Karen pulled up to the gates of the imposing fence, now complete and standing guard at the entrance to the drive of Isaiah's house. Honking the horn impatiently, she watched for Isaiah to come around from the back. The front door was still blocked by piles of unpacked boxes visible through the un-curtained windows. "Izzy, Izzy," Karen muttered. "What am I going to do with you, boy?" She saw him come around, still in the same old jeans and T-shirt, but his hair was neat and combed, and his face was clean and shaved. "Umm ummm ummmm, looks good to me." She smiled as he climbed into the passenger side of the beat up Chevy truck. Karen watched as he slammed the door and fastened the seatbelt tight enough to almost be an insult. Okay, add woman drivers to the list of paranoia‟s next to airplanes. "If ya‟all don‟t put a hustle on, I‟m gonna to have to come over "n un-pack them thar boxes fur ya." Karen put on her thickest country drawl and listened to his laughter in response. It was a wonderful sound. "Sorry, I‟ll get right to it, ma‟am." He smiled and took her hand, kissed it, and winked. His mood was brighter than it had been earlier in her kitchen. Maybe a nice warm shower was all he needed after all. She pulled her hand away and turned back out onto the street, heading into town at country speed, always fifteen miles faster than the posted speed limit. That was the unwritten rule of the back roads. "Slow down." His smile remained plastered on his face but his right hand held onto the handle of the door and the other was clenched tightly in his lap.