doesn’t remind me of you in the least, but she makes me think about you. Strange. I wish you were here to explain it to me. Along with a million other things.
I’ll close now. I wish I could hold you. I will, one of these days. I miss you. No one ever missed anyone so much, my Patricia.
Your loving husband,
Crow.
Leaning closer to the remaining embers, he squinted to re-read the letter. Taking an envelope from the box, he folded the paper into it, sealed it, and addressed it with just her name .
When it landed on the smoldering remains of the fire, it lay still for a moment. Smoke quickly curled around its edges. It writhed. Darkness smeared the center, spreading outward. Suddenly it burst into flame with the sound of a weary sigh.
Soon after it burned out Crow retrieved the bucket of water standing a few yards away. He sluiced the coals, the hiss sinister in the rush of darkness. After muddling the ashes and further watering he retreated to the Airstream. He paused at the door for a last look at the infinity of stars. He told himself she was reading his letter already; she’d be happy for him because tomorrow he’d be headed for the next - better - place.
Chapter 9
Major leaped ashore at the rasp of lakeshore gravel under the inflatable’s bow. Crow threw him a line. Growling enthusiasm, the dog grabbed it and hauled. Crow hopped over the side. The change of weight sent Major lunging backward so fast Crow had to dodge to avoid being run over by his own boat.
Hoisting the vessel onto the bed of the pickup, he told Major, “I think after a zero-nibble morning I deserve a better breakfast than cereal. We’ll drive to town, come back here, hook up, and shove off. What do you say?”
Major grinned and panted.
Taking that for a yes - and with images of Martha’s food dancing in his head - Crow washed up, changed into a clean shirt and fresh levis. In town he slipped Major a handful of kibble with an apology. “You’ll get a real breakfast back at the campsite, okay?”
The bribe disappeared as if inhaled.
Martha looked up at Crow's entry and smiled. He waved back, noting her white-on-white sweater and blouse and the black skirt. With her gray hair tied back he thought she looked fit for a portrait. She greeted him with pleased surprise. “You decided to stay a while.”
“Just for breakfast.” He added, "You look nice this morning - made me think of Norman Rockwell."
"Oh, my. I've seen a lot of his paintings. What a nice compliment. Thank you.'" Then, in a determined return to character, she sniffed. “Darn it, Crow, you ought to settle someplace. Here would be good; you could say nice things to me all the time. All this traveling - pretty soon you won’t even remember where you’ve been.”
“A person can do too much remembering.” It was said pleasantly, but Martha’s hand rose in an involuntary gesture as though she’d touch him. Instead, she indicated a table. Handing him a menu, she left with a troubled frown.
Half-way through a stack of buttermilk pancakes Crow thought might be light enough to hang in midair, he looked up to see George Weathers bearing down on him. Crow tried to convince himself he wasn’t the target. George’s determined advance left no doubt. He stopped directly across the table from Crow, both hands on the back of a chair, statesman-like. Bib overalls, aloha shirt, and a baseball cap drained most of the dignity from the image. He said, “Have you considered settling here, Mr. Crow? Crow is your last name, isn’t it?”
Crow sipped his coffee. “No and yes.”
“Oh.” George’s manner lost some of its starchy forcefulness. “Oh,” he said again, “I get it. No, you haven’t considered settling here and Yes, your last name’s Crow.”
Crow nodded and continued eating.
George said, “Mind if I join you for a minute?” and slipped into the chair too fast to leave room for choice.
Martha appeared with a coffee carafe. Crow detected a touch of
I’ll close now. I wish I could hold you. I will, one of these days. I miss you. No one ever missed anyone so much, my Patricia.
Your loving husband,
Crow.
Leaning closer to the remaining embers, he squinted to re-read the letter. Taking an envelope from the box, he folded the paper into it, sealed it, and addressed it with just her name .
When it landed on the smoldering remains of the fire, it lay still for a moment. Smoke quickly curled around its edges. It writhed. Darkness smeared the center, spreading outward. Suddenly it burst into flame with the sound of a weary sigh.
Soon after it burned out Crow retrieved the bucket of water standing a few yards away. He sluiced the coals, the hiss sinister in the rush of darkness. After muddling the ashes and further watering he retreated to the Airstream. He paused at the door for a last look at the infinity of stars. He told himself she was reading his letter already; she’d be happy for him because tomorrow he’d be headed for the next - better - place.
Chapter 9
Major leaped ashore at the rasp of lakeshore gravel under the inflatable’s bow. Crow threw him a line. Growling enthusiasm, the dog grabbed it and hauled. Crow hopped over the side. The change of weight sent Major lunging backward so fast Crow had to dodge to avoid being run over by his own boat.
Hoisting the vessel onto the bed of the pickup, he told Major, “I think after a zero-nibble morning I deserve a better breakfast than cereal. We’ll drive to town, come back here, hook up, and shove off. What do you say?”
Major grinned and panted.
Taking that for a yes - and with images of Martha’s food dancing in his head - Crow washed up, changed into a clean shirt and fresh levis. In town he slipped Major a handful of kibble with an apology. “You’ll get a real breakfast back at the campsite, okay?”
The bribe disappeared as if inhaled.
Martha looked up at Crow's entry and smiled. He waved back, noting her white-on-white sweater and blouse and the black skirt. With her gray hair tied back he thought she looked fit for a portrait. She greeted him with pleased surprise. “You decided to stay a while.”
“Just for breakfast.” He added, "You look nice this morning - made me think of Norman Rockwell."
"Oh, my. I've seen a lot of his paintings. What a nice compliment. Thank you.'" Then, in a determined return to character, she sniffed. “Darn it, Crow, you ought to settle someplace. Here would be good; you could say nice things to me all the time. All this traveling - pretty soon you won’t even remember where you’ve been.”
“A person can do too much remembering.” It was said pleasantly, but Martha’s hand rose in an involuntary gesture as though she’d touch him. Instead, she indicated a table. Handing him a menu, she left with a troubled frown.
Half-way through a stack of buttermilk pancakes Crow thought might be light enough to hang in midair, he looked up to see George Weathers bearing down on him. Crow tried to convince himself he wasn’t the target. George’s determined advance left no doubt. He stopped directly across the table from Crow, both hands on the back of a chair, statesman-like. Bib overalls, aloha shirt, and a baseball cap drained most of the dignity from the image. He said, “Have you considered settling here, Mr. Crow? Crow is your last name, isn’t it?”
Crow sipped his coffee. “No and yes.”
“Oh.” George’s manner lost some of its starchy forcefulness. “Oh,” he said again, “I get it. No, you haven’t considered settling here and Yes, your last name’s Crow.”
Crow nodded and continued eating.
George said, “Mind if I join you for a minute?” and slipped into the chair too fast to leave room for choice.
Martha appeared with a coffee carafe. Crow detected a touch of
Similar Books
