hair. So she’s trying too. Good.
He sets the glasses on the coffee table next to the wine, then remembers that he’s forgotten to feed Joto. He mentions it to Amy, says, “It’ll only take a minute.”
She picks up the corkscrew and the bottle. “Go ahead,” she says. “I’ll handle this.”
In the kitchen, Boone opens one of the cans of Alpo he bought on the way home and scoops it into a bowl. Joto sits at his feet, drawn into the kitchen by the smell. He stares up at Boone with his tongue hanging out, big drops of saliva splashing on the linoleum.
Boone puts the bowl down in front of the dog, and he’s on it in an instant.
Amy comes in carrying two glasses of wine. “How’s it going?” she asks.
“Poor guy’s starving,” Boone replies. He takes the glass she offers and sips from it as they watch Joto wolf down the slop. When the dog has emptied the bowl, Boone dumps in another can.
He and Amy return to the living room and sit on the couch, he leaning back on the cushions, she with one leg tucked under herself, facing him. She clinks her glass against his and says, “Here’s to the handyman.”
“So the window works okay?” Boone asks.
“Good as new. Was it a pain to repair?”
“The right tools, the right parts — piece of cake.”
“Have you always been good at fixing things?”
“Not really,” Boone says. “At one time I was better at breaking them — noses, arms.” He stops suddenly and frowns. “I probably shouldn’t be joking like that around you.”
Amy draws back, confused. “What? Why?”
Boone can’t believe he brought this up right off the bat, but now that he has, there’s no graceful way to change the subject. “This is gonna sound bad,” he says, “but while I was in your place this morning I saw some photos on your dresser.”
“So.”
Joto trots in from the kitchen, collapses in the corner, and begins to scratch behind his ears.
“So I didn’t know you’re a cop.”
Amy narrows her eyes and smiles warily at Boone. “What’s the problem?” she says. “Are you a criminal?”
“Ha!” Boone says, ignoring her question and hoping she’ll let him slide.
“Actually, I’m an
ex
-cop, if that makes you feel any better,” Amy continues. “I quit about five years ago and became an English teacher, middle school.”
“That makes more sense,” Boone says.
Amy gives him a dirty look. “Yeah? How so?”
“It’s just that most cops… Well, you seem so cool.”
“I
am
cool,” Amy says, and they both laugh.
“Okay, so then let me ask you this,” Boone says. “What made a cool girl like you want to be a police officer?”
Amy purses her lips, thinking. She looks down at her glass and swirls her wine. “Ah, jeez, man,” she finally says. “Why does anybody want to do anything?”
“Well,” Boone says, “I wanted to join the Cub Scouts so I could play with matches.”
“Come on, you know what I mean,” Amy says. She pulls a pack of American Spirits from her pocket. Something has made her nervous, Boone can tell. “Do you mind?” she says, opening the pack.
“No, no,” he says. “It’s fine.”
He gets up and goes into the kitchen for a mug she can use as an ashtray.
“It’s totally gross, I know,” she calls after him. “But I only do it when I drink.”
“Your dirty little secret,” Boone says as he hands her the mug and sits on the couch again.
“One of them anyway,” she says.
“So forget about being a cop,” Boone says. “Tell me about teaching instead.”
Amy smiles and takes a drag off her cigarette, blows the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “You’re a nice guy,” she says. “I’m only reluctant to talk about the cop thing because the whys of stuff are weird. They sound so stupid sometimes when you say them out loud.”
“That’s definitely true,” Boone replies.
“Part of it was just that I wanted some excitement. I was working in a bookstore in Portland, and I was bored to death. But
He sets the glasses on the coffee table next to the wine, then remembers that he’s forgotten to feed Joto. He mentions it to Amy, says, “It’ll only take a minute.”
She picks up the corkscrew and the bottle. “Go ahead,” she says. “I’ll handle this.”
In the kitchen, Boone opens one of the cans of Alpo he bought on the way home and scoops it into a bowl. Joto sits at his feet, drawn into the kitchen by the smell. He stares up at Boone with his tongue hanging out, big drops of saliva splashing on the linoleum.
Boone puts the bowl down in front of the dog, and he’s on it in an instant.
Amy comes in carrying two glasses of wine. “How’s it going?” she asks.
“Poor guy’s starving,” Boone replies. He takes the glass she offers and sips from it as they watch Joto wolf down the slop. When the dog has emptied the bowl, Boone dumps in another can.
He and Amy return to the living room and sit on the couch, he leaning back on the cushions, she with one leg tucked under herself, facing him. She clinks her glass against his and says, “Here’s to the handyman.”
“So the window works okay?” Boone asks.
“Good as new. Was it a pain to repair?”
“The right tools, the right parts — piece of cake.”
“Have you always been good at fixing things?”
“Not really,” Boone says. “At one time I was better at breaking them — noses, arms.” He stops suddenly and frowns. “I probably shouldn’t be joking like that around you.”
Amy draws back, confused. “What? Why?”
Boone can’t believe he brought this up right off the bat, but now that he has, there’s no graceful way to change the subject. “This is gonna sound bad,” he says, “but while I was in your place this morning I saw some photos on your dresser.”
“So.”
Joto trots in from the kitchen, collapses in the corner, and begins to scratch behind his ears.
“So I didn’t know you’re a cop.”
Amy narrows her eyes and smiles warily at Boone. “What’s the problem?” she says. “Are you a criminal?”
“Ha!” Boone says, ignoring her question and hoping she’ll let him slide.
“Actually, I’m an
ex
-cop, if that makes you feel any better,” Amy continues. “I quit about five years ago and became an English teacher, middle school.”
“That makes more sense,” Boone says.
Amy gives him a dirty look. “Yeah? How so?”
“It’s just that most cops… Well, you seem so cool.”
“I
am
cool,” Amy says, and they both laugh.
“Okay, so then let me ask you this,” Boone says. “What made a cool girl like you want to be a police officer?”
Amy purses her lips, thinking. She looks down at her glass and swirls her wine. “Ah, jeez, man,” she finally says. “Why does anybody want to do anything?”
“Well,” Boone says, “I wanted to join the Cub Scouts so I could play with matches.”
“Come on, you know what I mean,” Amy says. She pulls a pack of American Spirits from her pocket. Something has made her nervous, Boone can tell. “Do you mind?” she says, opening the pack.
“No, no,” he says. “It’s fine.”
He gets up and goes into the kitchen for a mug she can use as an ashtray.
“It’s totally gross, I know,” she calls after him. “But I only do it when I drink.”
“Your dirty little secret,” Boone says as he hands her the mug and sits on the couch again.
“One of them anyway,” she says.
“So forget about being a cop,” Boone says. “Tell me about teaching instead.”
Amy smiles and takes a drag off her cigarette, blows the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “You’re a nice guy,” she says. “I’m only reluctant to talk about the cop thing because the whys of stuff are weird. They sound so stupid sometimes when you say them out loud.”
“That’s definitely true,” Boone replies.
“Part of it was just that I wanted some excitement. I was working in a bookstore in Portland, and I was bored to death. But
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