want to spoil it with a discussion of her son-in-law, so she pretended not to hear. “Look nice?”
“Three hours ago I thought it did. Now I think I just look like a fat lady with short hair.”
“Now quit that.” Sally hated to hear her talk that way, particularly since she outweighed her daughter by seventy pounds or more. She’d been considered quite attractive at Loretta’s age and size; of course, today you couldn’t turn on the television or open a magazine without seeing some young woman, skinny as a little boy, no tits or ass or curves of any kind, supposedly representing the feminine ideal. Seeing Loretta fall for such a pile of crap made her want to puke.
“Oh, hey. I almost forgot why I called you. Guess who I saw today? Gunther! What was his last name again?”
“Oh. Fahnstiel.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“I am. How’d he look?”
“Pretty good. He seemed a little confused, you know? I ended up giving him a ride to the barber shop.”
“That’s nice.” She could hear the enthusiasm in Loretta’s voice, but she couldn’t fake it in her own. She’d stopped wondering about Gunther a long time before.
“Did you guys have some kind of falling out or something?”
“No, sweetie, we didn’t, but, you know, time passes. Gunther’s a good man.”
“He seemed real interested in you.”
“That’s nice. Is he still married?”
“I didn’t ask. He was on foot when I ran into him.”
“That’s probably a good thing. He’s got to be pushing eighty, and he wasn’t the greatest driver forty years ago.”
“Wasn’t he the one who drove us when we moved to Cottonwood?”
“Listen, Loretta. I don’t want to talk about Gunther anymore, okay? I’m glad to hear he’s still kicking, but I don’t want to talk about those days.”
“Okay,” Loretta said, her tone just a shade higher than a whisper.
“Oh, shit, don’t get your feelings hurt. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Why don’t you come over and spend the night? Give Eric something to wonder about when he comes home.”
“Except Eric might not come home and probably wouldn’t notice I was gone if he did. I think I’ll just get in bed and watch the first part of Johnny Carson.”
Upstairs, as she undressed and got ready for bed, Loretta turned on the television news. She half-watched a report about local elementary school students sending money to support a little boy in Peru, then went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was rinsing and spitting, insulated from the sound of the television by the running water, when the newscaster read a brief message about Gunther, a photo of his grizzled face floating behind the anchor desk. Over the water she faintly heard the phone ring, but she ignored it, assuming it was Eric, and after ten rings it stopped.
Eleven miles away Sally sat holding the receiver and wondering what to do next. She debated calling the number the newscaster had given for anyone with information on Gunther’s whereabouts, but Loretta was the one with that. She told herself he’d be fine until morning, and she believed it. Senile or no, he was about the toughest bastard she’d ever met.
She hadn’t thought about him in a while, which was funny, because lately she’d been thinking about Wayne. The thoughts came unbidden, often in the context of something Loretta did or said, or one of the grandkids now that they were more or less grown. Especially the boy, Tate. He didn’t have much of Wayne’s personality in him; he wasn’t a liar, a thief, or a cheat as far as she knew, and he didn’t have the obsessive need to win at any cost that Wayne had. In his moments of triumph, though, he’d get a cocky, off-center grin that was pure Wayne, just like when she’d first known him in high school; at that age there didn’t seem to be anything screwy about Wayne either, at least not to her. President of the student council, captain of the track team and the debate squad, crack
“Three hours ago I thought it did. Now I think I just look like a fat lady with short hair.”
“Now quit that.” Sally hated to hear her talk that way, particularly since she outweighed her daughter by seventy pounds or more. She’d been considered quite attractive at Loretta’s age and size; of course, today you couldn’t turn on the television or open a magazine without seeing some young woman, skinny as a little boy, no tits or ass or curves of any kind, supposedly representing the feminine ideal. Seeing Loretta fall for such a pile of crap made her want to puke.
“Oh, hey. I almost forgot why I called you. Guess who I saw today? Gunther! What was his last name again?”
“Oh. Fahnstiel.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
“I am. How’d he look?”
“Pretty good. He seemed a little confused, you know? I ended up giving him a ride to the barber shop.”
“That’s nice.” She could hear the enthusiasm in Loretta’s voice, but she couldn’t fake it in her own. She’d stopped wondering about Gunther a long time before.
“Did you guys have some kind of falling out or something?”
“No, sweetie, we didn’t, but, you know, time passes. Gunther’s a good man.”
“He seemed real interested in you.”
“That’s nice. Is he still married?”
“I didn’t ask. He was on foot when I ran into him.”
“That’s probably a good thing. He’s got to be pushing eighty, and he wasn’t the greatest driver forty years ago.”
“Wasn’t he the one who drove us when we moved to Cottonwood?”
“Listen, Loretta. I don’t want to talk about Gunther anymore, okay? I’m glad to hear he’s still kicking, but I don’t want to talk about those days.”
“Okay,” Loretta said, her tone just a shade higher than a whisper.
“Oh, shit, don’t get your feelings hurt. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Why don’t you come over and spend the night? Give Eric something to wonder about when he comes home.”
“Except Eric might not come home and probably wouldn’t notice I was gone if he did. I think I’ll just get in bed and watch the first part of Johnny Carson.”
Upstairs, as she undressed and got ready for bed, Loretta turned on the television news. She half-watched a report about local elementary school students sending money to support a little boy in Peru, then went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was rinsing and spitting, insulated from the sound of the television by the running water, when the newscaster read a brief message about Gunther, a photo of his grizzled face floating behind the anchor desk. Over the water she faintly heard the phone ring, but she ignored it, assuming it was Eric, and after ten rings it stopped.
Eleven miles away Sally sat holding the receiver and wondering what to do next. She debated calling the number the newscaster had given for anyone with information on Gunther’s whereabouts, but Loretta was the one with that. She told herself he’d be fine until morning, and she believed it. Senile or no, he was about the toughest bastard she’d ever met.
She hadn’t thought about him in a while, which was funny, because lately she’d been thinking about Wayne. The thoughts came unbidden, often in the context of something Loretta did or said, or one of the grandkids now that they were more or less grown. Especially the boy, Tate. He didn’t have much of Wayne’s personality in him; he wasn’t a liar, a thief, or a cheat as far as she knew, and he didn’t have the obsessive need to win at any cost that Wayne had. In his moments of triumph, though, he’d get a cocky, off-center grin that was pure Wayne, just like when she’d first known him in high school; at that age there didn’t seem to be anything screwy about Wayne either, at least not to her. President of the student council, captain of the track team and the debate squad, crack
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