Frank’s room on the way.
I don’t particularly like figs, but I’m thinking it might cut the taste of sour mash that still clings to my teeth and tongue. I bite into the fig, and my mouth is instantly flooded with sweet, delicious juice.
I hear the sound of boots on the porch then, and there’s a heavy knock on the front door.
Lordy-God, who the hell is that?
It must be 9:30 p.m. at least, Frank thinks as his hand goes to his belt. No gun. He walks to the door and Louie careens into his legs, almost tripping him.
“Louie!” Cassidy calls out and comes after his dog.
“He’s all right,” Frank says. He takes hold of Louie’s collar and opens the door a crack.
“Not too late, I hope?”
It’s that crazy preacher lady grinning at him in that ridiculous Smokey Bear hat of hers, sure of her welcome even at this hour. “Well … it
is
kind of—”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Dott Pringle says, and grins past Frank at Cassidy like she isn’t sorry at all. “I’m just now through at church, and I did so want to pop in and say a word of welcome to your nephew, Frank. And who’s this little fellow?” She settles onto her ample haunches to pat Louie. “What a cutie you are!” Louie’s whole body wriggles with enthusiasm.
Frank sighs.
Was there ever a woman as annoying as this one?
She drives him crazy. Frank met her at a get-together at the Russos, and ever since she seems to think they’re the best of friends. Dott is somehow connected to a tent-house church called Perfect Peace, or something like that. It arrived in town some weeks past. Frank doesn’t care much for any sort of religion, and certainly not one that has the pig-headed arrogance to house itself in a traveling tent.
And there’s something else about the woman that bothers Frank; something he can’t quite put his finger on.
“Cassidy, this here’s Dott Pringle.” Cassidy shakes her hand. “Dott, this is my nephew, Cassidy, and his pup, Louie.”
She’s a sight, Frank is thinking, a strapping woman with that damned hat planted on top of her mussed up grey hair. She’s wearing denim shorts, a Mackinaw jacket, and dirty logging boots. The woman puts him off, and it isn’t just the clothes. Plenty of women in rural Diablo dress like men. But this one … she’s more masculine than most of the men he knows.
“Preacher-lady,” Frank says to Cassidy.
“Perfect Peace,” Dott says, and Cassidy nods as if that explains everything. Frank has to smile.
In a few minutes, he has everyone settled down at the kitchen table. Lester mops off the tabletop and sits down as well. Common courtesy tells Frank he should offer something to drink. He suggests beer, and damned if everyone doesn’t accept.
Dott is a talker. She acts like some kind of TV interviewer asking Cassidy so many questions, Frank thinks his nephew will surely beg off answering. But no, the boy seems actually pleased with this chat.
“Did you leave a brokenhearted girl or two in Oregon?” Dott asks.
“I left a girl, but she wasn’t exactly brokenhearted,” Cassidy says with a laugh.
Now there’s a thing he hadn’t known, Frank realizes. She also asks him about his job in Eugene.
“A nothing job. It wasn’t hard to leave it.” He glances at his uncle with a rueful smile and Frank figures he might have been canned. “I drove a lumber delivery truck and helped out in the yard.”
He’ll have a good long talk with the boy, Frank decides. All he’s really found out about Cassidy is that he has some time for this trip to the valley and that he has a new dog.
“Where did Louie go?” Frank asks then, interrupting the others.
“I let him out,” Cassidy says, nodding toward the back door.
Frank’s hand goes to his belt again. No gun. “Bad idea,” he says.
“He won’t run off,” Cassidy says.
“This place is new to him.”
Frank stands quickly and goes to the back door. He takes his gun and holster down from a hook near the door and buckles
I don’t particularly like figs, but I’m thinking it might cut the taste of sour mash that still clings to my teeth and tongue. I bite into the fig, and my mouth is instantly flooded with sweet, delicious juice.
I hear the sound of boots on the porch then, and there’s a heavy knock on the front door.
Lordy-God, who the hell is that?
It must be 9:30 p.m. at least, Frank thinks as his hand goes to his belt. No gun. He walks to the door and Louie careens into his legs, almost tripping him.
“Louie!” Cassidy calls out and comes after his dog.
“He’s all right,” Frank says. He takes hold of Louie’s collar and opens the door a crack.
“Not too late, I hope?”
It’s that crazy preacher lady grinning at him in that ridiculous Smokey Bear hat of hers, sure of her welcome even at this hour. “Well … it
is
kind of—”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Dott Pringle says, and grins past Frank at Cassidy like she isn’t sorry at all. “I’m just now through at church, and I did so want to pop in and say a word of welcome to your nephew, Frank. And who’s this little fellow?” She settles onto her ample haunches to pat Louie. “What a cutie you are!” Louie’s whole body wriggles with enthusiasm.
Frank sighs.
Was there ever a woman as annoying as this one?
She drives him crazy. Frank met her at a get-together at the Russos, and ever since she seems to think they’re the best of friends. Dott is somehow connected to a tent-house church called Perfect Peace, or something like that. It arrived in town some weeks past. Frank doesn’t care much for any sort of religion, and certainly not one that has the pig-headed arrogance to house itself in a traveling tent.
And there’s something else about the woman that bothers Frank; something he can’t quite put his finger on.
“Cassidy, this here’s Dott Pringle.” Cassidy shakes her hand. “Dott, this is my nephew, Cassidy, and his pup, Louie.”
She’s a sight, Frank is thinking, a strapping woman with that damned hat planted on top of her mussed up grey hair. She’s wearing denim shorts, a Mackinaw jacket, and dirty logging boots. The woman puts him off, and it isn’t just the clothes. Plenty of women in rural Diablo dress like men. But this one … she’s more masculine than most of the men he knows.
“Preacher-lady,” Frank says to Cassidy.
“Perfect Peace,” Dott says, and Cassidy nods as if that explains everything. Frank has to smile.
In a few minutes, he has everyone settled down at the kitchen table. Lester mops off the tabletop and sits down as well. Common courtesy tells Frank he should offer something to drink. He suggests beer, and damned if everyone doesn’t accept.
Dott is a talker. She acts like some kind of TV interviewer asking Cassidy so many questions, Frank thinks his nephew will surely beg off answering. But no, the boy seems actually pleased with this chat.
“Did you leave a brokenhearted girl or two in Oregon?” Dott asks.
“I left a girl, but she wasn’t exactly brokenhearted,” Cassidy says with a laugh.
Now there’s a thing he hadn’t known, Frank realizes. She also asks him about his job in Eugene.
“A nothing job. It wasn’t hard to leave it.” He glances at his uncle with a rueful smile and Frank figures he might have been canned. “I drove a lumber delivery truck and helped out in the yard.”
He’ll have a good long talk with the boy, Frank decides. All he’s really found out about Cassidy is that he has some time for this trip to the valley and that he has a new dog.
“Where did Louie go?” Frank asks then, interrupting the others.
“I let him out,” Cassidy says, nodding toward the back door.
Frank’s hand goes to his belt again. No gun. “Bad idea,” he says.
“He won’t run off,” Cassidy says.
“This place is new to him.”
Frank stands quickly and goes to the back door. He takes his gun and holster down from a hook near the door and buckles
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