Текст книги "Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good"

Автор книги: Jan Karon

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Susan, Joe, Avice and Wilma Faye Are Taking Care of Our Own. Are You?

Dear Vanita, here is a pic of a bag of trash I picked up on the road to Farmer. I power walk out there which is crazy because I could get killed in a heartbeat. If people are not driving on the shoulder they are driving in the middle of the road and saying it’s because they pay taxes on both sides!

Anyway, by the time I get home I have usually picked up about seven pounds of garbage thrown out by cretans (I looked this up, it fits exactly), otherwise known as rednecks. Yours sincerely and go, Panthers! Susan Glover, age 56, Rural Route 4

Hi I am Joe Zwieback like the toast. Here is a picture of me from last year’s two-foot powder blowing snow off the walk of somebody who did not have a shovel, a blower or even a job. You cant see me for the snow flying but that is my dog Howdy a real trooper—me and him moved down here from Minnesota for the climate ha ha. Thank you.

Vanita honey

I am setting here on my loveseat with little Lisa May who is two. I am taking care of Mitford by taking care of Lisa May whose mother my next door neighbor on route four has to work two jobs. My great grandson Buddy who is twelve took this picture on his phone and printed it out at school. I am also taking care of Buddy for my DIL who is PG and works for NCDOT. So that is my 2 cents worth. Thank you and God bless you. Avice Porter

I am nine yers old and taking care of Mitford by being nice to people who don’t even deserve it. My Sunday School teacher says don’t worry about being nice to people who deserve it—that is easy. So here is a picture of me being nice to somebody (he is the blur on the right) who threw his stupid YUKKY lunch bag in our yard. I very nicely asked him to pick it up but when he didn’t I chased him down and gave him a whipping he will NOT forget. Yours truly, Wilma Faye Barkley, Dogwood Lane

Hessie Mayhew opened the door and stuck her head in.

‘Just wanted to say that is not my Helpful Hint in today’s paper, I hope you know that.’

‘I figured,’ he said.

‘While my Hints come from personal experience, she gets hers from a book. Who washes their bottles anymore? Do you wash your bottles?’

‘I don’t really have any to wash.’

‘You see? Useless, outdated information!’

The door jangled shut, and opened again to admit Esther Cunningham, who had broken out in a smattering of her old blotches.

‘When you were down at th’ church,’ she said, ‘we mostly saw you in th’ pulpit and out runnin’. Now you’re right here in one spot where we can get at you—in a manner of speakin’.’

He grinned. ‘I feel pretty gotten at, all right. How are you, Esther?’

‘I’m thinkin’ of pitchin’ my hat in again. What do you think?’

‘Do you really want all that commotion?’

‘I like commotion. I miss commotion. I operate on commotion.’

‘What does Ray think?’

‘He thinks I’m a nut case—what else is new? You reckon there’d be any opposition? Andrew Gregory says he wouldn’t run against me, provin’ what a brilliant thinker he is, after all.’

‘You were certainly one of the best . . .’

‘One of th’ best?’

He laughed. ‘You’re tough.’

‘I am not tough. I’m soft as th’ inside of a cathead biscuit, that’s why I was a good mayor. I don’t want you to talk about this, you hear? I want to keep it off th’ street ’til I’m good ’n ready.’

‘Got it. What would be your platform?’

‘Lord only knows. You think th’ old one still works?’

‘In my opinion, it’s working as we speak.’

‘We might need somethin’ fresh. Ray’s messin’ with it, he’s good at that. You know I’d have to hammer th’ merchants. They’re goin’ to sleep at th’ wheel.’

‘Hammering the merchants is your long suit.’

‘Can I count on you?’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said. In truth, he was perfectly happy with Andrew Gregory’s administration.

‘What improvements do you think we need? I’m doin’ a limited survey. Very limited.’

‘The trail behind the hospital,’ he said. ‘A waste of good real estate. Overgrown, littered with debris. Isn’t that town property?’

‘It was deeded to th’ town in 1927. Twelve acres. The American Legion laid out th’ trail in ’52.’

‘Needs attention. That done, people will use it for the right reasons.’

‘I think it’s time to raise taxes. I promised I’d never raise taxes, but that was then, this is now. That dog won’t hunt anymore.’

‘What will we do with the tax dollars?’

‘Parkin’, for one thing. We’ve got to have it.’

‘Where would we put it?’

‘I say tear down Evie’s old house, put it on Main.’

‘I don’t know, Esther, you’ll have a fight on your hands.’

‘No pain, no gain.’

‘People are getting interested in the plan for an inn on that spot.’

‘Do we need parkin’ worse than we need six rooms with smelly potpourri and four-poster beds? I ask you! Main is th’ only place that makes sense. Otherwise parkin’ has to go to th’ old shoe barn—too far away, then we have to provide shuttles.’

‘There could be some traffic congestion if you put it on Main.’

‘We’d run ’em in on Main and out on Maple.’

‘Maple is a mighty narrow street. And what about charging for parking? You know locals don’t want to pay for parking.’

Esther gave him a look for which she was noted. ‘You let me handle it, Father.’

‘Glad to!’ he said.

•   •   •

‘DARLING! Any business up there?’

‘Spotty,’ he said.

‘You have a hundred and seventy-four votes.’

‘Never-ending.’

‘I need peppermint tea. Can you stop by the Local?’

‘Absolutely. What else?’

‘Two lemons. Lace will join us for lunch on Saturday. Peppermint is her favorite. Now. I have two great surprises.’

He had never enjoyed surprises, but people continued to foist them on him.

‘Guess who has a kitten?’

‘Not Violet.’

‘We do. Sammy brought it over. Wait ’til you see it.’

‘Sammy? A kitten?’

‘He said it needed a good home. Sammy seemed different, somehow. More . . . thoughtful, maybe. Something . . . I think it was the kitten, he was very tender with it.’

‘What kind of kitten?’

‘White as chalk with one black ear. Adorable. I was making the pimiento cheese for Lace’s visit and Sammy brought it over in a box. So I gave him a grilled cheese and we closed the door to the hall and put the kitten on the floor and he was perfectly at home.’

‘It’s a he? How does Violet feel about this?’

‘We don’t know yet. She’s on top of the refrigerator, where she goes to think things through.’

‘Do I need to drop by the hardware for a litter box?’

‘Sammy brought one.’

Sammy Barlowe had put two and two together? In this lifetime? Unbelievable!

‘I named him Truman.’

‘For Harry?’

‘For Truman Capote, who threw a famous Black and White Ball.’

‘Aha.’

Their big life was getting bigger by the minute.

‘So here’s the other surprise. Someone I think you will like very much is walking up to see you right now.’

‘Who?’

She laughed. ‘It’s a surprise.’

•   •   •

‘FATHER TIM?’

The priest held forth his hand. Blue eyes. A dazzling smile. Ruddy cheeks. Muscles, even.

No introduction needed. He threw his arms around Father Brad and slapped him on the back, jubilant.

‘Are we ever glad to see you!’ he said.

Chapter Nineteen

Snow.

He stood at the window and watched it fall, listening to Vivaldi’s ‘Winter.’

Unpredicted precipitation had begun around ten this morning—a thin offering which he thought would soon be over. But it had increased in volume and beauty and at eleven-thirty the town was vested in white.

Abe sailed by the window, threw up his hand, headed across to the post office. Mitford School had closed an hour ago; he saw buses ferrying home those they had recently delivered. He wondered whether the inveterate reader runs for a book when it snows, or if snow itself is entertainment enough.

A car nosed into a parking space across the street. Someone with mighty long legs was getting out, then waiting for traffic to pass. Beautiful, he could see that.

Good Lord! It was Lace.

Flashbacks of Lace teaching Harley about buffalo, and bark canoes. Lace bleeding from the lacerations to her back. Lace kneeling in the street beside his badly injured dog . . .

He hurried to the curb, glanced both ways, and met her halfway.

‘Thanks, Father! What a welcome committee!’

Snow in her hair, on the shoulders of her coat.

‘I left at six this morning,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy to be home. It’s lovely—like a Christmas card.’

Inside, he helped her out of her winter wrappings—coat, scarf, gloves—as proud as any father. Lace Harper wasn’t a girl anymore; she was a young woman at ease in her skin.

‘I decided to stop and see you first, Olivia’s in a meeting ’til one.’

‘Great to have you home. How about a cup of tea?’

‘Tea! You have tea!’

He had bought two boxes of peppermint—one for Happy Endings, just in case. He plugged in the kettle.

‘Do you like running the bookstore?’

‘Absolutely. And all for a good cause.’

‘Dooley says you and Sammy and Harley are redoing the rose garden at church.’

‘Can’t wait for you to see it next spring. We’re pretty excited.’ He put a tea bag in a cup.

Barnabas got up and made his way to the one who, with Dooley, had saved him from certain death after the hit-and-run incident.

‘Barn! You look so handsome in your bandanna. I’ve missed you.’

Barnabas received her affections, sniffed her boots, sprawled at her feet.

‘How did you know what you wanted to do with your life, Father? I’m constantly trying to figure that out.’

‘I’m not sure I figured it out. I was chiefly motivated by the notion of changing my father’s heart if I became a priest.’

‘Did you change his heart?’

‘I don’t think my priesthood ever mattered to him in the way I hoped it would. God knows. What do you want to do with your life?’

‘If . . . Dooley and I get married, I would like to work in the practice with him. But would that be . . . I don’t know, enough?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I wonder about making a commitment to the practice and then discovering it isn’t enough. I love art, I feel I chose the right major, but I don’t feel I have the luxury of becoming an artist. I should probably just learn to make a mean roast chicken with fingerling potatoes.’

‘You can make roast chicken and pursue your art, one doesn’t exclude the other.’

She smiled. ‘But if I pursue my art, would there be money for roast chicken?’

‘You have a point.’

‘I don’t know. I hope I’m not wasting my time in this major.’

‘God will use it for good, is my guess. He doesn’t like to waste anything; he’s thrifty as a New Englander.’

‘If . . .’ she said again, but didn’t finish the thought. ‘We’d like to have children. Four, actually.’ Her cheeks colored. ‘There would be geese and goats and chickens—and Dooley is talking about cattle and the children could have horses. Think of all the fertilizer for the fields and garden! And there’s that wonderful pond and the big creek and the woods . . . we want the whole hundred acres to be chemical-free. We know we can’t save the world, but we can be kind to our hundred acres.’

Here was a veritable cornucopia of information. Clearly, Lace was the go-to on such matters of the heart, not Dooley.

He was grinning like a kid. ‘If anything were ever enough,’ he said, ‘that should be it right there.’

‘In the end, it all seems too much to contemplate. And it’s such a long time to . . . finalize things. Dooley has to finish college, then four years of vet school, and I have two more years . . .’

She put her hand to her forehead. ‘I just don’t know . . . the world is so big and the opportunities so totally endless. You and Cynthia have always helped me figure things out . . .’

‘Maybe it’s too soon for you to try and figure things out. Know that God has a plan for your future. Watch and wait for his timing, and when it comes, hitch a ride. You’ll know.’

She sighed, gave him one of her ravishing smiles. ‘You’re right. I’m always fretting over something.’

‘Let’s have another look at your ring. Oh, yes. Beautiful!’

‘It’s a friendship ring.’

‘Right.’

‘Which leaves everything between us wide open. I really wanted a ring that, you know, said this is one thing, at least, that’s for sure, we can face all the unknown stuff together.’

He had no salve for this.

‘At the same time,’ she said, looking brighter, ‘I’m glad for it to be a friendship ring.’

‘Good!’

‘Because he is my best friend—most of the time. And I really work on that being enough. People tell us to wait, not to get married while he’s in vet school, there’s a lot of divorce in vet school. But six years . . .’

‘When we were in Ireland, you and Dooley had a conflict.’

‘I punched him. That was bad, I know it was bad. That’s what was done to me, so it’s what I learned to do, but I know it’s wrong and I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s no excuse, but he was making me crazy with being late, sometimes for hours.’

‘He and I had that issue.’ He handed her the cup of steaming tea. ‘Drove me nuts. Maybe it’s because he never had any control over what was happening to him as a boy. Being late was somehow a way of taking charge. Is he doing better?’

‘Yes. He knows that making people wait is wrong, just like I know that punching him is wrong. We struggle, Father. Instead of acting out the old stuff we were brought up with, we’re trying to create our own relationship. Something . . . brand-new.’ Her amber eyes were flecked with green.

‘You love him, I can see it.’

‘More than anything.’

That alone should be enough, he thought, but of course it never is. Courage has to come in there somewhere, and perseverance and forbearance and patience and all the rest. A job of work, as Uncle Billy would say, but worth it and then some.

•   •   •

IT WAS CHILLY in the store. He left the wool scarf wound about his neck.

He had just unwrapped his sandwich when an older couple came in, holding hands. He didn’t often see people holding hands these days.

‘Ralph Henshaw!’ said the man. ‘Retired from vacuum cleaner sales in Ohio to the comparative ease of the mountains of North Carolina!’

‘Ralph, Tim Kavanagh.’ They shook hands.

‘My wife, Delores.’

‘Call me Dot,’ she said.

‘Happy to see you. How may I help this morning?’

‘Well, for several months, Dot and I have considered a move from First Baptist in Wesley to one of your fellowships in Mitford, Lord’s Chapel being a strong consideration. From what I’ve heard from my golf buddy, a lot of Baptists become Episcopalian, though Episcopalians strongly resist becoming Baptist.’

‘I would agree with that,’ he said.

‘We thought a bookstore would be a neutral place to ask a few questions about your local churches.’

‘Glad to help,’ he said.

‘One thing I’m wonderin’ is if real wine at communion has anything to do with th’ drinkin’ those people are famous for.’

‘There’s a thought.’

‘I certainly don’t believe grape juice does the job,’ said Ralph.

‘Me neither,’ said Dot.

‘But I do wonder if a taste of the real thing at the altar is what gets them started in the first place. Anyways, Dot and I figure we’re old enough to take a little vino and not let it affect our entire lives.’

‘Right,’ said Dot.

‘I’ve heard those jokes about Baptists,’ said Ralph, ‘how they won’t speak to you in the liquor store, and some of that is true . . .’

‘Definitely,’ said Dot.

‘Truth is, us Baptists like a little shooter now and then, just not right out in your face with every Tom, Dick, and Harry lookin’ on.

‘Now, here’s the big consideration. We’ve heard that Episcopalians can be more than a little on the stiff side. I have to tell you, we tried that crowd over in Sandusky, but only one time. It was the solemnest-looking bunch we ever came across. Right, Dot?’

‘Really,’ said Dot.

‘Here’s what else I heard. The other Sunday your pastor down at Lord’s Chapel cried. Right out in front of everybody. Not talkin’, not preachin, just bawlin’. That might be a little liberal for us. So we thought if things don’t work out down there, how about the Presbyterians?’

‘Talk about solemn,’ he said.

•   •   •

HE COULDN’T STOP LAUGHING.

‘What’s going on?’ said Abe.

‘I just realized I had my scarf . . . around my neck . . . and they couldn’t see my collar . . .’

‘That’s funny? No. You want funny, have you heard the one about Rabbi Goldman and the Brooklyn Bridge?’

He was starved for laughter; it was a feast he didn’t want to end.

•   •   •

EACH TIME HÉLÈNE’S MANDATE came to mind, he rejected it. He had no idea what to do; it was out of his hands entirely. As for their work this week at the church, it had gone well enough. Sammy hadn’t balked, nor had he talked. He was silent, did his work, took the occasional direction, gave the occasional curt suggestion. There was no indication that the scene at the hospital had happened.

Hélène Pringle’s intentions may have gotten through to Harley, who watched Sammy like a hawk and demanded that any spitting be done outside the Sunday school, period, no matter if it was in ‘serious bad shape.’ An alpha Harley was a marvel to witness.

•   •   •

MARCIE GUTHRIE DID THE BOOKKEEPING, handled their online business, and ordered the inventory, which gave him time to actually read a book. He had heard of booksellers who never read, and didn’t care to be one.

He had to find a book for himself, one to look up from when someone came in. ‘Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it,’ P. J. O’Rourke had said. He must stick that on the corkboard.

He was turning from the window when he saw the limo heading south on Main. He threw up his hand, waved, heard the horn as the car passed from view. K.D. would be going down the mountain with her monogrammed glasses case, retrieved yesterday from Lew Boyd.

After a separation of sixty-two years, Kim Dorsay had just spent four days with her twin sister. He and Cynthia had seen them last night at dinner, which Kim had cooked in the rented lodge in the hills. It had been a pretty phenomenal meal, strictly Italian, with a goodly quantity of Prosecco. He’d told Uncle Billy’s basic repertoire, begging their pardon for its hopeless rusticity, and they had all done a good bit of laughing. Kim clued them in on people he’d never heard of, except possibly Dustin Hoffman.

In the end, he and Cynthia shared the odd feeling that they’d gained a sister or two, themselves.

•   •   •

MISS MOONEY OPENED THE DOOR and blew in with the snow.

‘Just letting you know you won’t be troubled with us today, Father. We are dispersed!’ She shook out her wool cap, unleashing a tangle of curls.

‘Hooray for snow days. How is Hastings coming along?’

‘He loved the new book he bought and is saving for another, so we must put our thinking caps on. He’s been out for a few days. Low-grade fever, I’m told, not eating or drinking.’

‘An interesting boy, to say the least. I see our new reader is making progress.’

‘Coot is very quick. His reading skills simply pop out and astonish me. An odd thing—he’s frightened by the capital letter!’

‘A candidate for e. e. cummings, perhaps?’

They had a laugh.

By teaching Coot to read, Miss Mooney had reminded him of something rather wonderful—there really was balm in Gilead.

•   •   •

‘THE POWDER PIG HAS ARRIVED, but no chunder and no chicken necks, please.’

‘Chunder and chicken necks?’

‘Ski talk! Snow does that to me. I was in such a hurry the other day, thought I’d come in and be civil.’

Father Brad indicated his gear—wool scarf, jeans, hiking boots, hat, fleece-lined jacket. ‘Vestments for Rite Three. What’s going on today, Father?’

‘You’re the most we’ve had going on in some time. What do you think of our village now that you’ve been around the block, so to speak?’

‘Looks to be all apple and no worm.’

‘How about a good bit of apple, and definitely some worm?’

‘We’ll all be human together, then.’

‘I just made a fresh pot of coffee . . .’

‘Half a cup, thanks, I’m meeting a realtor here in twenty minutes. Leaving for Colorado first thing in the morning, wanted to touch base again. Where’s Barnabas?’

‘Not in the display window, too cold. Probably on the heat vent at American History. We’ll rattle his treat bag.’

Barnabas appeared, yawning. He thought his dog looked especially freewheeling in the red bandanna. Father Brad squatted, took something from his jacket pocket. ‘You’re a wise and handsome fellow. See what you think of this—organic oatmeal with spelt flour.’

Barnabas took it at once. Down the hatch. Two chomps.

‘He likes it!’ he said.

‘It’s what I give my girl at home; bake ’em myself. Daisy’s around four years old, looks forward to moving to Mitford.’

‘Her breed?’

‘Mongrel, like the rest of us.’ Father Brad powered to his feet like a jack-in-the-box.

‘Did you find a place?’

‘Not yet. I looked at a couple of rental houses yesterday, but I’m starting to think an apartment.’

‘We don’t have apartments in Mitford.’

They sat on stools at the coffee station.

‘Just as well, parishes don’t trust priests in apartments, even interims. Too fly-by-night. They prefer clergy strapped with a mortgage and a lawn to keep mowed. By the way, I hear you’re doing this gig pro bono.’

‘I feel I owe the owner for the experience. How did you find things down the street? I hear you’re good at damage control.’

‘I’m the guy with a shovel who follows the elephants.’

‘I don’t envy you.’

‘My vision for Lord’s Chapel goes beyond trying to help clean up the Talbot business. I’d like to put together a really strong Youth Group, but I haven’t seen any youth around.’

‘They’re definitely here. I have one over at my place, he’s trouble enough to be an entire group all by himself.’

‘What age?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘I was at my worst at seventeen. I went from punching out a cop and spending time in juvenile detention to stealing a car and selling dope. I was ballistic. Finally got my act together, made it through four years of college with pretty good grades, and joined the military—I was surprised they’d have me. It changed everything.’

Father Brad peeled out of his wool scarf.

‘I’ll be coming to Lord’s Chapel at an awkward time all around. In addition to the Talbot business, there’s January—party’s over, people can be a little edgy, depressed. Anyway, thought I’d make a quick reconnaissance to Mitford and get a few ducks in a row so everything doesn’t hit at once. Pray for me, if you will.’

‘Consider it done. And know that you can call on me at any hour.’

‘Thanks, that means a lot. My wife, Kate, would have loved it here. I lost her two years ago, she was my life. So I lost my life and had a hard time getting it back. The good news is, the trauma of losing her led me into a whole new relationship with Christ, a higher place than I’d gone before. Maybe we can only go as high as we can go deep. But enough!’

‘Marine Corps, the bishop says.’

‘Semper fidelis. Twenty-three years old, saw my first action in Cambodia. Intelligence told us it would be a cakewalk—small weapons, a couple dozen enemy. We lost thirty-eight men—Marine, Navy, Air Force—in less than twenty-four hours. When I’m asked to give my testimony, I’ve been known to give it in two words: Koh Tang.

‘When I get back to Mitford and the dust settles, I’d like to tell you how I ended up in a collar. I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of hearing your story.’

‘I look forward to it. So what is your Rite Three?’

‘Skiing. Hiking. White-water rafting. Trout fishing.’ Father Brad’s smile would light up a room. ‘I’m a mountain guy all the way, with two beautiful daughters and four grandkids who love this stuff, too.’

‘We’ll be proud to have you and Daisy,’ he said.

‘And seven gardenia trees in containers. I’m haulin’ those babies out here personally. Tropical plants that love heat and humidity, and what do they get from me? Mountain winters.’

Father Brad rewound the scarf around his neck and gave him what was known as a bear hug. ‘I’m proud to be called into the good company of this parish. He has set my feet in a spacious place.’

A brother in the cloth, somebody to hammer things out with. The camel caravan from Gilead appeared on the horizon, saddlebags filled. Balm galore.

•   •   •

HE WAS GOING TO CALL HOPE when she rang the store.

‘Are you all right?’ he said.

‘A little bleeding, but Dr. Wilson isn’t worried. All appears to be well, though I’m not to be up and doing.’

‘What about your sister, Louise? Can she come for a visit?’

‘Her work schedule is frightful. Soon, she says. I miss her.’

‘Family can be good medicine.’

‘I’m thankful for my Mitford family. Avette Harris is knitting an entire layette. With her left eye wandering as it does, she says she wouldn’t trouble herself with such vexation if she weren’t certain our baby will make it.’

‘Good on Avette.’

‘I must tell you that lying here has given me an awful burden of thinking.

‘The first thing, Father—will you pray for where I’ll stay during the month in Charlotte, before the baby comes? I’ve hesitated to ask because we ask so much of you already.’

‘Prayer is never too much to ask. Consider it done.’

‘Thank you from my heart. The other thing is . . . I’d like to do something for someone. People do so much for me that I can never repay their kindness. Scott has been given a wonderful raise at Hope House and I’d like to hire Coot. Three days a week, four hours a day.’

‘Ah!’ There was a beaming face if he ever saw it. ‘To do what, exactly?’

‘To do anything you wish . . . clean, carry out the trash, go to the store, take packages to the post office. And I’m sure the display windows could use a good washing. It would give a bit of relief to you and Marcie and Miss Pringle, but mostly, Father, it would give Coot the chance to be around books. He loves books.’

‘Very useful thinking!’ he said. ‘Yes, indeed. We should all take to bed for a dose of useful thinking!’

•   •   •

THE SIDEWALKS WERE SHOVELED, the town crew was on it. The snow, however, was still coming down. He arrived home with a box of organic popcorn, to find preparations under way in the study.

The DVD player had its own remote, a notion he didn’t take to.

‘See this button?’ said Puny. ‘It says On. Now, see this button? It says Play.’

‘One thing at a time, please.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, see this button? What does it say?’

The type was minuscule and on a black background, no less. Did the maker not consider the buying power of the senior citizen? Was this stuff produced chiefly for small children with 20/20?

‘My glasses,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get my glasses.’

‘They’re on your head,’ she said. ‘Okay, what does it say?’

‘On.’

‘Great! Push it.’

He pushed it. A green light.

‘It works!’ said his wife.

‘Next, you’ll hit Play.’

‘Let’s see, where is Play?’

‘Right here, right next to On.’

No wonder he never did this stuff, it was humiliating.

‘And here’s Pause. If you want to, you know, let Barnabas out or anything.’

‘We’ll never use Pause,’ he said, decisive. ‘And maybe you should leave it on so all we have to do is hit Play?’

‘If you say so. Lord help!’

‘Where’s the movie?’

‘Here,’ she said, handing him the thing. ‘Put it in right there.’

‘Where?’

‘Hit Open.’

A tray slid out.

‘Now put the disc in.’

‘Which side up?’

Puny was ready to pack up and go home, possibly for good. His wife appeared to be taking a nap with Truman.

•   •   •

THIS WAS THE COOLEST THING they’d done ‘in ever,’ as Sassy might say.

A forty-two-inch screen was a lot of real estate, and Kim Dorsay knew how to occupy it. They lounged on the sofa, mesmerized. How could they have just had dinner with this person who had shucked garlic like a pro?

The phone rang. He leaned to the end table and checked the caller ID. Georgia. But he didn’t know how to work the Pause thing.

‘Hit Pause,’ he told his wife.

‘Where is it?’

‘Somewhere around Off and On. Hey, buddy.’

‘Hey, Dad, I found your truck. Two years old, long bed, stick shift, leather seats, nineteen thousand miles, and you’re not going to believe this . . .’

‘Try me.’

‘It’s red.’

‘Man!’

‘Everything you wanted but crank windows. The windows are automatic.’ Dooley told him the price. ‘I checked that with the Blue Book. On the money.’

‘Where did you find it?’

‘The Internet. It’s about sixty miles from you, in Hendersonville. You could ride over with Harley. But you need to move fast—the price is right, it’s clean, it won’t last long. I’ll email photos, the owner’s contacts, everything.’

‘Good job,’ he said. ‘Maybe next week. First thing.’

The thought of buying a truck was a whole other feeling from that of buying a car. He was grinning like a mule eatin’ briars.

‘What did I miss?’ he said to his wife, who had obviously not located Pause.