have kept his big mouth shut.
Puny pulled up her apron and hid her face. “I had th’ awfulest dream!”
“Tell me everything,” he said. “Come and sit here.” He patted the stool beside him.
“I cain’t talk if I sit,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Th’ dream was so lifelike, I thought it was real. It’s worried me to death all day.”
“What did you dream?”
“It was about you. I didn’t know if I should tell you. I mean, I want to tell you, but I don’t know if I should, because it’s like if I tell you, it might really happen.” She drew her apron over her face again. “You were so sick .”
“Puny, Puny, it was just a dream, don’t cry, everything’s fine! I’m healthy as a horse!” He got off the stool and went to her and put his arm around her solid shoulders.
“I jis’ couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, you’re th’ only granpaw th’ girls’ll ever have….” She blew her nose on the handkerchief he handed her.
“What was the dream about?”
“In th’ dream I begged you to go to the doctor and Cynthia did, too, and you wouldn’t go and you got real bad off an’…”
“And what?”
“An’ maybe died , I cain’t remember th’ end, but it seemed like you died, Joe Joe woke me up because I was cryin’.”
“Let it go from your mind, it was only a dream. You were probably sleeping on your back. I have bad dreams if I sleep on my back.”
“I was sleepin’ on my side, I always sleep on my side,” she assured him.
“So you probably ate too late, that’ll do it every time.”
“No!” she said, shaking her head. “All I had was fruit salad, you cain’t have bad dreams on fruit salad.”
He sighed.
“I feel like this dream meant somethin’. I think you’re supposed to go to Dr. Hopper and see if you’re OK.”
“Well…,” he said, not wanting to make a big production over a dream.
“ Well ain’t good enough,” she said flatly. “You need to do this for Cynthia. An’ for Sissy an’ Sassy!”
“OK,” he said. “I’ll go.”
“You could pick up th’ phone and make an appointment this minute.”
Emma Newland made over, except with freckles. “As a matter of fact, I have an appointment coming up in…let’s see, three days! How’s that?”
She looked at him intently, red-eyed. “Father…”
“Yes?”
“I think th’ Lord wants you to do this.”
“Well, then, that settles it,” he said earnestly.
“Dearest, you need a haircut.”
Get a haircut. See a doctor. Was there no end to it? “It can wait awhile.”
“You look like a Los Angeles film director.”
“What do you know about Los Angeles film directors?”
“Television, darling. Remember television? Film directors appear on things like Oscar night, which you and I recently watched for a full nine minutes before we fell asleep with our clothes on.”
“Ah.”
“So when can you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, but you know the alternative. If you don’t get it done professionally, that means I must do it, or Dooley.” His wife raised one eyebrow and grinned.
The very thought made him weak in the knees. Both had positively butchered him once or twice before, and Puny wouldn’t touch his hair with a ten-foot pole. But the last thing he wanted was to get caught in the fray between Joe Ivey and Fancy Skinner. No way would he slink in the back door of the Sweet Stuff Bakery and risk a run-in with Fancy Skinner; Fancy would curl his hair right then and there. In truth, rumor had it that she often looked down from her upstairs aerie to see who came and went to Joe Ivey, and was taking names. Emma said Fancy had seen Marcie Guthrie, to name only one, go turncoat. For a measly two bucks less, Marcie had popped in to Joe and was said to have exited the place looking like J. C. Hogan. “Let ’em go downstairs!” Fancy snapped, nearly burning Emma’s ear off with the curling iron. “Anybody can save two dollars and spend two months
Puny pulled up her apron and hid her face. “I had th’ awfulest dream!”
“Tell me everything,” he said. “Come and sit here.” He patted the stool beside him.
“I cain’t talk if I sit,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Th’ dream was so lifelike, I thought it was real. It’s worried me to death all day.”
“What did you dream?”
“It was about you. I didn’t know if I should tell you. I mean, I want to tell you, but I don’t know if I should, because it’s like if I tell you, it might really happen.” She drew her apron over her face again. “You were so sick .”
“Puny, Puny, it was just a dream, don’t cry, everything’s fine! I’m healthy as a horse!” He got off the stool and went to her and put his arm around her solid shoulders.
“I jis’ couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you, you’re th’ only granpaw th’ girls’ll ever have….” She blew her nose on the handkerchief he handed her.
“What was the dream about?”
“In th’ dream I begged you to go to the doctor and Cynthia did, too, and you wouldn’t go and you got real bad off an’…”
“And what?”
“An’ maybe died , I cain’t remember th’ end, but it seemed like you died, Joe Joe woke me up because I was cryin’.”
“Let it go from your mind, it was only a dream. You were probably sleeping on your back. I have bad dreams if I sleep on my back.”
“I was sleepin’ on my side, I always sleep on my side,” she assured him.
“So you probably ate too late, that’ll do it every time.”
“No!” she said, shaking her head. “All I had was fruit salad, you cain’t have bad dreams on fruit salad.”
He sighed.
“I feel like this dream meant somethin’. I think you’re supposed to go to Dr. Hopper and see if you’re OK.”
“Well…,” he said, not wanting to make a big production over a dream.
“ Well ain’t good enough,” she said flatly. “You need to do this for Cynthia. An’ for Sissy an’ Sassy!”
“OK,” he said. “I’ll go.”
“You could pick up th’ phone and make an appointment this minute.”
Emma Newland made over, except with freckles. “As a matter of fact, I have an appointment coming up in…let’s see, three days! How’s that?”
She looked at him intently, red-eyed. “Father…”
“Yes?”
“I think th’ Lord wants you to do this.”
“Well, then, that settles it,” he said earnestly.
“Dearest, you need a haircut.”
Get a haircut. See a doctor. Was there no end to it? “It can wait awhile.”
“You look like a Los Angeles film director.”
“What do you know about Los Angeles film directors?”
“Television, darling. Remember television? Film directors appear on things like Oscar night, which you and I recently watched for a full nine minutes before we fell asleep with our clothes on.”
“Ah.”
“So when can you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, but you know the alternative. If you don’t get it done professionally, that means I must do it, or Dooley.” His wife raised one eyebrow and grinned.
The very thought made him weak in the knees. Both had positively butchered him once or twice before, and Puny wouldn’t touch his hair with a ten-foot pole. But the last thing he wanted was to get caught in the fray between Joe Ivey and Fancy Skinner. No way would he slink in the back door of the Sweet Stuff Bakery and risk a run-in with Fancy Skinner; Fancy would curl his hair right then and there. In truth, rumor had it that she often looked down from her upstairs aerie to see who came and went to Joe Ivey, and was taking names. Emma said Fancy had seen Marcie Guthrie, to name only one, go turncoat. For a measly two bucks less, Marcie had popped in to Joe and was said to have exited the place looking like J. C. Hogan. “Let ’em go downstairs!” Fancy snapped, nearly burning Emma’s ear off with the curling iron. “Anybody can save two dollars and spend two months
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