while I'm gone. I mean it, Tygue. The voice was suddenly stern, and his eyes met hers with a promise.
It's okay, Mom. As though he were a thousand years old. And then suddenly the staccato honking of his car pool, and she could see the big yellow Jeep in the driveway.
They're here!
Gotta go. See ya! The spoon flew, a last grab at the toast, his favorite cowboy hat, a stray book on the table, a wave as she blew him a kiss, and he was gone. As she took another swallow of coffee, she couldn't help wondering what he was up to, but whatever it was, Tillie could handle it. She was a large, grandmotherly, affectionate woman, but she had been a widow for too many years herself to take any nonsense from Tygue. She had brought up five boys and a daughter, managed a ranch by herself for years before finally turning it over to her eldest son, and she had been baby-sitting for Tygue since he was born. She was rough and ingenious, and they had a marvelous time together. She was a real country woman, not an immigrant like Kate. There was a difference, and probably always would be. Besides, Kate was a writer, not a woman of the kitchen and garden. She enjoyed the country around her but she still knew little about it
She looked around the kitchen for a minute before grabbing her jacket and handbag, wondering what she'd forgotten. She felt a strange tug this morning, as though she shouldn't be going. But she was used to that too. She no longer listened to those feelings. She just steeled herself and went Tillie was unquestionably reliable. She shrugged into the jacket and looked down at her slacks. They still fitted her as they had eight years before when she'd bought them after modeling them. They had been beautiful then and were still beautiful, a soft caramel-colored gabardine, and the jacket was a tweed she had worn riding years before. The only thing new was the pale blue sweater she'd bought in town. She smiled again as she thought of what Tygue had said about what she wore. She liked looking pretty for Tom. She almost wondered if she should make more of an effort for Tygue too. But at six? That was crazy. What did he know? Or did he? The thought of dressing up for a six-year boy made her laugh as she walked out to the car.
She put her mind into automatic pilot all the way up to Carmel, and it turned out to be one of those days when she stayed on automatic throughout the day. The road had been tedious and all too familiar, Tom was dull and listless, the day turned foggy. Even the lunch was one she'd had hundreds of times before. Some days with Tom stood out like rare gems, their facets gleaming and brightly hued, casting rainbows of dancing light. Other days were dark and cold and had the taste of ash. And some days she felt nothing at all. Today she felt nothing, except fatigue as she left. She was anxious to hit the freeway as soon as she could, and drive back to the little house in the hills, and Tygue, and the silly sad-eyed basset hound who had become a member'of the family. She had missed them all day. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. The speedometer hit well over ninety as she drove home. It often did, but she seldom got caught Only twice in six years. The trip was so boring, only shortening it by speeding made it bearable. Now and then a pang of conscience toward Tygue would make her slow down, but not often. Fifty-five was intolerable. She cruised at eighty-five most of the time.
It was almost five as she drove, still too fast, over the back roads that led to the house. Why had she had this damn uneasiness all day? She ground across the gravel on the driveway, keeping an eye out for the dog, but anxiously combing the area around the house for Tygue. And then she saw him, and smiled as she stepped on the brakes and slid into park. He was filthy and smiling and beautiful and she had been crazy to worry. What the hell was wrong with her? She made the trip all the time. What had made her think that anything would be
It's okay, Mom. As though he were a thousand years old. And then suddenly the staccato honking of his car pool, and she could see the big yellow Jeep in the driveway.
They're here!
Gotta go. See ya! The spoon flew, a last grab at the toast, his favorite cowboy hat, a stray book on the table, a wave as she blew him a kiss, and he was gone. As she took another swallow of coffee, she couldn't help wondering what he was up to, but whatever it was, Tillie could handle it. She was a large, grandmotherly, affectionate woman, but she had been a widow for too many years herself to take any nonsense from Tygue. She had brought up five boys and a daughter, managed a ranch by herself for years before finally turning it over to her eldest son, and she had been baby-sitting for Tygue since he was born. She was rough and ingenious, and they had a marvelous time together. She was a real country woman, not an immigrant like Kate. There was a difference, and probably always would be. Besides, Kate was a writer, not a woman of the kitchen and garden. She enjoyed the country around her but she still knew little about it
She looked around the kitchen for a minute before grabbing her jacket and handbag, wondering what she'd forgotten. She felt a strange tug this morning, as though she shouldn't be going. But she was used to that too. She no longer listened to those feelings. She just steeled herself and went Tillie was unquestionably reliable. She shrugged into the jacket and looked down at her slacks. They still fitted her as they had eight years before when she'd bought them after modeling them. They had been beautiful then and were still beautiful, a soft caramel-colored gabardine, and the jacket was a tweed she had worn riding years before. The only thing new was the pale blue sweater she'd bought in town. She smiled again as she thought of what Tygue had said about what she wore. She liked looking pretty for Tom. She almost wondered if she should make more of an effort for Tygue too. But at six? That was crazy. What did he know? Or did he? The thought of dressing up for a six-year boy made her laugh as she walked out to the car.
She put her mind into automatic pilot all the way up to Carmel, and it turned out to be one of those days when she stayed on automatic throughout the day. The road had been tedious and all too familiar, Tom was dull and listless, the day turned foggy. Even the lunch was one she'd had hundreds of times before. Some days with Tom stood out like rare gems, their facets gleaming and brightly hued, casting rainbows of dancing light. Other days were dark and cold and had the taste of ash. And some days she felt nothing at all. Today she felt nothing, except fatigue as she left. She was anxious to hit the freeway as soon as she could, and drive back to the little house in the hills, and Tygue, and the silly sad-eyed basset hound who had become a member'of the family. She had missed them all day. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. The speedometer hit well over ninety as she drove home. It often did, but she seldom got caught Only twice in six years. The trip was so boring, only shortening it by speeding made it bearable. Now and then a pang of conscience toward Tygue would make her slow down, but not often. Fifty-five was intolerable. She cruised at eighty-five most of the time.
It was almost five as she drove, still too fast, over the back roads that led to the house. Why had she had this damn uneasiness all day? She ground across the gravel on the driveway, keeping an eye out for the dog, but anxiously combing the area around the house for Tygue. And then she saw him, and smiled as she stepped on the brakes and slid into park. He was filthy and smiling and beautiful and she had been crazy to worry. What the hell was wrong with her? She made the trip all the time. What had made her think that anything would be
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