It's cold outside, but Klempner sits on the low terrace wall wearing no more than a thin pullover.
"Want one of these?" I proffer a coffee, heavily laced with whiskey, topped with thick cream.
He startles, but then, "Thank you, James." He doesn't smile. His eyes are soft with melancholy as he stares down, watching October mist curling over the lake.
"Will you visit the grave?"
"Yes."
The single word isn't followed by any others.
"When will you go?"
"Sooner rather than later." He breathes steam and fragrant alcohol. "I'm making arrangements now. The Canadian winter arrives early and in force. It'll be under six feet of snow there very soon, and for the next several months."
"Would you mind some company?"
He twists to face me. "You want to come?"
"I'd like to pay my respects to th
