him a sweaty thumbs up.

“Found some maps.”

“What kind?”

Oregon, Michigan, Ottawa. He sorted through them. Toronto. Ontario. A bus route schedule. “Hang on.” He had to urinate and cursed himself for not going at the restaurant. Unfolding the bus schedule, he found a small map of the city they were lost in. “Okay,” he confirmed. He stuffed the other maps back into the glove compartment.

“Coast is clear,” called Edgar.

Bert gently closed the passenger side door and strolled away from the convertible with the bus schedule under his arm. He took it to the Buick and spread it out over the hood.

“Here we are.” He found the lake and the road they were on. The other three joined him. “This must be the golf course where we are. Now we need to find this Roger Street.”

Hands went into pockets and purses for glasses. They scanned the small map, looking for streets that started with R.

“Here it is,” said Flora, putting her finger on it. “Roger Street.”

“Crikey, it’s right across town!”

“The bicycle fellow gave us the wrong directions,” said Ivy. “We’re no where near it.”

Bert wanted to return the map before the golfers came back. “Get a piece of paper, Ivy. We’ll write down the directions.”

His wife fumbled in her purse and pulled out the only piece of paper she could find- an old shopping list. “Now, why I have this in here, I don’t know.”

Edgar began to call out the street names and directions. It quickly filled the only available space on the shopping list.

“Not so fast.”

“This is silly,” said Flora. “It’s too much to write all this down.”

Roger Street was buried in a cluster of other small streets, a maze of intersections and turns from where they were and where they needed to go.

“Be patient,” said Edgar.

“I am patient, husband dear.” Flora slid the map out from under the men and began to fold it. “I’m just not interested in getting lost again. We’ll leave the fellow a note.”

“What fellow?”

“The fellow we’ve taken this map from.”

“We can’t take his map!”

“Of course we can. We’re lost. We’re trying to return Mr. Henry his wallet. It’s only a bus schedule map. Ivy, let’s leave him a note.”

Ivy tore off the last unused bit of her shopping list. “Dear sir.”

“Jeepers!” Edgar glanced about the parking lot for the police. “I’m not being any part of this.”

“Quiet Edgar.” Flora turned to Ivy. “We’re lost and we had to borrow your map. Ever so sorry.”

“Get us into trouble,” continued Edgar. He looked to his pal for support.

Bert shrugged. If it gets us the hell out of here.

“I’ll put our names,” said Ivy. “So he doesn’t think we’re real crooks.” She wrote in each person’s name, first and last.

“Now, we should leave him some money.” Flora opened her handbag. “Edgar, I’ve no money as usual. Give me some, please.”

“I won’t.”

“Edgar!”

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a few dollars in change which he handed to his wife. “You’re crazy, you lot.”

Bert took the money from Flora and the note from his wife. “Get the car started.”

Back to the convertible he went. He could not see the golfers out on the course which meant they were probably on their way in. The Buick roared to life behind him.

“Sorry fella,” he said. He put the note and the coins on the sticky front seat, turned and walked as quickly as his legs would take him to the car, clambering into the back seat and slamming the door.

“Hit it!”

Edgar threw the Buick into gear and stormed out of the golf course parking lot onto the highway.

Bert’s hands shook. “Holy moly.” He rolled down his window as far as it would go. “Holy moly.” His breath came in wheezes.

Beside him in the back seat, Ivy laid her head on his shoulder. She held a hand to her man’s chest and calmed him. She was proud. Apologies transferred between them through lines of communication laid over fifty-two years of marriage.

“Who would have thought, Bert Caldwell,” she tittered, “at your age, taking up a life of crime.”

Edgar drove and Flora navigated. No one complained about the air conditioner anymore. It remained off. It was hot. They rolled down every window and made the best of the breeze.

Back into town they went, past the mansions along the lake. “Turn here, Edgar,” said Flora. She had the map partially unfolded on her lap, reading it over the tips of her glasses. It flapped in the breeze. “Then you want the next right.”

The houses grew smaller as they drove further back into town and away from the lake. Those not driving surveyed the neighbourhoods. They passed a school. Cloned condos. A park and a motel called The Chipican.

“Left here.”

They passed small houses, most needing paint and clean windows. Children played on the front lawns, giggling and running through the sprinklers. The Buick’s open windows let in the laughter.

“They’re having some fun,” noted Ivy. She turned and watched a chubby girl pick up the hose and spray her friends.

“Left again.”

“Slow down, Edgar,” said Bert. All the children and the thought of one darting out into their path made him nervous. “It’s a busy area.”

Edgar made the turn Flora had directed him to. Past a vacant community centre, they uncovered the street that had eluded them for so long.

“Roger Street,” said Edgar. “That’s my girl. Good directions.”

He swung the Buick onto a narrow street, lined on one side with rows of drab townhouses. The other side held small, one story homes. A group of teenagers gathered on the driveway of one of the houses. They stared at the cruising Buick and it’s occupants. The four avoided looking back.

Flora had the wallet out of her handbag. “156 we’re looking for.”

“There’s 128,” said Ivy.

“It’s going to be on the right.”

Ivy gave the teens in the rear window a cautious glance. It was a ramshackle street, dirt and dandelion lawns and few trees.

“156. Here we are.” Edgar pulled the car to a stop in front of one of the small houses. Behind the screen, the front door was closed and the garage beside the house, one of the few on the block, was shut.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anybody home,” said Flora.

“Come on, Ed.” Bert climbed out of his side of the car. “You two ladies stay here.”

“We most certainly will not,” said Ivy, opening her door. “I didn’t come on this adventure to sit in the car when we finally get to the end of it.”

Flora got out with her. “Besides, I have the wallet.”

Clutching their purses, the two ladies marched along the cracked sidewalk and up the path to the front door. They stepped over discarded popsicle sticks and a wrapper. A plastic doll dangled in the bushes beside the front door.

Bert pressed the doorbell.

“No one home,” said Edgar. “Just our luck.”

“Try again, Bert.”

Bert passed up the doorbell. He opened the screen and rapped on the door. They could hear the buzz of an air conditioner and the teens tormenting each other down the block. In one of the townhouses behind them, a window opened with a loud squeak making them all jump.

Bert knocked again.

There was the scuffle of footsteps inside and then Robert Henry opened the door.

“Yeah?” The screen door between them was streaked with fingerprints, but the four friends could see they had found their man.

“Robert Henry, I presume?” asked Flora.

“Who wants to know?”

“Well... we were on our way over the bridge and we stopped for lunch...”

“We found your wallet, guy!” Edgar snatched it out of Flora’s hands. “You dropped it downtown and we found it.”

Robert Henry let his eyes fall on the wallet Edgar was holding. He put his hands on his hips.

“We thought we’d bring it to you.”

He stared at the four senior citizens standing on his doorstep.

“It is yours, isn’t it?”

He laughed. A deep, belly laugh erupted from Robert Henry, flashing yellow teeth not shared in his driver’s license photo. He punched open the screen door and stepped outside. “That’s my wallet.”

“Got a lot of money in there, guy. A lottery ticket, too.”

The black man took the wallet from Edgar. “That’s my wallet.” He was enjoying the absurdity of it all. “I thought I’d left it in the truck. I do that sometimes.”

“It’s a good thing we found it, then."

The four smiled and looked at each other. Robert Henry rifled through his wallet, looking for things only he could appreciate.

“You’re lucky the money is still in there, guy.”

He looked up. “You brought this all the way over here?”

“We got a bit lost,” explained Ivy. “We’re not from around here.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Nonsense,” said Flora. “You would have done the same thing.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He took out the money and counted it. “Why didn’t you just take it to the police?”

“I got outvoted,” said Bert.

Robert Henry shook his head and shut his wallet. He clutched it with two hands. “I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. We’re glad you have it back.”

“Thought it was in the truck. Didn’t even know I’d lost it.”

“Lost my own wallet once, “said Edgar. “Nasty business, trying to get everything back.”

“Let me give you something.”

“No.”

“For your trouble.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You win with that lottery ticket, guy, then we’ll split it, okay?” Edgar gave him a wink.

Robert Henry turned his head to look inside, as if he wanted to invite them in, but was embarrassed of what they might find. He turned back. “Thank you,” he said.

“The photos of your children are lovely.”

“Oh yeah?” He opened up the wallet again and flipped through the pictures himself. He held them out so they could see. “Those are my daughters. Cassie and Hannah.” He flipped a few more times.

“Lovely girls.”“They’re away for a few days with their mother.” Robert Henry closed the wallet after lingering over the last photo of his children. He slipped it into his back pocket.

“We should get going,” said Bert.

“We have a long drive ahead of us.”

“I wish there was some way I could repay you.”

Flora held up her hand. “We won’t hear of it.”

They walked back along the path to the curb. The teens down the block had started up a radio, sending thumps through the air. They reached the Buick with Robert Henry standing beside them. Even his happy smile could not hide the scowl he shot down the block.

“Where are you folks from?”

“Toronto. We’re on our way to West Virginia for a holiday.”

They settled back into their usual positions, the men up front and the ladies in the back. The black man leaned in the window. “Let me give you some gas money.”

“No.”

“Let me buy you a nice dinner while you’re there.”

“To know the wallet is back with it’s rightful owner,” said Flora, “is all we need. We’ll sleep well tonight.”

“I have to do something for you.”

“You don’t know how to fix an air conditioner, do you?”

“Bert!” Ivy slapped her husband’s shoulder.

“How’s that?”

“The air conditioner in our car is broken. We’re going to have to have it repaired.”

The look of puzzlement on the black man’s face transformed to one of amusement. Signaling with one finger for them to wait, he backed away from the car and moved to the small garage beside his house. With meaty hands, he grasped hold of the handle and rolled up the door to reveal a white van parked inside.

RH Heating and Air Conditioning - Best Service In Town.

It read.

“I just might be able to help you out.”

And then another belly laugh poured out of their new friend, drowning out the pounding music down the block.