.
we’ll get to that, but first tell me what’s happening with you and Jana.’
‘I don’t know, Max,’ I said. ‘She’s still gone. I guess I’m just hoping she doesn’t learn not to care any more.’
‘And the girls?’
‘Taking it pretty hard,’ I said. ‘How are kids supposed to feel when their parents break up?’
‘I’d say it’s a little early to call this a break-up. Aren’t there still some options short of that?’
‘I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s Jana you should be asking.’
‘So you’re still blocked about the Flying S offer. What was it, fifty-one per cent?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Me running the place, Dusty and Rachel retiring on the other forty-nine percent.’
‘Begs the same old question: why are you still in town talking to a therapist about it instead of out there on your horse?’
‘I’m working on that, doc,’ I said. ‘Somehow I just can’t get it to feel like the thing to do.’
Max grunted but said nothing.
‘And I keep getting these flashbacks – ’
‘To what?’
‘Braxton Bragg. Football. All kinds of stuff.’
‘Kat?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Kat.’ I stared off into my memories for a minute, wondering why Max was asking about her . . .
That Saturday – the day we met – the first thing Kat had said as we climbed into the Ford to head out to the farm was, ‘Pretty neat truck,’ adjusting her feet among the empty Dr Pepper cans, Snickers wrappers, chemistry and social studies books, and general clutter on the floorboard. ‘How’d you know where to kick the door?’
‘It’s always been the same place.’
But eventually came the question I considered myself unqualified to answer: ‘What are your folks like?’
‘It’s just my Aunt Rachel, Dusty and Gran Esther,’ I said. ‘I work for Dusty on the farm after school except when I’ve got practice.’
‘So it’s like Rachel and Dusty adopted you?’ she said. ‘They sign your report card and send you to the dentist and make you pick up after yourself?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’
‘Just my cousin LA. She’s really Rachel’s daughter, but she’s always been more like a sister to me,’ I said, wondering if this sounded as inarticulate to Kat as it did to me. ‘She doesn’t live with us.’
‘LA?’
‘Short for Lee Ann.’
‘Pretty name,’ Kat said. She looked around at the countryside, drinking it in, everything new to her. ‘How come she’s not here too?’
I thought of saying something about how a house usually isn’t big enough for two drunks, sober or not, but I didn’t, instead deciding the main truth in short form might actually leave me less explaining to do later. ‘Things aren’t really okay between her and Rachel,’ I said, ‘on account of what her stepfather was doing to her.’
Kat stared at me for a minute and swallowed dryly. ‘You mean he – ’
I had just looked blankly at Kat for a couple of seconds, trying to think of a good way to answer her, which must have been answer enough, because she’d nodded once and turned her face away.
‘I never really know what to say when somebody asks about that, Max,’ I said. ‘Which makes me feel like it’s always coming up. I’m not sure why I think I’ve got to make people understand, unless it’s that my family doesn’t seem to make any damn sense at all, at least to me, if you leave that out.’
‘What does Lee Ann think?’
‘She says secrets like that are toxic, and we’ve swallowed enough of them for ten lifetimes.’
‘Point well taken,’ Max said. ‘How did Kat’s visit go from that point?’
A couple of minutes after our non-conversation about LA, Kat and I turned into the drive and under the archway of the farm’s white-painted wrought-iron entrance gate, heading up the half-mile drive to the house. Rounding the curve, I saw Rachel’s green Volvo under the big loblolly behind the house and Dusty’s blue GMC longbed parked beside one of the tractors farther down toward the barns. I coasted into my usual spot next to the Volvo and crunched to a stop on the gravel.
‘Geez, what a beautiful house!’ Kat said, gaping at the fieldstone, cypress, glass and slate construction overhung by two dozen huge old oaks, the long gallery and the iris, tulip and jonquil beds Rachel had planted along the southern slope of the yard.
We found Rachel at the bench in the potting shed, wearing jeans and an old red canvas shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a lock of hair down in her face. She squinted against the smoke from the Pall Mall dangling from her lips as she carefully broke up the rootball of the ivy she was re-potting. The air in the shed was dusty and cool and spoked with coppery sunlight angling through the latticed sidewall.
‘Hi, Aunt Ray,’ I said.
‘Hey, doll,’ she answered without looking up. ‘What’s goin’ on?’
‘I want you to meet somebody.’
Rachel brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand as she turned to face us, then took the cigarette from her mouth. ‘Well, would you look at this,’ she said. She stabbed the cigarette out in a jar lid on the bench, wiped her hands with a cloth and reached out to shake with Kat. ‘Hi, my name’s Rachel,’ she said. ‘I’m the farmer’s wife.’
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Katherine Dreyfus, but I go by Kat.’
‘And a yankee at that,’ said Rachel. ‘Where’d Biscuit find you, honey?’
‘At the Skillet,’ said Kat. ‘I watched him play last night. He was terrific.’
‘Oh, yeah, he’s that all right. Hell of a game, wasn’t it? But the more yards he gets, the harder it is to make him do his homework. Come on in, Kat. I’ll introduce you to Esther and get you something to drink. Biscuit, tell Dusty we’ve got company, will you?’ Tossing me a wink, she took Kat’s arm as they walked up the arboured flagstone path toward the back door of the house. ‘So, where you from, girl?’ I heard her say as they disappeared from sight.
I found Dusty currying Mariel, a pregnant four-year-old Janus mare, in the paddock beside the first barn. Mariel and I were good friends because she trusted the way I saddled and handled her, and because I hardly ever forgot her treats. Waggling an ear, she eyed the sack I was carrying. Dusty glanced at me. ‘Say, podner, what’s up?’
‘Not much. I brought some company.’
‘Who is it?’ He stuck the comb under the stump of his left arm, picked up the towel and ducked under Mariel’s neck to take a close look at her offside eye, which had been crusting a little.
‘A girl I met,’ I said. ‘Her name’s Kat. She’s from Boston. I invited her for supper.’
‘Sounds good,’ he said. He wiped at the corner of the mare’s eye and she tossed her head impatiently. ‘Hope they like hamburgers in Boston, ’cause I think we’re out of scrod.’
‘I’ll cook tonight,’ I said, holding out a couple of carrot heads for Mariel and watching her take them delicately with her soft lips.
‘Doubt it’ll get you out of doing dishes.’
‘I know. I’ll still clean