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when you talked, like everything you said was fascinating. I wondered if that made him a good agent.
    I told him that I didn’t have any plans as yet, that there were nice things about living in Pinecob.
    â€œThe town is called Pinecob?” Joshua asked. “What’s that all about?”
    â€œJ.P.,” Judy said. “Please.”
    â€œI’m just asking,” he said.
    â€œI don’t know where the name comes from,” I told him. “Pine trees, maybe. It’s just a small town. I imagine there are lots of small towns with funny names out there.”
    â€œOf course there are,” Judy said, and Lars nodded.
    â€œHas your family been around here for long? You know, I’m from Virginia,” Lars said. “Northern. Close to D.C.”
    I nodded, to both parts.
    â€œMy father’s family is from Elkins, down south a bit. That’s where Susan, my sister, lives. My mother’s family is from close to Charleston, the capital—not Charles Town,” I explained. “Charles Town is just the county seat. But that’s probably more than you wanted to know.”
    â€œNot at all,” Lars said, though I thought I saw Joshua roll his eyes. “What business is your father in?” Lars asked.
    I heard Judy take a quick breath. She knew more about me than either of the men, and I imagine she was worried that I was going to feel uncomfortable, telling practical strangers about my life. But I didn’t mind. I couldn’t remember anyone asking before. That’s the thing about a small town—everyone already knows your story. It’s kind of nice to say it out loud every once in a while.
    â€œMy dad died when I was fourteen,” I explained. “But he was in the insurance business. Life insurance.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Lars said.
    â€œYou must have cleaned up after that.”
    I looked over at Joshua, but I couldn’t read his expression. I couldn’t tell whether or not he was being nice.
    â€œWhy? Oh, because he would have a big policy? Yeah, you’d think that, but they say it’s like doctors smoking. He didn’t leave much of anything.”
    â€œBut that’s awful,” Judy said. “I didn’t realize.”
    â€œWait—your dad was a life insurance salesman and he didn’t have life insurance? Rude!” Joshua sounded annoyed.
    â€œHe had some,” I explained. “But it only covered the funeral costs. Anyhow, we’re okay. He had good health insurance, so most of my brother Beau Ray’s care is covered from here on out.”
    â€œBeau Ray?” Joshua asked.
    â€œBrother,” Judy said.
    â€œYeah, I got that,” Joshua said. He poured himself more wine. “What’s wrong with brother Beau Ray?”
    â€œHe had a fall. Years back. He was playing touch football, no helmet, and he fell and hit up against a rock. For a while, the doctors said he was probably going to die, but he made it, only he’s disabled.”
    â€œDisabled how?”
    â€œJ.P.,” Judy hissed.
    â€œI’m just asking,” he said. He sounded defensive.
    â€œNo, it’s okay. It’s not a secret. My dad always said that families shouldn’t have secrets—except around the holidays, you know, with presents and all,” I said.
    I told them—we talked about it pretty much through dinner and on into coffee. Judy and Lars kept asking for details. Joshua Reed didn’t say much, but he did offer to refill my wineglass once, after refilling his own. I told them about Beau Ray and how he was more like a six-year-old than a twenty-nine-year-old, and how that wasn’t likely to change for the better. I told them about Tommy doing construction up and down the Shenandoah. I told them about Susan and her three kids and her husband, Tim, who drove a truck down in Elkins. I told them about Momma and her job as a receptionist in a dentist’s office and