dug in a jacket pocket with his good hand. “She died in May.”
Rachel gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Well, she was seventy-six. I never thought she’d last that long.”
Rachel stared at him, appalled. Recovering, she said, “I was very fond of your wife. She was my Sunday School teacher when I was little. And then later she gave me painting lessons. She was a wonderful teacher.”
The old man shrugged. “I liked her, too. Ten dollars on pump three out there,” he said to Debby, sliding a bill across the counter. “So where you been, little Rachel?” His voice was deep but rough, like the sound of an empty oil drum being dragged across gravel.
Coolly now, Rachel said, “Overseas, mostly. I worked for the government for a long time, in the State Department.”
He gave her a look from head to toe that would have been impertinent coming from a younger man. “Home for the holidays, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“You still painting pictures?”
“Oh, I haven’t in years, I’m afraid. But I’ve always intended to get back to it some day.”
“Well, maybe you can come out to the farm and take some of those pictures off my hands. House’s full of ’em. I’m just gonna throw ’em out otherwise.”
“What, your wife’s paintings? Oh, don’t do that. You don’t want them?”
“There’s a couple I’ll keep. But there’s more’n I know what to do with. And all the paints and brushes, too, if you want ’em. Come out and take a look and take what you want.”
“I may do that. What would be a good time?”
“I’m most always home. You know where I live.” He pushed out the door and hobbled toward a rusted old light-blue Ford pickup.
Debby said, “So you’re friends with old Captain Hook, huh?”
Slightly dazed, Rachel said, “Not exactly. He and my father grew up together. I knew his wife mainly, from church. She was so sweet.”
“I guess she had to be, to make up for him.”
“Losing a hand might make me a little cranky, too. My father said it ruined Ed.” Rachel shuddered. “God. Farmers and corn pickers.”
Debby blew smoke, shaking her head. “Used to happen a lot. And they all knew better. But it was too much trouble to stop and shut the thing down, with all those acres of corn to get in. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred they got away with it, reaching in there to unjam it.”
Rachel watched through the window as the pickup rolled out onto the highway with an excruciating grinding of gears. “Poor man.”
“Well, that’s no excuse.” She shot Rachel a furtive look. “My mother always told me to steer clear of him, and I always told my daughters the same thing.”
Rachel frowned. “I must have missed something. You know something I don’t?”
“Well, maybe it was only rumors. I hate to bad-mouth a friend of your family. But people always said he was a little free with that good hand around women.”
Rachel shook her head. “I never got that kind of vibe from him. But like I said, he and his wife were friends of ours, so maybe I just didn’t see it.”
“Or he was careful around you. Because of your dad.” Debby shrugged. “All’s I know is, there was always that rumor. You didn’t want to let him get you alone in the back of the store or whatever. But what do I know?”
Rachel sighed, reaching for her milk. “More than I do, I’m sure. I’m just starting to realize how out of touch I’ve been.”
“Well, that’s what Christmas is for,” said Debby, stabbing out the cigarette. “Coming home and reconnecting. You have a great holiday, now.”
7
Rachel hadn’t been to a basketball game in a quarter of a century. “The last time I saw a basketball game you were playing in it,” she said to Matt.
“The game’s moved on some since then,” he said. “They don’t use peach baskets anymore.”
They were in the truck and heading for Ontario. “Who are we playing?”
“Kalmar. Probably the best team we face this year.
Rachel gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Well, she was seventy-six. I never thought she’d last that long.”
Rachel stared at him, appalled. Recovering, she said, “I was very fond of your wife. She was my Sunday School teacher when I was little. And then later she gave me painting lessons. She was a wonderful teacher.”
The old man shrugged. “I liked her, too. Ten dollars on pump three out there,” he said to Debby, sliding a bill across the counter. “So where you been, little Rachel?” His voice was deep but rough, like the sound of an empty oil drum being dragged across gravel.
Coolly now, Rachel said, “Overseas, mostly. I worked for the government for a long time, in the State Department.”
He gave her a look from head to toe that would have been impertinent coming from a younger man. “Home for the holidays, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“You still painting pictures?”
“Oh, I haven’t in years, I’m afraid. But I’ve always intended to get back to it some day.”
“Well, maybe you can come out to the farm and take some of those pictures off my hands. House’s full of ’em. I’m just gonna throw ’em out otherwise.”
“What, your wife’s paintings? Oh, don’t do that. You don’t want them?”
“There’s a couple I’ll keep. But there’s more’n I know what to do with. And all the paints and brushes, too, if you want ’em. Come out and take a look and take what you want.”
“I may do that. What would be a good time?”
“I’m most always home. You know where I live.” He pushed out the door and hobbled toward a rusted old light-blue Ford pickup.
Debby said, “So you’re friends with old Captain Hook, huh?”
Slightly dazed, Rachel said, “Not exactly. He and my father grew up together. I knew his wife mainly, from church. She was so sweet.”
“I guess she had to be, to make up for him.”
“Losing a hand might make me a little cranky, too. My father said it ruined Ed.” Rachel shuddered. “God. Farmers and corn pickers.”
Debby blew smoke, shaking her head. “Used to happen a lot. And they all knew better. But it was too much trouble to stop and shut the thing down, with all those acres of corn to get in. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred they got away with it, reaching in there to unjam it.”
Rachel watched through the window as the pickup rolled out onto the highway with an excruciating grinding of gears. “Poor man.”
“Well, that’s no excuse.” She shot Rachel a furtive look. “My mother always told me to steer clear of him, and I always told my daughters the same thing.”
Rachel frowned. “I must have missed something. You know something I don’t?”
“Well, maybe it was only rumors. I hate to bad-mouth a friend of your family. But people always said he was a little free with that good hand around women.”
Rachel shook her head. “I never got that kind of vibe from him. But like I said, he and his wife were friends of ours, so maybe I just didn’t see it.”
“Or he was careful around you. Because of your dad.” Debby shrugged. “All’s I know is, there was always that rumor. You didn’t want to let him get you alone in the back of the store or whatever. But what do I know?”
Rachel sighed, reaching for her milk. “More than I do, I’m sure. I’m just starting to realize how out of touch I’ve been.”
“Well, that’s what Christmas is for,” said Debby, stabbing out the cigarette. “Coming home and reconnecting. You have a great holiday, now.”
7
Rachel hadn’t been to a basketball game in a quarter of a century. “The last time I saw a basketball game you were playing in it,” she said to Matt.
“The game’s moved on some since then,” he said. “They don’t use peach baskets anymore.”
They were in the truck and heading for Ontario. “Who are we playing?”
“Kalmar. Probably the best team we face this year.
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