Somber light muted the spring colors in the valley but didn’t slow a group of rowdy swifts that darted and swooped in my yard after a hatch of insects so tiny I couldn’t see them. I’d spent the intervening time getting my strength back after what Philip dubbed “the spring swim in Lake Claxton.” I got my arm checked out and redressed at an urgent care center in Newberg and drove on into to Wilsonville to have the back window in my car replaced. I was having a second cup of coffee when Archie’s squeals and yelps marked the arrival of Santos Araya, who’d come on his spring vacation. He was dressed for work this time—faded jeans, beat-up sneakers, and a paint-spattered sweatshirt. Maturity had begun to sculpt his body, but innocence still clung stubbornly to his face. His dark eyes were wary, although perhaps less so than the first time we met. I poured him a glass of orange juice and told him how lucky he was that I was injured. “Otherwise, I’d thrash you on the basketball court.”
