Part 31 (2/2)

And probably he should have, now. He should have. 'Cause when Belle told Paxton about the mower, he put two and two together, see, and called up Giles himself. And then Rex's old friend, bless him, explained everything to Paxton, including how Ginny and Everett probably could have taught him a thing or two. Seeing as how they lived with the King of Deals himself. And seeing as how Rex had made a deal out of other people's misery for about as long as anyone could remember.

Sue Ann Horn told them all of it later, see. When she and Randy Little were finally settled in, she told them. Back at the time, though, Belle did not exactly come running to report on what Paxton said. She did not let on that the commune'd gone and got a loan from their daddies and bought their own mower, either. Ginny and Everett knew nothing about nothing until their mower was signed for and sitting in their field. They knew nothing about nothing until there it was, all prepped and green and brandy-a.s.s new.

Theirs.

The last days on the farm were sad. Rex's bypa.s.s was scheduled, but most days he didn't look as if he was going to make it to the operation. Ginny kept calling the doctor's office. Terrible, she kept saying. He looks terrible. But the answer kept coming back the same. His condition wasn't critical enough for him to jump the line. Sure he was tired. Sure he was keeping to bed. He had a bad heart, they said. That's why he was having the bypa.s.s.

'Course, the funny thing when you thought about it was how clear Everett's pa's pipes were, thanks to his barely ever getting a bite of those steaks Rex was so used to. But Everett didn't ever say that to Ginny, now. Nope. He didn't say it. They were too busy trying to decide what to do. Trying to get used to the idea of some stranger handling the deal. A stranger selling the farm.

Jarvis and Bob came up to help out but made the mistake of asking how this could have happened. And then, well, if they really wanted to know they probably could have heard the story just fine in the city, and without even using the phone. Where the h.e.l.l were you? Ginny kept saying. Where the h.e.l.l were you? And, Did you ever think about the farm? Did you ever think what it meant? And, Would you look at Pa, now? Look at him! Look at him! Blasting. She was blasting. She was so mad she banged the truck into a couple of trees. Burnt up just about everything she cooked. She even had trouble with her shoelaces. Couldn't calm down enough to tie them.

Rex took to praying. 'Course, he always was some kind of Christian. Congregationalist, maybe. Everett'd never seen him pick up a Bible before, though. Rex had never had time for that sort of thing. Wouldn't have had the interest, either, unless there were pa.s.sages in Paul about what the weather was going to do. But now he read as if the Good Book might tell him something. As if the Good Book could tell him how his old friend Giles could do him in for the commission on two mowers, for instance. Or whether Satan had gotten to his friend. He thought the Good Book could tell him that. His friend was in trouble, he'd say. He had to pray for him. Pray for his salvation.

Rex playing savior. That was something to see, all right.

”We're going to have to start over,” Everett said, one day. Ginny was standing there in the kitchen door, smoking and giving him her back. But he talked anyway, now, see. Talked to her back. ”Listen. We won't move to the city, but how about we move across the lake? Into town. How about we move into town?”

A puff of smoke came out of her.

”Far enough to put this behind us but close enough we'll still have our roots. You'll see a doctor and have us some babies. I'll find some work. Rex'll live with us. What do you say?”

She smoked.

”Those cigarettes are going to kill you.” He didn't dare bring up the eating. Figured he'd let her pants talk to her personal. But the smoking, now. He had to say something about the smoking. ”You see what it says on the package? The surgeon general says so. Everyone says so. You're going to get cancer.”

”Oh, yeah?” She lit up another cigarette.

They called the doctor's office again. Said they wanted Rex looked at. 'Cause he looks terrible, they said. 'Cause there's a lot of stress here. All they wanted was an appointment, they said. And they did get one in the end, see. They got one. It wasn't for two months, though.

Ginny smoked.

It was Rex who brought up the subject of graves. Said they could try to save the family plot, now. They could try. He didn't want to be buried there, though. Nope. Said if he was buried there he could not rest for missing his cows.

”I'd just be all the time thinking about them. What a herd we had. Escape artists.” He laughed. ”Escape artists.”

Ginny swallowed.

”Remember when we sold the dairy herd? When your ma died?”

”I remember.”

”Thought that was the end of the world. Remember?” ”I remember.”

”Thought there could never be as hard a time as that.” He laughed a kind of laugh. ”Just goes to show what a man knows.”

He wanted to be buried in the Christian cemetery.

”Could be a mite lonely at first, but maybe we can buy up a couple of plots around mine. What do you say? See if anybody wants to join me. You. The boys. Everett. Improves your chances of going to heaven, you know.”

”Is that right?”

”Starts you out one step closer. And let's face it. Some of us need the boost.”

”I hear you, Pa,” Ginny said. ”I don't think we'll be burying you anytime soon, but I hear you.”

”Pre-need, isn't that what they say?” he said. ”It's good to decide on things pre-need.”

”I guess,” said Ginny.

Seeing as they were on the subject, she asked if he wanted her mother moved over there, too, to join him. Keep him company. ”Not that we're planning on burying you anytime soon,” she said again.

”Nah. Let the dead rest,” he said. ”Though I will miss her. What a good woman she was, your mother. I never did think I could manage without her.”

They listed the farm with a big-name agency. Folks with an office in the city and brochures. And they did talk great. They did. They talked great. But they sent morons to show the place. Showed it to morons, too. It was morons walking around with morons. Ginny kept the place perfect as a magazine, but that wasn't enough, now, see. That wasn't enough. The morons would stop and say, loud enough for Ginny and Everett to hear, They prettied it up, but did they insulate the place? They prettied it up, but did they update the wiring?

Everett would've freed the cows to get Ginny out of there. Spare her the ordeal. But once, just going out for a walk, they'd come back to dead quiet.

”Pa! Pa!” Steep as those old stairs was, Ginny ran up them by twos. ”Pa!”

Rex was asleep. He had pulled down his window shade so as not to see any more morons. In fact, so as not to be looking at the farm at all.

”I always used to tell Celia,” he said, ”that a family farm is a soap opera. I just plain don't want to watch.”

'Course, they had their hopes even then, but what a sorry lot of hopes they was. Everett hoped never to see Giles again, now. That was one hope. He hoped never to see Belle or Paxton either. That was another. And Paxton he never did see again, luckily. Giles, neither.

But one day he looked out the window and saw company, and it wasn't a moron bringing a moron. It was Belle with her bare feet and that torn-up clothes. Never mind it was fall. Warm for fall, but still fall. She was wearing cutoffs so you could see the hair on her legs. A T-s.h.i.+rt with no sleeves so you could see her underarm hair, too. Luckily, she kept her arms more or less by her sides as she swung them. Not swinging them one back and one forward, the way most folks did, but both forward and then both back, so you could see her t.i.ts squeeze. Squeeze and hang, squeeze and hang, like they were being milked.

He intercepted her on the walk. Asked what she'd come for.

”I came to say I'm sorry,” she said. ”I didn't realize, I guess. I mean, I just had no idea. That all this would happen. I had no idea.”

She was still swinging her arms. When he didn't answer right off, though, she stopped.

”Well, that's fine,” he said. ”But I don't think you should go in there.”

”Why not?”

” 'Cause you might get yourself killed,” he said.

”Rex might kill me?”

”Ginny,” he said. ”Ginny might kill you.”

”She's mad, huh.” Belle cracked her knuckles.

”I'd say so. Yeah. She's mad, all right.”

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