looked back at the house and a sick feeling crawled over me when I saw Dax’s truck still there.
“He didn’t leave,” I said.
“I know,” Gary replied. “Keep painting and get your mind off it.”
* * *
Late that afternoon we came to the end of the fence. Gary finished his part and waited until I’d brushed my last strokes. Then he stood and backed away and stared down the long line we’d painted over the last two weeks.
“Proud of it?” he asked.
I stood and turned over my bucket and dropped my brush into it. I looked down the fence and I was proud to see what we’d done together. Then my eyes wandered over to Dax’s truck.
“Come on,” Gary said. “Let’s wrap up.”
Joe and Kabo were far across the pasture, chasing something. I picked up my bucket and walked with Gary to the barn. I took my time putting the supplies away in the equipment room while he stood next to me rubbing paint off his hands with a rag and gasoline. When he was done he tossed the rag to me and I caught it and wiped my arm and fingers. He leaned against the workbench and watched me until I was done.
“I’ll come see you after supper,” I said. “Will you tie up Joe for me?”
He came away from the counter and I followed him out of the equipment room. He sat down against his pack and put his hands behind his head. “Have a seat,” he said. “Why don’t we hang out until she calls you.”
I was happy to stay. I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I sat across from him.
“Let me see your knife,” he said.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out the Barlow and passed it to him. He opened the blade and studied it and scraped the pad of his thumb across the edge. Then he leaned forward and turned to get something out of his pack. He reached deep inside and dug about until he had what he was looking for. His hand came back with a rectangular leather case with a necklace of dog tags tangled around it.
“Is that what you wore around your neck in the army?” I asked.
He untangled the ball chain from the case and tossed it to me. “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes. Depended on what we were doing.”
I studied one of the metal tabs.
CONWAY
GARY L
423-27-9646
0 POS
EPISCOPAL
“Your last name’s Conway.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the number?”
“It’s my social security number. Right under that’s my blood type. O positive. Then my religion.”
“Why do they need to know the religion?”
“In case I got killed. They’d know how to bury me.”
The tags felt warm in my hands. Gary opened the leather case and pulled out a whetstone. He spit on it and rubbed my knife blade in a flat, circular motion. “You want them?” he said without looking up.
I nodded. He continued working the blade. “They’re yours,” he said.
19
It was past our usual suppertime when Mother appeared at the back door. She called me and I came out of the barn so that she could see me. She looked tired and guilty and the spirit I’d seen in her lately was gone. I heard Dax’s truck start and drive away.
“Foster, come inside,” she called.
I shoved the dog tags in my pocket and turned back to tell Gary I’d see him later, but he had come up behind me. “I’ll walk over there with you,” he said.
Mother waited for us. “I’m so sorry, Foster. I just lost track of time.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “We finished the fence.”
She started to turn like she might be able to see it, then realized her mistake and faced us again. “That’s wonderful, Foster.”
“You mind if I have a word with you, Linda?” Gary said.
She looked at him with a little surprise. “No,” she finally said. “Come inside.”
We all started for the back door.
“It’ll just take a minute,” he said.
I stood in the kitchen with the two of them, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Foster, go to your room and wash up,” she told me.
I frowned and turned to go. I walked into my room and stood in the center of the
“He didn’t leave,” I said.
“I know,” Gary replied. “Keep painting and get your mind off it.”
* * *
Late that afternoon we came to the end of the fence. Gary finished his part and waited until I’d brushed my last strokes. Then he stood and backed away and stared down the long line we’d painted over the last two weeks.
“Proud of it?” he asked.
I stood and turned over my bucket and dropped my brush into it. I looked down the fence and I was proud to see what we’d done together. Then my eyes wandered over to Dax’s truck.
“Come on,” Gary said. “Let’s wrap up.”
Joe and Kabo were far across the pasture, chasing something. I picked up my bucket and walked with Gary to the barn. I took my time putting the supplies away in the equipment room while he stood next to me rubbing paint off his hands with a rag and gasoline. When he was done he tossed the rag to me and I caught it and wiped my arm and fingers. He leaned against the workbench and watched me until I was done.
“I’ll come see you after supper,” I said. “Will you tie up Joe for me?”
He came away from the counter and I followed him out of the equipment room. He sat down against his pack and put his hands behind his head. “Have a seat,” he said. “Why don’t we hang out until she calls you.”
I was happy to stay. I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I sat across from him.
“Let me see your knife,” he said.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out the Barlow and passed it to him. He opened the blade and studied it and scraped the pad of his thumb across the edge. Then he leaned forward and turned to get something out of his pack. He reached deep inside and dug about until he had what he was looking for. His hand came back with a rectangular leather case with a necklace of dog tags tangled around it.
“Is that what you wore around your neck in the army?” I asked.
He untangled the ball chain from the case and tossed it to me. “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes. Depended on what we were doing.”
I studied one of the metal tabs.
CONWAY
GARY L
423-27-9646
0 POS
EPISCOPAL
“Your last name’s Conway.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the number?”
“It’s my social security number. Right under that’s my blood type. O positive. Then my religion.”
“Why do they need to know the religion?”
“In case I got killed. They’d know how to bury me.”
The tags felt warm in my hands. Gary opened the leather case and pulled out a whetstone. He spit on it and rubbed my knife blade in a flat, circular motion. “You want them?” he said without looking up.
I nodded. He continued working the blade. “They’re yours,” he said.
19
It was past our usual suppertime when Mother appeared at the back door. She called me and I came out of the barn so that she could see me. She looked tired and guilty and the spirit I’d seen in her lately was gone. I heard Dax’s truck start and drive away.
“Foster, come inside,” she called.
I shoved the dog tags in my pocket and turned back to tell Gary I’d see him later, but he had come up behind me. “I’ll walk over there with you,” he said.
Mother waited for us. “I’m so sorry, Foster. I just lost track of time.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “We finished the fence.”
She started to turn like she might be able to see it, then realized her mistake and faced us again. “That’s wonderful, Foster.”
“You mind if I have a word with you, Linda?” Gary said.
She looked at him with a little surprise. “No,” she finally said. “Come inside.”
We all started for the back door.
“It’ll just take a minute,” he said.
I stood in the kitchen with the two of them, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Foster, go to your room and wash up,” she told me.
I frowned and turned to go. I walked into my room and stood in the center of the
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