Okay… see what happens when you take the pressure off yourself? More, and much better below. Could be I’m back on track. Hooray.
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It distracted him for a moment, before he could answer, “Hi, my name’s Will Holliday. I’ve just walked over from next door. He stretched an arm in the direction of the house. The banging, buzzing and hammering were clearly audible from were he stood. He had no doubt she heard it was well as he did. “Is you husband home?”
At Will’s gesture, the woman’s expression went from inquisitive, to neutral, to trepidatious. He didn’t fail to catch that “husband” added the deepest furrows to her forehead.
“I’m afraid he isn’t.”
“Do you expect him back anytime soon?”
His first answer was a lot of eye darting, as if she were looking for a place to focus where he wasn’t part of the view. “Nooo… he won’t be back until later.” She was looking somewhere in the direction of South Dakota. “Probably not until after dark.”
Better time to set up an ambush? “Would it be okay to leave message for him?” Will asked.
No hesitation here. “Probably not,” popped out as if she was waiting for a chance to say it.
Will had fifteen years of experience behind him of dealing with family members who were less than forthcoming, if not downright obtuse. There was only one method he found that had any effect at all, and that was just get right to the point. “Well, in that case,” he said, offering a smile she apparently had no interest in seeing, “I’ll just state the reason I’d like to talk to him, and leave it up to you to decide whether he wants to hear it from me or not.” He let it hang for a moment, offering the chance he always did for a person to just open up and take the bad news. Nothing. “I have a couple questions about the lot just east of you.” He added the same, offhand gesture toward the house he’d initially made.
She didn’t see it, but she did react. She turned away from the door and walked away, back to the rear of the house. Before Will even had a chance to enjoy his puzzlement, she returned. He had to step back as she pushed the screen door open. When she thrust an arm through the slight gap she’d allowed, he half expected a kitchen knife. It was a paper bag, about the size of a three pound nail sack. Will couldn’t do anything but stare at it. “Please,” she said, waggling it a little. “Take it. They’re for you.”
As soon as he’d relieved her of it, the storm d closed. He looked up and saw her staring at him through the screen. “I have to ask you to leave, now. Sorry. I don’t want to call the Sheriff on you for trespassing.” And the inner door was shut.
Will was bewildered. Through the open window he heard, “Who was that, mom?” answered by a “Watch your movie.” He hung there a minute more before stepping off the porch, and waited another moment on the sidewalk. Huh . . . He took another moment to collect his wits before he started back over the grass. He then noticed the bag was radiating heat. The smell hit him as he reached the windbreak. Huh . . .
Will made his way back across the field, trodding heavily over the dirt and top of whatever sprouts happened to be pushing up through the soil wherever his foot landed. Though he certainly had nothing empirical to go on, he had a better grasp of the point Bertie was trying to make. Trespassing… That had a rehearsed element to it, as if a prepared response. Nowhere in the real world would that fly, but… The cookies smelled fabulous.
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Until…