picnic table under a row of eucalyptus trees that bordered one side of the drying shed.
Nick slowly, wearily pulled his carton open, tipped it up, and swallowed a long, gurgling draft, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then another. He looked tired, washed-out.
"I'm sorry I lost my temper, Uncle Nick,” John said when he set the carton down.
"I'm the one who should be sorry, Johnny. I guess I owe you an explanation. Your friend too."
He crushed the carton against the table, carefully flattened it out, smoothed down the seams, took his time getting going.
"It was Therese,” he said, still working over the carton. “I sat down with her and told her we were having him exhumed and why, and she just about came apart. You can understand that, can't you? You know she's kind of...delicate. And she took Brian's death hard, John. They really loved each other."
"Yeah, I can understand that. So you called it off?"
"No, not then. I thought she'd come around after a day or two...” He shook his head. “...but I just couldn't get through to her. She was really...so yesterday I finally called the health department and canceled it. You guys were already on your way so I couldn't tell you not to come, and then when you got here I just didn't want to tell you you'd made the trip for nothing in the middle of the night.” He finally pushed the mashed carton aside and looked up. “So that's the story. I'm sorry if it screwed you up, but I still think I did the right thing."
John was silent for a moment. “I don't, Nick."
"Hell, it's not as if it was going to amount to anything."
"That's not true, Nick. There are a lot of unresolved questions here."
"I tell you the truth, John, I don't much care. Even if Gasparone's goons really knocked him off, then let that be the end of it. I don't think you understand how shook up she is, and I'm not going to put that girl through hell all over again. For what? I mean, let's say you turn out to be right, which I don't think you are, but just for the sake of argument. So what happens then, a trial? Testifying? Drag it out for two more years? And then what? Have you thought about that?"
John peered at him. “That doesn't sound like you, Nick."
Nick shrugged. “I'm not the man I was, John. I don't do battle with the world anymore. I'm almost seventy, you know. Wait'll you get there; you'll see."
That didn't sound like him either. “Nick, you can't just let this go. This was Brian . I want you to change your mind."
"No.” But Brian's name had brought a wince. “I can do whatever I damn please, John, and in this case I'm putting Therese first.” He got up. “I've got to get back to the dryers.” But he stood there a little longer, leaning on his knuckles on the table. “Look, I'm really sorry about your friend Gideon coming out here for nothing. But as long as you're here, I know Therese would appreciate it if you stayed for the service. Gideon too, if he wants; he's more than welcome. Until then, why don't you loosen up and relax, for Christ's sake? Lay back for a few days, see some of the islands, go over to Bora Bora, eat some good food, get reacquainted with the family. Some people actually like it here, you know."
John replied with a shrug, not unfriendly but meaningless. He walked back with Nick and watched for a while as he scooped, studied, poked, and bit the revolving beans. “You have any objection if I talk to Therese about it?” he said after a few minutes.
"Jesus, can't we even have one dinner like a normal family before you start—"
"I don't mean today,” John said quickly. “Tomorrow, maybe."
Nick stopped his work and looked at John for a while. “I don't want you browbeating her, Johnny. She's been through enough."
"Hey, Nick.” He put his hand on the shaggy forearm and stopped him in mid-scoop. “You really think I'd browbeat Therese?"
Nick studied him hard for a moment, then relaxed. “No, I guess not. Sure, talk to her about it if you want. Just take no for an
Nick slowly, wearily pulled his carton open, tipped it up, and swallowed a long, gurgling draft, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then another. He looked tired, washed-out.
"I'm sorry I lost my temper, Uncle Nick,” John said when he set the carton down.
"I'm the one who should be sorry, Johnny. I guess I owe you an explanation. Your friend too."
He crushed the carton against the table, carefully flattened it out, smoothed down the seams, took his time getting going.
"It was Therese,” he said, still working over the carton. “I sat down with her and told her we were having him exhumed and why, and she just about came apart. You can understand that, can't you? You know she's kind of...delicate. And she took Brian's death hard, John. They really loved each other."
"Yeah, I can understand that. So you called it off?"
"No, not then. I thought she'd come around after a day or two...” He shook his head. “...but I just couldn't get through to her. She was really...so yesterday I finally called the health department and canceled it. You guys were already on your way so I couldn't tell you not to come, and then when you got here I just didn't want to tell you you'd made the trip for nothing in the middle of the night.” He finally pushed the mashed carton aside and looked up. “So that's the story. I'm sorry if it screwed you up, but I still think I did the right thing."
John was silent for a moment. “I don't, Nick."
"Hell, it's not as if it was going to amount to anything."
"That's not true, Nick. There are a lot of unresolved questions here."
"I tell you the truth, John, I don't much care. Even if Gasparone's goons really knocked him off, then let that be the end of it. I don't think you understand how shook up she is, and I'm not going to put that girl through hell all over again. For what? I mean, let's say you turn out to be right, which I don't think you are, but just for the sake of argument. So what happens then, a trial? Testifying? Drag it out for two more years? And then what? Have you thought about that?"
John peered at him. “That doesn't sound like you, Nick."
Nick shrugged. “I'm not the man I was, John. I don't do battle with the world anymore. I'm almost seventy, you know. Wait'll you get there; you'll see."
That didn't sound like him either. “Nick, you can't just let this go. This was Brian . I want you to change your mind."
"No.” But Brian's name had brought a wince. “I can do whatever I damn please, John, and in this case I'm putting Therese first.” He got up. “I've got to get back to the dryers.” But he stood there a little longer, leaning on his knuckles on the table. “Look, I'm really sorry about your friend Gideon coming out here for nothing. But as long as you're here, I know Therese would appreciate it if you stayed for the service. Gideon too, if he wants; he's more than welcome. Until then, why don't you loosen up and relax, for Christ's sake? Lay back for a few days, see some of the islands, go over to Bora Bora, eat some good food, get reacquainted with the family. Some people actually like it here, you know."
John replied with a shrug, not unfriendly but meaningless. He walked back with Nick and watched for a while as he scooped, studied, poked, and bit the revolving beans. “You have any objection if I talk to Therese about it?” he said after a few minutes.
"Jesus, can't we even have one dinner like a normal family before you start—"
"I don't mean today,” John said quickly. “Tomorrow, maybe."
Nick stopped his work and looked at John for a while. “I don't want you browbeating her, Johnny. She's been through enough."
"Hey, Nick.” He put his hand on the shaggy forearm and stopped him in mid-scoop. “You really think I'd browbeat Therese?"
Nick studied him hard for a moment, then relaxed. “No, I guess not. Sure, talk to her about it if you want. Just take no for an
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