Ann was at the coffee shop when he returned to Greencastle, she left him at the table and went to the counter to order.  While they waited for the coffee they talked about the boys and he told her about the horse. She told him about the bookstore while he looked around at the coffee shop.  It was a nice place in a small college town and he noticed the music playing softly.  

 

“You Must Believe in Spring, Frank Morgan.”  Lionel said.

 

“What’s that?”  She asked and thought he meant her book.  “No, American Poetry.” She showed him the volume.

 

“I meant the music.  You Must Believe in Spring, a jazz album by Frank Morgan.  He recorded it as duets with several different pianists. Perfect for a coffee shop.”  He continued.

 

She listened a moment and nodded.  “I know that song. Only not this version.  Someone sang it.”

 

“Many have recorded it.  Tony Bennet is probably the most well known. But I like Frank Morgan.”  He said.

 

“I might agree, it’s beautiful.”  She said.

 

The counter called for their order and she left him again.  He pulled the American Poetry book to him and opened it at random.  He wasn’t much for poetry, just as she wasn’t much for jazz music. But they liked each as they could, for the sake of the other.  

 

He found a short poem, In Neglect by Robert Frost:

           They leave us so to the way we took,

              As two in whom they were proved mistaken, 

          That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook, 

          With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look, 

              And try if we cannot feel forsaken.

 

Ann set the coffee on the table.  Black Americano for him, exactly what he always had.  Sugar free vanilla Latte for her, exactly what she always had.  It was the two of them and they listened to the end of You Must Believe in Spring.