shrugging as if to suggest that while that might have been a reason good enough for the Dunbars, it didn’t count for much with her. She pulled a crushed pack of Chesterfields from the pocket of her cardigan. “You sports have a light?”
Before I could grab the matches, Johnny picked them up and tossed them to Louisa. I would have lit her cigarette for her.
“You probably know how we landed here,” she said. “Lester said he knew a fellow here who’d give him a job. Guess what. No fellow. No job.”
The bottle came around to me again. I took what I believed to be an impressively long swallow and felt the brandy burn its way down my throat. Heat radiated throughout my chest, but that sensation didn’t match the syrupy sweetness. I grimaced, then spoke up with false confidence. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of Willow Falls.”
“Yeah?” replied Louisa. “You have a destination in mind?”
“Not really. Chicago, maybe. The West Coast. Someplace far away, that’s for sure.”
“How about you?” she asked Johnny. “You looking to get out, too?”
“My dad thinks a small college would be a good fit for me. Someplace like Carleton—that’s in Minnesota. Or maybe Macalester, in Saint Paul.”
“That’s what he thinks. . . . What do you think?”
“Sure, either of those would be okay.”
She turned back to me. “But those aren’t far enough away for you?”
“I’m not sure I’ll wait until college to leave.”
“Really?” She looked unconvinced.
“I might take off next summer. See if I can find a job somewhere. Out west, maybe. Like on a ranch.”
“What the hell do you know about working on a ranch?” asked Louisa.
I shrugged. “I can learn.”
“And break your damn back in the process.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“I grew up on a farm in North Dakota. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Which is what my old man did. Left me and my mom holding the rope.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “And you want to sign on for that kind of life? Thanks but no thanks.”
Wounded though I was, I made an attempt to recover. “Ranch work is what I’d like to do.”
“You think there’s a difference? My mother died on the farm. Drowned in a spring flood, trying to save a cow.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said Johnny.
“Yeah. Well. We hadn’t hardly been in touch for a while. If she hadn’t owed so much on the place I might have got something out of it. Then I wouldn’t have had to follow Lester and his big ideas.”
As fascinating as I found Louisa’s history, some of which I’d heard from my mother and other sources around town, it wasn’t holding Johnny’s interest. He wanted to return to something I’d said. “You mean,” he said, his mouth and eyes all circles of astonishment, “you wouldn’t even stick around for the summer after we graduate?”
I shrugged and looked over to Louisa as if to say, what can you do with these kids?
But Louisa’s attention was drifting. She stood and walked over to one of the small attic windows. “Denver for me,” she said, peering out the cobwebbed glass. “I got a cousin there.”
“Yeah, Denver is cool,” said Johnny.
But Louisa had already lost interest in geography. She poked around the attic’s darker margins, casually inspecting the Dunbar family’s artifacts. She picked up a gilt-framed sepia photograph of a fierce-looking whitebearded man. “Relative?” she asked Johnny.
“My mom’s grandfather.”
“Mean-looking old bastard.”
“He was an Episcopalian minister. Mom said he was pretty strict. Not like her dad.”
“I still think he looks like a mean bastard.” Louisa cocked her head, as if she needed to consider him from another angle. “I lived with a minister’s family once,” she said, “while I was in high school. He was nothing but an old lecher. All short and shriveled and pockmarked. I think maybe he’d had smallpox. Anyway, he was sneaking around all the time,
Before I could grab the matches, Johnny picked them up and tossed them to Louisa. I would have lit her cigarette for her.
“You probably know how we landed here,” she said. “Lester said he knew a fellow here who’d give him a job. Guess what. No fellow. No job.”
The bottle came around to me again. I took what I believed to be an impressively long swallow and felt the brandy burn its way down my throat. Heat radiated throughout my chest, but that sensation didn’t match the syrupy sweetness. I grimaced, then spoke up with false confidence. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of Willow Falls.”
“Yeah?” replied Louisa. “You have a destination in mind?”
“Not really. Chicago, maybe. The West Coast. Someplace far away, that’s for sure.”
“How about you?” she asked Johnny. “You looking to get out, too?”
“My dad thinks a small college would be a good fit for me. Someplace like Carleton—that’s in Minnesota. Or maybe Macalester, in Saint Paul.”
“That’s what he thinks. . . . What do you think?”
“Sure, either of those would be okay.”
She turned back to me. “But those aren’t far enough away for you?”
“I’m not sure I’ll wait until college to leave.”
“Really?” She looked unconvinced.
“I might take off next summer. See if I can find a job somewhere. Out west, maybe. Like on a ranch.”
“What the hell do you know about working on a ranch?” asked Louisa.
I shrugged. “I can learn.”
“And break your damn back in the process.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“I grew up on a farm in North Dakota. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Which is what my old man did. Left me and my mom holding the rope.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “And you want to sign on for that kind of life? Thanks but no thanks.”
Wounded though I was, I made an attempt to recover. “Ranch work is what I’d like to do.”
“You think there’s a difference? My mother died on the farm. Drowned in a spring flood, trying to save a cow.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said Johnny.
“Yeah. Well. We hadn’t hardly been in touch for a while. If she hadn’t owed so much on the place I might have got something out of it. Then I wouldn’t have had to follow Lester and his big ideas.”
As fascinating as I found Louisa’s history, some of which I’d heard from my mother and other sources around town, it wasn’t holding Johnny’s interest. He wanted to return to something I’d said. “You mean,” he said, his mouth and eyes all circles of astonishment, “you wouldn’t even stick around for the summer after we graduate?”
I shrugged and looked over to Louisa as if to say, what can you do with these kids?
But Louisa’s attention was drifting. She stood and walked over to one of the small attic windows. “Denver for me,” she said, peering out the cobwebbed glass. “I got a cousin there.”
“Yeah, Denver is cool,” said Johnny.
But Louisa had already lost interest in geography. She poked around the attic’s darker margins, casually inspecting the Dunbar family’s artifacts. She picked up a gilt-framed sepia photograph of a fierce-looking whitebearded man. “Relative?” she asked Johnny.
“My mom’s grandfather.”
“Mean-looking old bastard.”
“He was an Episcopalian minister. Mom said he was pretty strict. Not like her dad.”
“I still think he looks like a mean bastard.” Louisa cocked her head, as if she needed to consider him from another angle. “I lived with a minister’s family once,” she said, “while I was in high school. He was nothing but an old lecher. All short and shriveled and pockmarked. I think maybe he’d had smallpox. Anyway, he was sneaking around all the time,
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