Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

turned back. “They’re fitting Jason’s new saddle to Stoner.”

“New saddle?”

“Yes, ma’am. I made it up special. I figured he needed one of his own he could grow into.”

Who is this guy?

House builder, clock maker, or saddle smith?

“Can you go tell them to come and eat their salads. Dinner will be ready in less than an hour.”

Willis nodded and went outside.

She pushed past Kirby like he wasn’t there.

He said, “Did you see what I got for the kid?”

She stopped in the doorway and looked, not seeing it. “No.” She wasn’t being deliberately rude, just icy. She leaned around Kirby and saw it. “Oh, I didn’t see you bring that in. That looks like a good one. I’m sure he’ll love it.” She smiled at Kirby, even her eyes. First time today.

“Listen, about last night. I didn’t mean to . . .  I mean . . .” He couldn’t find words.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

If not for your stupid kid . . .

“Let’s forget about it." She glanced his way. "Okay?”

“Sure.” He’d love it if she would.

He followed her into the kitchen, sucking ice cubes. “There’s something else. On the way back to Bridgeport, I had to make a pit stop, you know, dispense some fluids. Anyway, I lost my wallet. I’ve looked everywhere.”

She looked at him, willing to listen.

“I don’t have any way of getting back to L.A. Think you could loan me a couple of hundred bucks for gas?”

The others had just come back inside and the dog already stood in the kitchen between Kirby and Carolyn.

She nodded and smiled, no problem about the money.

“Great.”

When the kid marched into the kitchen, she said, “Jason, look what Mr. Kirby brought you for Christmas.”

The kid went back to the kitchen doorway and looked toward the tree. “Cool. Thank you, Mr. Kirby.”

Kirby strolled to the kitchen doorway, sucking ice, trying to be friends with her kid.

The kid ignored Kirby and his bike, more interested in what Willis was doing.

Willis set a wooden box on the hearth and eased past Kirby, his steely eyes cutting through him, not being deliberately unfriendly.

The hair on Kirby’s neck stood up, uneasy, something about this guy, that feeling of dread again. Kirby shook it off. He didn’t like it.

The kid and the Indian followed Willis into the kitchen and into another room behind the kitchen door.

Kirby looked inside the pantry where all three stood at a large wash sink near a washing machine and dryer, all scrubbing their hands and arms with what looked like Lava soap.

Nobody uses that anymore.

He smelled his hands, still smelling of skunk.

After they'd dried their hands and filed out, Kirby went in, set his empty glass on a shelf and washed his hands with Lava soap. He left his empty glass in the pantry and returned to the kitchen.

The others were already seated on the window benches. Carolyn sat nearest the kitchen counter and stove. They all waited for Kirby.

He sat in a wicker backed chair at the head of the table. When the others lowered their heads, Kirby followed their archaic tradition. Carolyn and the kid took his hands, like they actually believed in this crap.

Jesus, I’m out of place here.

The kid said, “Thank you, Lord, for your wonderful blessings and amazing grace. Protect and keep us safe at night. Bless this house and all who are in it, bless this food that it might nourish us, and bless us that we might better serve Thee. In Jesus name we pray, Amen.”

The others said, “Amen.”

Not me. 

Bunch of crap.

Hungry for two days now, Kirby picked up a bottle of ranch dressing and flooded his second salad of the day. Willis, the Indian and the kid all ate theirs without dressing.

“Excuse me.” Carolyn went to the stove to stir a steaming pot of vegetables. She hadn't given herself a salad.

“Not having any salad?” He didn't want to eat hers.

“I eat mine while I’m making everyone else’s.” Her smile looked warm and friendly.

Great.

Maybe he still had a shot.

The others finished their salads, nodded at Kirby and went back into the living room.

Kirby collected and set the empty salad plates in the sink, rinsed ranch dressing from his mouth and touched shoulders with Carolyn.

She shifted away without a glance.

Kirby followed the others back into the living room where Willis stood high up the ladder, pointing to the box on the hearth like they all knew what he wanted. The Indian grabbed one of three counterweights and handed it to Willis. Willis hung it from the center chain and reached for another. The Indian handed him the second weight and Willis connected it to the second chain. After hanging the third counterweight, Willis looked at the kid.

The kid looked at his Swiss Army watch, the birthday gift from Kirby, loose as a charm bracelet on the kid’s wrist. “4:32.”

Willis set the clock and gave the pendulum a shove.

The uneven tic-tock pulse of the clock could barely be heard.

The Indian handed up a long, slender screwdriver.

Willis turned screws at the top of the pendulum mechanism, adjusting the balance. A couple of turns with the screwdriver and the clock mechanism came into balance, an even tick-tock.

Willis closed the glass cover, handed the Indian the screwdriver and climbed down.

“Oh, Willis,” said Carolyn, standing near Kirby. “That’s wonderful. Thank you. Come on, we just have time.” She walked to the Christmas tree, pulled an envelope from between the limbs and handed it to Kirby. Her smile looked sincere, warm. “We didn’t know what to get you so we bought you a vacation to Tahiti.”

Jesus! Why?

Tahiti had become too commercial, too yesterday, and too French. Kirby hated the place.  “For two, I hope.”

“Of course.” She didn’t look at him. “It’s good for a year. We got you a booking at the Princess Resort. You need to call a month in advance.” She smiled shyly at Kirby and pushed the kid toward the tree. “You do the rest, honey. Mommy needs to get dinner on the table.”

Kirby folded the envelope into