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By Root 1024 0

addenda to the story, adventures involving being taken farther east with the Russians. And then the war ended. That night, sitting around a campfire, everybody got good and drunk on vodka. Come hungover dawn, the Russians gave Lit a handshake and a hearty fare-thee-well, for they were heading in opposite directions. Lit did not even know what country he was in. They all seemed an awful lot alike after a while. He spent weeks and weeks wandering westward across ravaged Europe with all its viciousness and culture, to make his way back to American troops. Along the way, lots of young eastern European women, recently widowed. Sad and needy, and ready to take him in for a few days. He could go on and on about their charity and their peasant charms. Their skill with a pot of water, a pinch of salt, and a potato.

When she finished the story, Luce wasn’t even close to getting weepy about her dead daddy. He wasn’t that kind of daddy, and she wasn’t that kind of daughter.

CHAPTER 1

A COOL NOVEMBER DAY, blue sky and sunlight thin and angling, even at noon. Leaves entirely off most trees, but still hanging tough and reddish brown on the oaks.

Luce says, Good day for a pony ride.

Stubblefield makes an expression, eyebrows up. A question.

—We can’t live indoors forever, Luce says. And since you’re going to be here awhile, drop us off at Maddie’s and go to town. Get the rest of your things. We’ll all be back before dark. She turns to the kids and says, Pack your lunch. We don’t want to go with our hands out, riding Maddie’s pony and begging dinner at the same time.

Stubblefield tries to find a place to carry his pistol. Sticking it down the waistband of his pants seems treacherous, so he puts it in his jacket pocket. But its weight pulls that side down uncomfortably, so he loads a book in the other pocket for balance.

The children plunder through the kitchen, and Luce tries to let them do what they want, or at least what they can. She’s long since stopped getting judgmental about what a meal ought to be. Simply watch them and say the names of the things they choose and get them to repeat after her. If most of what they put in the lunch bag is edible, that’s enough for now. So, leftovers of last night’s mashed potatoes and this morning’s home fries, Luce lets it go. After all, she doesn’t really think of mushy white potatoes and crisp brown potatoes as being the same thing either. Maybe a little harder to be cool when they seem to believe lunch should be bread-and-butter pickles and ketchup. Or a jar of beets to share. But Luce takes the attitude, when you start fretting the day-by-day you lose track of the long view. And the long view is, they need to learn to speak for themselves and do the best they can. For now, if they bag their own lunch and it’s pickles and prunes and they say the words, all you do is put both thumbs up and say, Good job.

THE SHADOWS BENEATH the big pines near the shore fall darker than under other trees. The deep pine straw smells sharp and clean. Astringent. It’s what those half-moon evergreen urinal cakes are going for but miss by a mile.

Bud waits and watches. Lights the next Lucky off the butt of the one before. This is what? The third or fourth time he’s been here the past month? He’s beginning to worry that his money is no different from Blackbeard’s buried treasure. Once real, now imaginary.

In time, Luce and the kids and the boyfriend walk to the car and drive down the road. Ten minutes later, Bud goes to the door. No more summertime latched screens with their simple hooks. The big wood door is locked tight. He had guessed it would be. So, a small hammer and a thin chisel. A few educated taps, and the door opens.

Bud entertains no plans, no list of places to look. He’s given up trying to guess what either of the two sister bitches would consider clever. Whatever idea strikes at the moment is what he goes with. He checks the back sides of framed artwork. Lifts the corners of wool rugs. Lies on his back and looks at the undersides of coffee tables and end tables and settles. Feels up into