They escaped the mid afternoon sun, and stopped at the first restaurant they saw. It was a roadside diner along US-25 near the bottom of the long climb up into the mountains of North Carolina. As a teenager, Chance had ground his way up the twenty or so miles from here to the top of the pass on his bicycle. A brief pause for water at the top, then a race at absurd speeds all the way down to the base of the pass. Fifteen miles of uninterrupted descent, atop a twenty-four pound bicycle, with absolutely no hope of avoiding a collision or stopping or even really maneuvering. Chance smiled at the memory. How did he make it to adulthood alive, anyway?

At this time on a weekday, the diner was only sparsely filled, and the three men took the corner booth, with Uncle Andy in the middle. Glasses of ice water and iced tea sweated on the table, leaking streams of water, as the three men worked on the speciality of the house: pecan pie.

As was his habit, Chance studied the old man. The clothes, brightly colored, fit well on the slightly heavyset frame. The pale blue-gray eyes were clear, bright, and alert. He sat perfectly erect, and still projected a forceful presence, as if still behind the pulpit. Well into his eighth decade, Andrew Brier carried his six foot plus frame quite well.

However, he was afflicted by two dueling conditions. Alopecia areata totalis had stolen all the hair from his head, including his eyebrows and beard. Then Fate had afflicted his naked scalp with a nasty skin condition that caused it to continually flake, like a dandruff case run amok. The old man didn’t scratch his head, but rubbed it very gingerly instead. The resulting pink skull, wrinkled and blotched with white, made the old priest look something like one of those hairless dogs with a million wrinkles.

Chance removed the Nikon from its bag, and swapped a portrait lens onto it. Uncle Andy glanced back and assumed a pained expression. “Surely you have better subjects than a tired old man?”

The viewfinder zoomed in on the mature face, and flickered silently with a couple of exposures.

“Tired? Hardly. The years have left a mark, Uncle Andy. There is more information there than in younger faces.”

“Hmph.” Paul looked unconvinced. Chance swiveled the camera to capture the expression.

“I think I like painting or drawing better. Gives the artist a chance to improve on the subject,” he said.

Chance lowered the camera, and placed it into the bag. “Art isn’t reality. It’s filtered. Photographs reveal what is real. With art, you can add or subtract too much. You end up seeing only a portion of what really happened.”

Paul shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to remember every detail from today. I’d kind of like the memory to fade, and only have the good stuff in my head.”

Uncle Andy interjected, “Come now Chance, photography is an art, too. Pictures can be manipulated, too.”

Chance shook his head. “Sure, you can emphasize or minimize stuff. But pictures don’t lie. They reveal more than they conceal.”

He replaced the lens cap, and inserted the camera into its compartment. The ever-present camera bag was placed on the floor. All three took a sip from their glasses. Uncle Andy grasped their wrists and squeezed.

“It is great to see you boys! I’m glad I made it in time for the interment. It was important for me to see you – and say goodbye to Beth.” A brief break in his voice, at the mention of their mother’s name.

He shook an admonishing finger at both of the younger men, “I am disappointed that it took you so long to fulfill Beth’s last request.” The words were belied by the happy smile still on the priest’s face.

Paul and Chance shrugged in unison, a bit uncomfortably.

A faraway look entered the old gray eyes. “I’m truly sorry I wasn’t here when Bruce passed away. I..”

A flash of forgotten puzzlement erased Chance’s thoughts. “Mom was very upset about that. I remember her saying how disappointed she was that you weren’t there. She kept looking around, hoping to see you.”

Paul nodded.

The old face wrinkled into a sad smile. “I cannot offer either of you – or Beth – an adequate explanation. I simply was not able to be here.” The voice trailed off.

Paul said, “It’s OK, Uncle Andy. We’re sure you were doing missionary work or something.” He glared at Chance.

Chance fiddled with his glass. Uncle Andy’s absence had caused quite a bit of consternation. Mom was beside herself anyway. He had overheard several of her desperate conversations on the phone. Mom had never really forgiven Uncle Andy.

The old man wasn’t actually their uncle at all. He had been their father’s best friend, and then their mother’s best friend. He’d met Pop in college at Florida State in Tallahassee, and there was an ongoing joke that he had been courting Mother and lost her to Pop. He’d been best man at the wedding, though that was more of an elopement than a true wedding.

Uncle Andy shook off the sadness and speared an enormous bite of pie with his fork. “Everything going smoothly? No creditors yelling at you for Beth’s debts or anything like that?”

Chance asked, “What’s not to go smooth? As Lynryd Skynryd said, ‘Old preacher said some words, and we chunked him in the clay.’ Well, ‘her’ in this case.”

Paul and Uncle Andy both winced. Uncle Andy put his fork down, and touched Chance’s forearm lightly. “Son, you have always had a bizarre sense of humor. I say that in the most affectionate way possible.” He picked the fork back up and used it as a pointer, “Are you going to finish that?”

“No, by all means, go ahead, Uncle Andy”. Paul slid his untouched second piece of pie over next to the three plates already stacked in front of the older man.

“Let me tell you, there is no better place on Earth than the Carolinas for pee-can pie!”, Uncle Andy beamed as he drank the remainder of his saccharin sweetened tea. “This place reminds me of a favorite place of mine – I always stop there when I drive back and forth between the house and my old parish. Right off US19 in North Carolina south of Plymouth. I first stopped there back in the late 1950s.” The old man’s eyes misted over in memory. Then he winked at them both, “Pie’s better here, though it’s close.”

Paul interjected, “What are you up to now? Last we heard, you’d retired a couple years ago, and took up golf or something. You live in Florida, now? When did you leave Maryland?

Andy smiled broadly, and patted his bald pink pate. “Come on, you know I couldn’t do that! I hate golf, and everything about it. Fishing, too. And shuffleboard. And cruises. I am not going to go act like all the other blue hairs just because I live amongst them. Besides, I clearly don’t qualify.” He rubbed his naked scalp and grinned.

“However, yes, I am officially retired now. I consult with the Bishop from my old parish from time to time. I do a little stuff on the side. Helping out as best I can.”

“And what would that be?”, asked Chance.

“Oh nothing. Just connect friends with other friends. Keep my ear to the ground. You know, stuff like that. How about you two? Paul, you still building? Chance, congratulations on that cover! Your talent is formidable.” Another fork of pie. “I’m sorry I lost touch with you two in the last few years.”

Chance was startled, “Wow! I just won that, it’s not even published yet. How’d you know about that already?”

“I have some friends in the industry, sent me a couple of drafts. You’ve always had one hell of an eye, my boy.”

The conversation meandered around old times and people, living and dead. Catching up was bittersweet, considering the reason they were together again.

The restaurant started to fill up, and even Uncle Andy couldn’t cram more pie into his stomach. They left for the motel on Poinsett Highway, and stood in the parking lot, next to the older man’s giant black Lincoln. The heat was intense, the air above the black asphalt shimmered like water.

“Listen, boys, here is my card with my current contact information”, he handed business cards to Paul and Chance.

“On the back is my unlisted cell number. If there is anything – anything at all – you need me for, please call me. I have your promise?”

Both younger men nodded. “One final thing”, Uncle Andy looked intently at both Chance and Paul, “You’re sure that you’re alright? No problems I can help you with? Anything when you cleaned out Beth’s house? All paid off, no problems? No creditors? Nobody snooping around the place?” He laughed derisively, “You know how creditors can be. Dying is not a reason for missing a payment.”

“She died four years ago,” Chance said. “We cleared all that up back then – not that there was much left at that point.”

Paul nodded, and the older man sighed, “Well, I’m glad it’s coming out OK here at the end. I loved Bruce and Beth, and I love you guys, too. Remember, I’ll always be there for you, no matter what.”

Chance fished out the camera yet again, “I think we need a pic of the three of us – who knows when we’ll all be in the same place at the same time again?”

He place the Nikon on the car’s roof and peered in sideways to memorize the frame. Then, he maneuvered Paul and Uncle Andy in front of him, said, “Smile!” and pressed the remote control shutter. The camera took five quick photographs.

With that, the three exchanged an awkward hug, and Paul and Chance watched the older man climb into the large car, and race off. Turning North toward the mountains.

The two younger men walked slowly toward the entrance.

“I think we ought to go out and find something interesting to do,” Paul said.

“Sure, haven’t been here in years. Perhaps we can go over to Borderline and see who’s playing tonight.”

Paul had always been more socially adept than Chance, and though TR was Chance’s alma mater, it was Paul who found a dive with a decent bar and music. The band was too loud, and the guitars just a little too distorted to actually communicate anything much. But that wasn’t the point, anyway.

They stayed and didn’t talk, and looked at the girls until Paul had cut one out of the herd and, with Chance driving, brought her back to the motel. He winked at Chance.

“I think we need to engage in some life-affirming sex.”

The girl giggled beneath her brown cowboy hat.

A puritanical streak had always infected Chance, and it was irritating to have to be chauffeur to one of Paul’s one night stands. Those not being one of his strengths, Chance was self aware enough to detect envy when it surfaced. Thank god for Katie.

Luckily they weren’t in adjacent rooms, so he wouldn’t be forced to listen to the acrobatics all night.