nothing.
They were riding along the shady streets of Anoka, heading toward Main.
"You hungry?" Chris asked.
"No."
"I am. Mind if I stop for a burger?"
No response. He went through the drive-in window of the Burger King and ordered two cheeseburgers, two fries and two Cokes. Once the food was smelling up the truck, Joey turned to watch Chris unwrapping his sandwich.
"I guess I am sorta hungry," he admitted.
. .
..
ú .
l "Help yourself."
Eating burgers and fries, they cruised down Main Street onto Highway 10, then headed north toward Ramsey township. In no time at all they were out in the country between cornfields and stretches of woods, where silos stuck up on the horizon and the hot crackle of summer could be felt expanding things all around.
Grains bowed in the breeze and crows flapped across the blue sky.
On a barbed-wire fence hung a sign advertising hybrid corn. Along a farm driveway a child rode a bicycle. A woman was putting a letter in her rural mailbox and putting up the red flag. A young boy about Joey's age was sitting on a lawn chair in the shade of a pickup truck with a sign that said FIRST CROP GREEN BEANS. A farmer on a tractor was mowing weeds in the ditch ahead of them, spreading the sweet green scent of grass and clover.
That damned old life again--just rolling on.
"How old are you?" Chris asked.
"Fourteen--why?"
"So you haven't got your driver's permit yet."
"You're a cop--you should know."
"Sure I do. Wanna drive?"
Joey's eyes got wide. His back came away from the seat. "You kidding?"
"No, I'm not kidding."
"Won't you get in trouble?"
"What do you intend to do, wreck the thing?"
"No--heck, no--I'd be careful."
"All right then . .." Chris pulled onto the shoulder. When the gravel stopped rasping, he got out and circled the truck. Joey slid across the front seat and Chris climbed into the passenger seat.
"Adjust the seat if you need to, and the mirror, too. Have you driven before?"
"A little."
"Ask, if there's anything you don't know."
Joey drove cautiously but well. He gripped the wheel too hard and sat with his shoulder blades six inches away from the backrest, but he stayed on his half of the road and kept the speedometer steady at fifty.
Chris reached over and turned on the radio.
"You like country?"
"Yeah."
Travis Tritt was singing "Trouble."
About seven minutes later Joey asked, "Could I turn onto that road?"
It was narrow, gravel.
"You're driving."
Brooks & Dunn started in on "Boot Scootin' Boogie."
About five minutes after that, Joey asked, "Can I turn again?"
"You're driving."
They listened to one by Reba McEntire and one by George Strait before Chris asked, "You know where you're going?"
Joey dared remove his eyes from the road for the first time.
"No."
Chris chuckled and hunkered down in the seat with a knee wedged against the dashboard. "Sounds good."
They ended up in a little ghost town called Nowthen, got their bearings and made their way back to State Highway 47, where Chris had to take over the wheel. Back in Anoka, Main Street was all but deserted, except for the hot dog wagon, which never seemed to have any business.
Passing it put Greg sharply back into both their minds. Chris drove the length of Main and swung past the police department, glancing at the squads backed up near the door. Joey glanced, too, and again Greg was in their thoughts.
Joey remained silent until Chris pulled up at the curb in front of the Reston house. For once there weren't a half dozen cars in the driveway--just Lee's, Janice's and Greg's. Chris reached over and turned down the radio. Joey sat despondently, staring out the windshield and saying nothing.
Finally he said, "I think he came to every game I ever played in.
I just keep thinking all the time, Who'll come to my games now?"
"I will," Chris told him.
Joey turned only his head. He studied Chris glumly but made no reply.
His eyes looked sheeny.
Chris dropped a hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna do okay,
They were riding along the shady streets of Anoka, heading toward Main.
"You hungry?" Chris asked.
"No."
"I am. Mind if I stop for a burger?"
No response. He went through the drive-in window of the Burger King and ordered two cheeseburgers, two fries and two Cokes. Once the food was smelling up the truck, Joey turned to watch Chris unwrapping his sandwich.
"I guess I am sorta hungry," he admitted.
. .
..
ú .
l "Help yourself."
Eating burgers and fries, they cruised down Main Street onto Highway 10, then headed north toward Ramsey township. In no time at all they were out in the country between cornfields and stretches of woods, where silos stuck up on the horizon and the hot crackle of summer could be felt expanding things all around.
Grains bowed in the breeze and crows flapped across the blue sky.
On a barbed-wire fence hung a sign advertising hybrid corn. Along a farm driveway a child rode a bicycle. A woman was putting a letter in her rural mailbox and putting up the red flag. A young boy about Joey's age was sitting on a lawn chair in the shade of a pickup truck with a sign that said FIRST CROP GREEN BEANS. A farmer on a tractor was mowing weeds in the ditch ahead of them, spreading the sweet green scent of grass and clover.
That damned old life again--just rolling on.
"How old are you?" Chris asked.
"Fourteen--why?"
"So you haven't got your driver's permit yet."
"You're a cop--you should know."
"Sure I do. Wanna drive?"
Joey's eyes got wide. His back came away from the seat. "You kidding?"
"No, I'm not kidding."
"Won't you get in trouble?"
"What do you intend to do, wreck the thing?"
"No--heck, no--I'd be careful."
"All right then . .." Chris pulled onto the shoulder. When the gravel stopped rasping, he got out and circled the truck. Joey slid across the front seat and Chris climbed into the passenger seat.
"Adjust the seat if you need to, and the mirror, too. Have you driven before?"
"A little."
"Ask, if there's anything you don't know."
Joey drove cautiously but well. He gripped the wheel too hard and sat with his shoulder blades six inches away from the backrest, but he stayed on his half of the road and kept the speedometer steady at fifty.
Chris reached over and turned on the radio.
"You like country?"
"Yeah."
Travis Tritt was singing "Trouble."
About seven minutes later Joey asked, "Could I turn onto that road?"
It was narrow, gravel.
"You're driving."
Brooks & Dunn started in on "Boot Scootin' Boogie."
About five minutes after that, Joey asked, "Can I turn again?"
"You're driving."
They listened to one by Reba McEntire and one by George Strait before Chris asked, "You know where you're going?"
Joey dared remove his eyes from the road for the first time.
"No."
Chris chuckled and hunkered down in the seat with a knee wedged against the dashboard. "Sounds good."
They ended up in a little ghost town called Nowthen, got their bearings and made their way back to State Highway 47, where Chris had to take over the wheel. Back in Anoka, Main Street was all but deserted, except for the hot dog wagon, which never seemed to have any business.
Passing it put Greg sharply back into both their minds. Chris drove the length of Main and swung past the police department, glancing at the squads backed up near the door. Joey glanced, too, and again Greg was in their thoughts.
Joey remained silent until Chris pulled up at the curb in front of the Reston house. For once there weren't a half dozen cars in the driveway--just Lee's, Janice's and Greg's. Chris reached over and turned down the radio. Joey sat despondently, staring out the windshield and saying nothing.
Finally he said, "I think he came to every game I ever played in.
I just keep thinking all the time, Who'll come to my games now?"
"I will," Chris told him.
Joey turned only his head. He studied Chris glumly but made no reply.
His eyes looked sheeny.
Chris dropped a hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna do okay,
Similar Books
