to be sure it didn’t jump to the trees.”
“So, essentially, a bunch of men standing around watching a bonfire.”
“Well, yes. And squirting their hoses on it.” He nodded. “As men will.” A little silence fell again. “It’s sad though,” he said. “It was a fine old house.”
“So they can’t rebuild it?”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.” Frankie shook her head.
“There’s just nothing there. Nothing much. The chimney. A stove. I’m going to head over there after this, to get some daylight photos. If you want to come along, you can take a look.” He made a moue. “A look at what’s not there.”
“I am curious, I confess. I’d like to see it.”
“Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll find you when I’m leaving.” He turned, his hand on his camera again.
“But Bud …”
He stopped, looking back.
“I wonder, would you be willing to drop me off at home afterward?”
“Home,” he said. “Your parents’ home?”
“Yeah. Mine, too, for the moment.”
“That’s right there on Carson Road, too, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Easy enough, then. I’ll be happy to, madam,” he said, bowing his head, then moving away.
Frankie moved, too, back to one of the shifting groups.
By the time she saw Bud coming toward her again, the lawn was even more crowded with people and alive with conversation, and she was experiencing a sweeping sense of exhaustion—she would have gone with him no matter what, she thought, just because he was leaving before her parents were going to. She excused herself to Bud for a moment and went to find them. They were sitting up on the porch, along with several other couples, in the rockers. She bent over her mother’s chair from behind, touching her shoulder, and told her that Bud, this guy —she waved behind herself vaguely—would take her home after they stopped to look at the fire at the Kershaws’. Her mother raised her eyebrows, and Frankie said, “I’m just a zombie at this point. I’ve got to get back as soon as I can.”
“Fine, then,” her mother said. “We’ll be along in a while.”
Frankie and Bud walked down the lawn together, and then along the row of parked cars, until they came to one he gestured at. “Here we are,” he said. It was an old Saab, dented and rusty. He opened the door for her, and she got in, sinking gratefully into the passenger seat. It had an old-car smell. Not unpleasant, but funky. She noted that the fabric was worn away on the driver’s seat and, when he swung himself in behind the wheel, she noted again how tall he was, how large. He started the engine. It made an almost comical amount of noise. She saw a few people at the edge of the lawn turned to watch them as they drove away.
“How did you do?” he said after a moment. She must have looked puzzled, because he explained: “The social whirl. Remembering people.”
“Oh. Fine,” she said. “They’re all more or less imprinted on me. I probably couldn’t forget them if I wanted to.”
“So, what we learn from this is that you can go home again?”
“Well, this isn’t quite home, of course.”
“Africa is home.” This was both a statement and a question.
“Mmmh,” she said. “Also not quite.” They were starting down the long, slow series of hills into the town. Bud had the car in low gear, and it whined steadily.
“Where is, then?” he asked.
She was quiet for a moment, feeling the emptiness of her fatigue, and, beyond that, a kind of general emptiness. “Damned if I know,” she said. She looked at him. “Through no particular intention of my own, I seem to have succeeded at making myself a functionally homeless person.”
“Hmm,” he said. “I know that feeling, I think.” The expression on his face seemed gently rueful to Frankie.
After a minute, she asked, “Don’t you feel at home here? You’ve been here, what?”
“Three years now. I’m working on it.” He laughed, quickly. “I’m discovering I feel more at home in
“So, essentially, a bunch of men standing around watching a bonfire.”
“Well, yes. And squirting their hoses on it.” He nodded. “As men will.” A little silence fell again. “It’s sad though,” he said. “It was a fine old house.”
“So they can’t rebuild it?”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.” Frankie shook her head.
“There’s just nothing there. Nothing much. The chimney. A stove. I’m going to head over there after this, to get some daylight photos. If you want to come along, you can take a look.” He made a moue. “A look at what’s not there.”
“I am curious, I confess. I’d like to see it.”
“Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll find you when I’m leaving.” He turned, his hand on his camera again.
“But Bud …”
He stopped, looking back.
“I wonder, would you be willing to drop me off at home afterward?”
“Home,” he said. “Your parents’ home?”
“Yeah. Mine, too, for the moment.”
“That’s right there on Carson Road, too, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Easy enough, then. I’ll be happy to, madam,” he said, bowing his head, then moving away.
Frankie moved, too, back to one of the shifting groups.
By the time she saw Bud coming toward her again, the lawn was even more crowded with people and alive with conversation, and she was experiencing a sweeping sense of exhaustion—she would have gone with him no matter what, she thought, just because he was leaving before her parents were going to. She excused herself to Bud for a moment and went to find them. They were sitting up on the porch, along with several other couples, in the rockers. She bent over her mother’s chair from behind, touching her shoulder, and told her that Bud, this guy —she waved behind herself vaguely—would take her home after they stopped to look at the fire at the Kershaws’. Her mother raised her eyebrows, and Frankie said, “I’m just a zombie at this point. I’ve got to get back as soon as I can.”
“Fine, then,” her mother said. “We’ll be along in a while.”
Frankie and Bud walked down the lawn together, and then along the row of parked cars, until they came to one he gestured at. “Here we are,” he said. It was an old Saab, dented and rusty. He opened the door for her, and she got in, sinking gratefully into the passenger seat. It had an old-car smell. Not unpleasant, but funky. She noted that the fabric was worn away on the driver’s seat and, when he swung himself in behind the wheel, she noted again how tall he was, how large. He started the engine. It made an almost comical amount of noise. She saw a few people at the edge of the lawn turned to watch them as they drove away.
“How did you do?” he said after a moment. She must have looked puzzled, because he explained: “The social whirl. Remembering people.”
“Oh. Fine,” she said. “They’re all more or less imprinted on me. I probably couldn’t forget them if I wanted to.”
“So, what we learn from this is that you can go home again?”
“Well, this isn’t quite home, of course.”
“Africa is home.” This was both a statement and a question.
“Mmmh,” she said. “Also not quite.” They were starting down the long, slow series of hills into the town. Bud had the car in low gear, and it whined steadily.
“Where is, then?” he asked.
She was quiet for a moment, feeling the emptiness of her fatigue, and, beyond that, a kind of general emptiness. “Damned if I know,” she said. She looked at him. “Through no particular intention of my own, I seem to have succeeded at making myself a functionally homeless person.”
“Hmm,” he said. “I know that feeling, I think.” The expression on his face seemed gently rueful to Frankie.
After a minute, she asked, “Don’t you feel at home here? You’ve been here, what?”
“Three years now. I’m working on it.” He laughed, quickly. “I’m discovering I feel more at home in
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