Bare Bones Read Online Free PDF Page B

twos and threes, balancing paper plates and cans of beer.

    Many wore athletic caps. Many smoked cigars.

    A group of children played horseshoes outside a barn that hadn’t seen paint since Cornwal is marched through. Others chased each other, or tossed bal s and Frisbees back and forth.

    A bluegrass band had set up between the house and barn, at the farthest point permitted by their extension cords. Despite the heat, al four wore suits and ties. The lead singer was whining out “White House Blues.” Not Bil Monroe, but not bad.

    A young man materialized as Katy and I were adding our chairs to a semicircle facing the bluegrass boys.

    “Kater!”

    Kater? It rhymed with “tater.” I peeled my shirt from my sweaty back.

    “Hey, Palmer.”

    Palmer? I wondered if his real name was Palmy.

    “Mom, I’d like you to meet Palmer Cousins.”

    “Hey, Dr. Brennan.”

    Palmer whipped off his shades and shot out a hand. Though not tal , the young man had abundant black hair, blue eyes, and a smile like Tom Cruise’s inRisky Business.He was almost disconcertingly good-looking.

    “Tempe.” I offered a hand.

    Palmer’s shake was a bone crusher.

    “Katy’s told me a lot about you.”

    “Real y?” I looked at my daughter. She was looking at Palmer.

    “Who’s the pooch?”

    “Boyd.”

    Palmer leaned over and scratched Boyd’s ear. Boyd licked his face. Three slaps to the haunch, then Palmer was back at our level.

    “Nice dog. Can I get you ladies a couple of brews?”

    “I’l have one,” Katy chirped. “Diet Coke for Mom. She’s an alckie.”

    I shot my daughter a look that could have frozen boiling tar.

    “Help yourself to chow.” Palmer set off.

    Hearing what he thought was a reference to his bloodline, Boyd shot forward, yanking the leash from Katy’s hand, and began racing in circles around Palmer’s legs.

    Recovering his balance, Palmer turned, a look of uncertainty on his perfect face.

    “He’s OK off the leash?”

    Katy nodded. “But watch him around food.”

    She retrieved the leash and unclipped it from the col ar.

    Palmer gave a thumbs-up.

    Boyd raced in delighted circles.

    Behind the main house, folding tables offered homemade concoctions in Tupperware tubs. Coleslaw. Potato salad. Baked beans. Greens.

    One table was covered with disposable aluminum trays mounded with shredded pork. On the edge of the woods, wisps of smoke stil floated from the giant cooker that had been going al night.

    Another table held sweets. Another, salads.

    “Shouldn’t we have brought a dish?” I asked as we surveyed the Martha Stewart country-dining assemblage.

    Katy pul ed a bag of Fig Newtons from her purse and parked it on the dessert table.

    I did some eye rol ing of my own.

    When Katy and I returned to our chairs the banjo player was doing “Rocky Top.” Not Pete Seeger, but not bad.

    For the next two hours a parade of folks stopped by to chat. It was like career day at the junior high. Lawyers. Pilots. Mechanics. A judge. Computer geeks. A former student, now a homemaker. I was surprised at the number of CMPD cops that I knew.

    Several McCranies came over, welcoming us and expressing thanks for our coming. Palmer Cousins also came and went.

    I learned that Palmer had been a fix-up through Lija, Katy’s best friend since the fourth grade. I also learned that Lija, having completed a BA in sociology at theUniversity ofGeorgia , was working inCharlotte as a paramedic.

    Most important of al , I learned that Palmer was single, twenty-seven, aWakeForest biology grad currently employed with the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service at its field office inColumbia,South Carolina .

    And a McCranie’s regular when he was back home inCharlotte . The missing piece in why I was now munching on pul ed pork in a clover field.

    Boyd alternated between sleeping at our feet, racing with varying aggregates of children, and working the crowd, attaching himself to whoever looked like the easiest