“he said, surprised.“Homer,” she said, and walked slowly in.He closed the door and waited for some word of explanation, studying her, intrigued by the change in her. All tensions and anxieties seemed gone. She seemed placid. But it was a placidity that disturbed him in some way he could not define. She turned and looked calmly at him.“I was getting about ready to go keep that date.”“What?”“That Playland Motel place, Room 190, like you told me,” he said irritably. “You want we should go there tog...ether?”She frowned. “Oh, no. We don’t have to do that now.”“You wanted me to help you, dammit.”“It wasn’t that.”“You know, you don’t make much sense along about here,” Homer said.She smiled in a tentative, almost apologetic, way, and said, “We don’t have to go there now because he died. Lottie phoned me, you see, and she told me he’s dead.”And, at last, Homer Gallowell knew what he was dealing with. He had seen it several times in his life. Of the memories of those times, the most vivid was of the young wife who, twenty years and more ago, had driven out to a drilling rig in East Texas in an old pickup truck to wait for her husband and drive him back home.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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