The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [48]
Finally Sam told them to stop. “It’s like getting your hair brushed too long. First it’s a pleasure, then it gets on your nerves.”
Silence fell. After a long pause, Clark asked, “Know why the poor man became a baker?”
Annie answered, “Because he kneaded the dough.”
“Guess I already told you that one. How about the butcher that backed into his meat grinder and got a little behind in his work?”
Sam muttered, “Please. Top ten worst.” She phoned Georgette, whose line was busy or dead.
Gradually the noise of the storm subsided. Malpy stopped squeaking. Clark pushed open the cellar doors and they looked out. Rain was falling but the wind had eased. Pilgrim’s Rest had survived another storm.
Back in the front hall, Sam lit the half-dozen kerosene lanterns she kept for such an emergency, just as she kept extra water in jugs and extra gasoline in cans, extra salt for the driveway, first aid kits, antidotes. She telephoned Georgette next door again and reached her. “I told you to call me in ten minutes! Have you got candles?”
Georgette said she had found the five-dozen candles Sam had given her during last winter’s predicted power outage. “I was on the phone with my mother. I told her I was alone hiding in the basement in the middle of a twister and she said she’d gotten a birdie on the eighth hole.”
Sam sighed. “Tell me something you don’t know.”
“Okay. Annie’s not up in that plane. Is she?”
“Ask her.” Sam handed Annie the phone. Clark and she carried the lanterns around to check the house.
Annie told Georgette that she definitely planned on going to St. Louis. “The storm’s pretty much over.”
“It is? Look out the windows.”
“I have to find my dad.”
“Wouldn’t you have done it by now? I mean, almost twenty years? It’s a big house, but it’s not that big.”
“Don’t be funny. This so-called friend of his, Rafael Rook, called and says he’s got terminal cancer.”
“But somehow you don’t believe it.” Georgette sighed. “Take it from me. They do die. George is in an urn next to his Rotary awards. On the other hand, Kim’s in a golfing retirement center shooting birdies. Count your blessings? Okay, I’m going to bed. I wanted to watch the History Channel. It was the excavation of Pompeii. I don’t know why a petrified dog should be so fascinating.”
Annie’s shoulders relaxed; it soothed her to talk to Georgette. “I’ll keep you posted. I’ve got to settle this so I can get back to Maryland for my test flight.”
“Yeah, well, it’s always some world record or other with you. Sam wants me to drive back to Maryland with you to meet your condo buddy Trevor.”
“Why don’t Sam and Clark worry about getting themselves dates and leave us alone? Salut, chérie.”
“Love you. I strenuously advise you not to fly to St. Louis tonight but when did you ever listen to me?”
Annie raised an eyebrow. “When you told me marrying Brad was a good idea.”
“Don’t ever listen to me.” Georgette shrugged her soft shoulders. “I’m a sucker for muscles. I’d like to swing through a jungle like Lucy, from one Homo erectus biceps to another. I’d teach them all to talk and they’d all grunt that they loved me. A bientôt.”
***
As she packed, Annie called Trevor at Chesapeake Cove. Their agreement was a long-standing one: she took care of his West Highland terrier whenever he went on vacation; he took care of her cat whenever she had to leave home. Now she asked if he could watch Amy Johnson if she had to be away longer than she’d originally thought?
He could. He asked if they’d escaped the tornado. The news had said it was close.
“Very close. But we’re fine. Georgette’s upset because she can’t get the History Channel.”
“I don’t blame her.”
“She’s my oldest friend and she’s never met you.”
“Define oldest,” Trevor said.
“You’ve seen her picture in my living room. She’s a doctor, she’s single, and she spent last summer on an archeological dig in Sicily.”
Trevor said, “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing. What’s wrong with you? You’re single.”
“True.”
“I need another favor.”
“Date your friend?”
“No. Help me find my father. He sent me a letter he’s dying.