music you listen to at home?â
âI got one wife and four kids,â Steve said. âThe only thing I want to hear at home is silence.â
They went back to work. Steve and Ray carried up a couple of lengths of valley and cut it to fit the dormers on the front of the house. They chalked the lines on the valley and then went back to shingling, each taking a dormer.
âYou ever lay cedar shakes?â Steve asked after a time.
âOnce or twice, when I was a kid,â Ray said.
âI priced a place this morning,â Steve said. âOld farmhouse in Caledon. Guy wants the original cedar roof. Figured you and I could do it next weekend.â
âSure.â
When Ray got home from work, it was full dark and Pete Culpepper was gone. Ray took a cold beer from the fridge, filled the bathtub with water hot as he could stand it, and climbed in. He laid his head back against the porcelain, drank the beer, and let the water lubricate his muscles. He drank the beer so fast he had to get out after a few minutes and walk wet-footed into the kitchen for another.
The telephone began to ring, and he let it. It would be for Pete anyway. The phone rang maybe a dozen timesâPete didnât have an answering machine and wouldnât know how to operate one if he didâand then it quit. Ray leaned back, drank the second beer slowly, and willed his body and brain to relax.
When he got out, he put on clean jeans and a cotton shirt. In the kitchen he fried a steak and three eggs, ate standing up against the counter. Then he put the dishes in the sink and sat down at the kitchen table and wondered what to do.
It was Friday night, he had money in his pocket, and nothing that resembled responsibility to any thing or any person. There had been a time, in his younger days, when he wouldnât even have made it home after work, just headed straight for the bars. Heâd had more energy then, he remembered, along with a huge capacity for getting himself into trouble. One had waned; with a little luck, and better judgment, maybe the other would as well.
He found Ettaâs number in the phone book, sat down, and looked at the phone on the wall for a long time. She would be home with Homer, he figured. Ray wondered if Homer really had Alzheimerâs. Could be he was just getting old and forgetful. Maybe in time heâd forget about hating Rayâs guts. He closed the phone book and grabbed his jacket from the peg inside the door and drove into town.
He had no intention of driving to the ballpark, but he drove there anyway. He saw the floods from two blocks away and knew that there was a game on. Home games were always played on Fridays. The ballpark was located on Canal Street, and it was built along the bank of the old feeder, in a valley of sorts. Ray parked up above, on the main street, which ran out of town. The teams were on the field, the game in the third inning when he arrived. He got out of the Caddy and sat on the hood, thinking he would watch a couple innings before he went down to see the guys.
He could see Bo Parker, sitting in the dugout, obviously not in the lineup. Pudge McIntyre was beside him, still managing the team, Ray guessed. Pudge was working over a wad of gum like it was the enemy, meaning he was still off the smokes.
There was a stringbean lefty on the mound for the home side. He had a wild windup, lifting his leg so high he almost kicked himself in the ear with his shoe, and then heaving himself forward in a jangle of arms and legs, releasing the ball from about three quarter. The movement was so herky-jerky that Ray wondered how the kid ever managed to throw strikes and then, watching for a bit, realized for the most part that he couldnât. The bases were full when Pudge walked out to talk to the kid the first time, and they were still full, with three runs scored and nobody out, when he pulled him a few minutes later.
Al Robins came in to relieve. When Ray was on the
âI got one wife and four kids,â Steve said. âThe only thing I want to hear at home is silence.â
They went back to work. Steve and Ray carried up a couple of lengths of valley and cut it to fit the dormers on the front of the house. They chalked the lines on the valley and then went back to shingling, each taking a dormer.
âYou ever lay cedar shakes?â Steve asked after a time.
âOnce or twice, when I was a kid,â Ray said.
âI priced a place this morning,â Steve said. âOld farmhouse in Caledon. Guy wants the original cedar roof. Figured you and I could do it next weekend.â
âSure.â
When Ray got home from work, it was full dark and Pete Culpepper was gone. Ray took a cold beer from the fridge, filled the bathtub with water hot as he could stand it, and climbed in. He laid his head back against the porcelain, drank the beer, and let the water lubricate his muscles. He drank the beer so fast he had to get out after a few minutes and walk wet-footed into the kitchen for another.
The telephone began to ring, and he let it. It would be for Pete anyway. The phone rang maybe a dozen timesâPete didnât have an answering machine and wouldnât know how to operate one if he didâand then it quit. Ray leaned back, drank the second beer slowly, and willed his body and brain to relax.
When he got out, he put on clean jeans and a cotton shirt. In the kitchen he fried a steak and three eggs, ate standing up against the counter. Then he put the dishes in the sink and sat down at the kitchen table and wondered what to do.
It was Friday night, he had money in his pocket, and nothing that resembled responsibility to any thing or any person. There had been a time, in his younger days, when he wouldnât even have made it home after work, just headed straight for the bars. Heâd had more energy then, he remembered, along with a huge capacity for getting himself into trouble. One had waned; with a little luck, and better judgment, maybe the other would as well.
He found Ettaâs number in the phone book, sat down, and looked at the phone on the wall for a long time. She would be home with Homer, he figured. Ray wondered if Homer really had Alzheimerâs. Could be he was just getting old and forgetful. Maybe in time heâd forget about hating Rayâs guts. He closed the phone book and grabbed his jacket from the peg inside the door and drove into town.
He had no intention of driving to the ballpark, but he drove there anyway. He saw the floods from two blocks away and knew that there was a game on. Home games were always played on Fridays. The ballpark was located on Canal Street, and it was built along the bank of the old feeder, in a valley of sorts. Ray parked up above, on the main street, which ran out of town. The teams were on the field, the game in the third inning when he arrived. He got out of the Caddy and sat on the hood, thinking he would watch a couple innings before he went down to see the guys.
He could see Bo Parker, sitting in the dugout, obviously not in the lineup. Pudge McIntyre was beside him, still managing the team, Ray guessed. Pudge was working over a wad of gum like it was the enemy, meaning he was still off the smokes.
There was a stringbean lefty on the mound for the home side. He had a wild windup, lifting his leg so high he almost kicked himself in the ear with his shoe, and then heaving himself forward in a jangle of arms and legs, releasing the ball from about three quarter. The movement was so herky-jerky that Ray wondered how the kid ever managed to throw strikes and then, watching for a bit, realized for the most part that he couldnât. The bases were full when Pudge walked out to talk to the kid the first time, and they were still full, with three runs scored and nobody out, when he pulled him a few minutes later.
Al Robins came in to relieve. When Ray was on the
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