Long after Jack had started losing his reading glasses to the top of his head, he kept his keys and wallet on a chain hanging from his belt, and he could drive that El Camino like it had an autopilot switch right beside the ignition. He put on his sunglasses and checked the rear-view mirrors. Easing his way out of the neighborhood, he waved at neighbors and neighbors waved back and he was just happy to be out for a drive. He might not remember where he was going or why, but he drove down to his appointment at the Silver Spoon entirely through muscle memory and old habit.

  While it is true that the cream of broccoli was Jack's favorite, he wasn't particularly fond of the green onions that the cooks used for a garnish. He preferred the shredded carrots they put on it at the Brown Bear in San Bernardino. Green onions gave him heartburn. And while he should probably have a salad, he thought the half sandwich seemed sturdier. A BLT was practically a salad with a toast handle. A salad on a side of toast. Then Jack remembered a diner scene from an early Jack Nicholson movie and was muttering through the scene when Lisa walked up. “You have a toaster back there, don’t ya?”

  “Well, hey there, Jack! You want toast or something?”

  “Nah, Lisa.” He chuckled. “Five Easy Pieces,” he said, tugging his earlobe.

  “Five slices of toast, Jack?” She threw her arm around him, giving him an awkward sideways hug as she slid into the booth and set her pad on the table. “What's the special occasion?”

  He didn’t want toast, but she talked too fast. “No toast, Lisa.” He scowled down at the menu. She was right though; he was at Sancho’s Silver Spoon for a reason. “Well, you know what?” he laughed to himself. “I can't remember.” No matter how hard he tried, the anniversary was a complete blank. It was circled on the calendar and had something to do with the black box incident. He struggled to remember the events that culminated with his arrival in Arroyo Grande over fifty years prior. “I'll bet I could change the world if I could just remember what I came here for.”

  Lisa laughed. “You and me both.”

  Jack watched as his old friends ran along the front of the restaurant, ducking below the cars parked out front. He thought to wave to them, but they might not be able to see him anyway. “Well, now,” he tugged his earlobe and scowled at the menu, wondering why the Tough Guys Club just skittered through his mind. They had something to do with it. Little Jynx and her hotrod flame-painted flying saucer.

  “You still need a minute, Jack?”

  He glanced up at her and laughed again, remembering the paint job he'd done half a century earlier. “What's your soup today, Lisa?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Still minestrone, Jack.”

  The minestrone was fine, but a little tinny-flavored. Although he didn't mind the little seashell pasta they put in it, he couldn't get over the feeling that he was eating canned soup. “Hmmm.”

  Lisa watched a pair of plates go up in the window. “Hold that thought, sweetie.” She hopped up and bustled to the pass-through.

  As Jack watched the Tough Guy Club practically shitting their pants in front of the restaurant, he glanced up to see his old friend Kenny “Don't quit” Vickers. They met not long after Jack arrived in Arroyo Grande and the two of them spent some hours looking for that saucer back when Mr. Vickers was just a kid named Kenny who needed someone to believe him.

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  “Kenny don't quit” he used to say. He was a tenacious little kid. But he grew up and got all uptight when he went off to school. This guy came back years later, the academic with the mustache and the little alien trinket shop, rolling slowly through the parking lot. This guy was as much fun to be around as a bag of lukewarm coleslaw. Maybe he had always been a little nervous, Jack reminisced; poor little guy was always coiled to spring.

  In an increasingly rare moment of clarity, the man who had called himself Jack for over fifty years, suddenly understood who had called the feds in the first place. So, little Kenny Vickers had finally dropped the dime on him after all. Just as Jack was steeling himself to stand and confront the pint-sized snitch, he caught sight of Lisa's cleavage as she bustled across the dining room towards his table, and it was enough to distract him momentarily. He smiled involuntarily.

  “Easy Jack,” she chirped. “I told you I was coming right back.”

  He scowled past her, but she pushed him back into the booth.

  “Now, Lisa.” He muttered. “I gotta warn Jynx.”

  “You know my little Indigo Child?”

  Jack pointed towards the pair, hunkered down against the bumper of a land yacht parked in the handicap spot, but Lisa wasn't paying attention.

  “She's not your granddaughter or anything, is she?”

  Jack pointed again as Austin peered around the fender to check for little Kenny in his creepy minivan. What a disappointment that kid Kenny Vickers turned out to be. Austin dodged for the front door of the Silver Spoon, followed closely by Jynx, and Jack sighed heavily.

  “Well, lemme get something started for ya, hon, and then you can show me all the baby pictures.”

  It was happening. The Tough Guy Club was headed back to the saucer. It was happening right now, and he was sitting in a booth at Sancho’s, deeply confused at having to place his dinner order.

  “You said something about a chicken salad sandwich and a cup of soup, right?”

  Hold the chicken salad, he heard Jack Nicholson say. Lisa picked a bit of lint off of his shirt. He glanced at her cleavage momentarily and thought about the green onion garnish on the cream of broccoli and how a sandwich is a salad with a toast handle. “Hold the chicken salad,” he mumbled.

  “I can do a turkey Waldorf sandwich if ya like, Jack.”

  Frustrated that he had been gently thwarted from his plan, he saw the picture of the half sandwich and cup of soup beside the senior menu page and ordered that, just to move Lisa along. “Yeah, yeah,” he scowled out the window, certain that he had been about to do something important. He noticed his little buddy Kenny driving around in his handicap van, looking for parking. He was all grown up now, with that mustache. Jack remembered when Kenny finally moved back home and started that little curiosity shop in the mall there. For some years, Jack had been meaning to stop by and have a look around. The kid had been so proud of it.

  By the time Lisa returned with his plate, he was fondly reminiscing on the months he had spent searching for the saucer with the very young Kenny Vickers. He was a good kid, just wound too tightly. Lisa arrived with his half a turkey Waldorf and a cup of minestrone. Jack glanced down at his plate with both confusion and disappointment. “Minestrone?” He asked.

  Lisa laughed. “All day long, Jack.”

  Jack picked up the soup spoon and stirred the contents of the cup. He didn't mind the little seashell noodles, but there was a tinny flavor to it that made it taste canned. “And a chicken salad sandwich?”

  “Turkey Waldorf, hon.” She patted his shoulder in the annoyingly placating gesture that Jack recognized as pity. “You wanted me to hold the chicken salad.”

  Jack glanced up and caught sight of her chipper smile and unfortunately efficient cleavage. He remembered the old movie again and smiled, doing his best Nicholson impression. “Yeah, hold it between yer knees.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Jack.”

  He laughed and withdrew his napkin from the table, placing it in his lap.

  Lisa patted his shoulder. “Let me know if there's anything else, hon.” But she bustled away before he had a chance to complain.

  Jack nodded and glanced down at his soup. What he wanted was the cream of broccoli soup that they served down at the Brown Bear. They had a better garnish.