“You get the fuck on outta here ‘fore I shoot yer sorry ass!”

Luther tried to straighten up and immediately stopped, letting ragged breaths in, each one like dragging barbed wire through his lungs.

The skinny, dark-haired, pinch-faced girl pointing the double-barrel shotgun made a thrusting motion with it. Her tube top and cut-off jean shorts weren’t even beginning to hide her obviously baby-swollen stomach. She narrowed her eyes. “I mean it, you thievin’ sonuvabitch. Get your ass turned round and get on outta here.”

He managed to look up at her, a little more focused, then fell back to one knee. “I can’t. Can’t go anymore.”

She saw his battered face and took a barefoot step back in surprise, lowering the shotgun just a bit. “Who’re you, anyways?”

“Name’s Luther McCabe.”

The shotgun snapped back up instantly. “A fuckin’ McCabe!?”

“Matilda Mae. You lower that gun right now!” A tall, thin, middle-aged woman in a gingham dress swept out of the little cabin across the porch and down the few steps, about as fast as anyone could without running.

“But he’s a God...”

“You WILL NOT take the Lord’s name in vain while living under our roof!”

Matilda Mae sagged the instant the woman’s voice turned to cold iron. “I’m sorry, Miss Irene. But he said he’s a...”

“A McCabe. Yes. I heard him.” She gently but firmly plucked the shotgun from Matilda’s grasp.

Luther looked up weakly. “Wasn’t me that knocked ya up there, girl. I was over in Vietnam ‘til just about a month ago.”

The barefoot girl stepped forward, bony fist raised, face dark with anger.

“Matilda Mae. Stop.” Irene’s voice was soft but resolute. She looked at Luther. “You’re not helping your case any, you know.”

Luther tried to shrug. “Wouldn’t hardly be the first time a McCabe boy got a girl in trouble and ran out on ‘er, but it wasn’t me.”

Irene gave him a jaundiced look. “Young man. You are not helping your case. Judging from your condition, you are probably aware that others do not find you very amusing.”

“Hell, I didn’t have to smart off to get my ass beat this time. ‘Bout six of them damn Parker boys caught me outside the grocery store and started whalin’ on me. Threw me into the back of a pick-up. They was probably planning on killin’ me out here, but I managed to get out and run off.”

“Any particular reason?” From the tone of her voice, it was pretty damn clear she had a good guess.

Luther shrugged. “Reckon it’s about ‘shine, but we didn’t exactly have what you’d call a civil conversation, if’n you know what I mean. An’ I ain’t been back here in near on four years.”

“We’d best get you inside then. They’ll likely be looking for you, and we will not be a party to any of that ridiculous behavior.” Irene gripped Luther’s arm and nodded curtly to Matilda Mae. “Get his other arm. Please.”

With a scowl, Matilda did as she was asked, and the two of them walked him into the cabin.

Just as they lowered him onto a flower-pattern couch in the carefully kept little cabin, Luther heard a familiar but unwelcome sound.

“That’s their truck.”

Irene hefted the shotgun. “You let me handle this.”

As she stalked out, Luther weakly grabbed Matilda’s arm. “It gets bad, you just let ‘em take me. Them Parker boys is mean as hell, and I ‘spect they ain’t above hurtin’ women.”

She yanked her arm back and stepped away from him, glaring daggers. She looked like she was about to say something, but voices drifted in the window and she stayed silent, listening.

“You seen a McCabe running around here?” It was a man’s voice, full of anger and contempt.

“I haven’t seen anyone running anywhere around here.” Irene’s voice sounded from the front porch.

“We got some business with him, and you’d best not get in the way.” The man sounded more disgusted than angry.

“Please leave. Take all of your nonsense with you. Just leave.”

“Look, you damn dyke...”

Matilda moved in a flash, pausing just long enough to pull one of the hatchets from the kindling bucket before striding out the door. “Bobby Parker, get the hell out of here and leave us be.”

“Mattie? What the fuck are you doin’ here, Sis?”

“Don’t you ‘Sis’ me. You know damn good an’ well Ma threw me out. Irene an’ Flora give me a place to stay.”

“But they’re...” The man’s voice trailed off.

“Just you shut the hell up, Bobby. They’re good people. Better’n my own family. Where you expectin’ me to stay? Or you jes’ want me to go off an’ die in the woods?”

“You shoulda took care of it...”

“Like your girl, Jessie, did, Bobby? End up near ta dyin’ in the hospital after you took her to some butcher with a coat hanger? She ever start talkin’ to you again?” Mattie’s voice rose with shrill anger. “I’m keepin’ my baby, and it ain’t none a your nevermind, none a Ma or Pa’s neither.”

“Look, Mattie, we’re your family...”

“I don’t got no family no more, so just fuck off and...” Her voice broke, and Mattie bolted in through the open front door and raced to a room at the back of the cabin, slamming that door shut behind her to cut off her muffled sobs.

A long pause followed before Luther heard Irene’s voice, calm and firm. “I believe you have upset her enough. Please leave.”

Apparently, even Bobby Parker knew the conversation was over. Irene waited until the sound of the truck died away before coming back inside. She gave Luther a slightly sad look. He pointed weakly at the closed door. “She’s back there. Crying.”

“She spends a lot of time doing that. Hormones and stress.” Irene walked over and looked down at him. “Flora is a nurse. You’ll just have to hang on until she gets here. I don’t believe you look like you’re going to die in the next hour or so.”

Luther closed his eyes and let the world slip away.

***** Sledgehammer Mission Support Base HEAVY DROP, Republic of Vietnam

“Medic! Medic!” The call was hollow and distant; it seemed like it was coming from miles away. Corporal McCabe felt his boot slip and looked down as he struggled to catch his footing.The aluminum runway matting that surrounded the bunker had been liberated from inattentive Seabees; it was covered in thick dark brown fluid ... oil maybe ... A tinny, far away ringing seemed to swell as he studied the slowly moving sludge ... it was kind of ... red ... Red made sense. The dirt here, the dirt that seemed to get into everything ... it was red. But ... He stared at a pair of boots that someone had left outside the bunker entrance. There was something ... wrong ... something sticking up out of them ... dark but with something white ... Where was everyone? Where was Staff Sergeant Estrada? He’d just been talking to him, something about his short-timer stick. Corporal McCabe felt the itch on the corner of his jaw. He slowly reached up and scratched. It felt odd ... like grease or something. He pulled his hand back and looked at it.

Red.

His hand. His arm. His pants legs. His boots. Everything was ... Red. ***** Luther blinked awake and looked into a pair of serious, dark gray eyes.

“He’ll live. At least three or four broken ribs from that bruising. You shouldn’t have let him sleep. Probably had a concussion, but not a bad one.”

Luther blinked and looked around. Irene was standing behind the woman. Matilda Mae Parker was sitting on an oversize rocking chair near the fireplace with a sullen, sour look. He focused on the woman who had pronounced him salvageable. He assumed she was Flora. She looked right back at him, wry amusement printed on her face.

He groaned in pain as he pulled himself upright ... mostly upright, anyway... “Where’s my shirt and jeans?”

Flora gestured towards the kitchen counter. “Had to get a look at you to see what the damage was. Don’t worry; I think all of us have seen all the parts before.” A slight smile twitched across her face. “Mattie probably a bit more than me or Irene, I suppose.”

Luther shifted. “I’ll get on outta here as soon as I can. I’ll go home...”

He stopped, suddenly all too aware that he wasn’t sure how much “home” there was.

“You’ll want to stay a few days until you can at least walk steady.” She paused thoughtfully. “Are you Eliza’s younger boy?”

The humor dropped from Flora’s face as he nodded. “We’re sorry for your loss. We’ll pray for her.”

Behind her, he saw Mattie suddenly glance shamefacedly at the floor then look up. “I didn’t know you were her son when I...”

Her voice trailed off, and she just let the statement go.

Irene stepped forward.

“You stay here on the couch until Flora says you’re healthy enough to get around safely. You said the...” She shot a look at Mattie. “ ... the Parker boys attacked you without saying why?”

“Hell...” He stopped at the sour look from Irene. “Heck. Been near on three years since I been back here. Ain’t never been on good terms with any Parkers, but I just got off the bus from Saint Louis, went into Harvey’s to get a can of pop; first I knew there was a problem somebody was crackin’ a pipe across my skull just as I walked out the store.”

Mattie suddenly showed real interest. “You said you ain’t been back here in ‘bout three years?”

“Not since I got drafted and ended up at Bragg then eighteen months in Vietnam. Almost four years.”

“So you ain’t been up on what’s happening ‘round here for the last year or so?”

“Not much. Figured this was about ‘shine. It always is hereabouts.”

Mattie gave a tiny sigh and suddenly looked more tired and sad than angry.

“Been a lot of shootin’. Stills getting burnt down. Loads gettin’ hijacked.” Her face twisted and reddened. “My ... Custis? Three months ago, someone shot him through his car door, an’ he died out on Leaf Hill Road.”

“Custis Green?”

She nodded, eyes glassy.

“Can’t say we were friends, but I always heard he was a decent enough guy. Sorry to hear it.”

She gave a jerky nod, not trusting herself to talk.

Luther shook his head. “You thinkin’ it was my brother Darryl what did that?”

She gave a shaky shrug, bare shoulders moving just a bit. “Some that thought it might be, but nobody knows.”

The McCabe reputation for making trouble wasn’t exactly unearned. They prided themselves on making the best ‘shine around, but some of Luther’s kin had been forceful about protecting their territory. Most of those kin were long gone, but the reputation lingered.

“Mighta been. Ma never said nothin’ ‘bout anything going on in her letters. I don’t know. Doesn’t really seem like him; he was always the go-with-the-flow guy. Kinda lazy; just wanting to make enough ‘shine to buy himself some little stuff. Never liked trouble much. Right before I got drafted, my Uncle died, and we cut way back. I didn’t even hear what happened to him or Ma ‘til I got back to Bragg, and they started out-processing me. Red Cross paperwork was chasing me all over the world. I missed both the funerals.”

Irene looked down. “We saw what was in the paper.”

“Darryl got killed on a run, supposedly resisting arrest.” Luther stared at the floor. “Doesn’t make sense. Sheriff has arrested him so many times he had his own cell. He’d just pull over, grin, and ask what supper was gonna be. Then laugh all the way to jail.”

He shifted. “An’ Ma ... well, the house burned down a couple days later, before Darryl was even buried.”

A solemn silence fell on the room for a long moment.

Irene finally broke it. “Where are your things? I don’t suppose the Army sent you home with no clothing.”

“Bus depot. I wasn’t sure where I was going to end up, so I left it in a locker there.” He held up the key.

Irene gently took the key from him. “I believe Flora and I have a bit of grocery shopping to do. We might just look into the price of bus tickets to Mount Rushmore while we’re there. I’ve always wanted to see Mount Rushmore. Ever since we saw that movie.”

“North by Northwest.” Flora gave Irene a sly, amused look. “I believe someone was a bit enamored of Eva Marie Saint.”

Irene sniffed primly and turned away. Flora gave a knowing wink. Mattie suppressed a smile, and Luther tried not to grin.

After they left in Flora’s old truck, Luther and Mattie stared at each other across the room.

Mattie shot him a glare of warning. “Don’t you dare judge them.”

“Not my job to judge anyone, and they ain’t hurtin’ nobody. Gonna take everything I got to get my own life fixed up. ‘Sides, I kinda owe them.”

She relaxed just a bit. “A lotta people don’t ... understand them. They could pretend to just be living in the house together, but Flora refuses to hide what they are.”

“Seems to me a lotta people could just stay out of their business, and things’d be just fine.”

Mattie gave Luther a short sharp nod of approval, then frowned. “I think I remember you from school now. Just about four years aheada me. Always in trouble. Fightin’, mostly.”

“Sounds about right.” Luther stared at her. “I can’t remember you, but I didn’t pay much attention to kids younger than me.”

“I’d a stayed clear of ya anyhow, McCabe.” Mattie turned away slightly and closed her eyes to make it clear the conversation, such as it was, was over.

***** Two hours later, Luther woke with a start. Mattie was still curled up in the big rocking chair, sound asleep.

The sound of the truck that had brought him awake was definitely Flora’s, and not the Parker truck, so he stayed on the couch, but he fixed on the hatchets in the kindling bucket for a moment. Just in case.

Flora walked in with two paper bags of groceries and Irene trailed her, easily balancing his faded olive-drab Army-issue duffel bag on one thin shoulder.

Luther gave a respectful nod and pointed to Mattie asleep in the chair. Flora smiled knowingly and moved on into the kitchen with her bags, and Irene set the duffel bag down by him.

He kept his voice low as he talked with Irene. “I’ll get outta your hair as fast as I can. I know it’s a lot, but if you could drop me at the sheriff’s tomorrow, I’ll move on.”

Irene gave an oddly soft almost-smile. “I’m afraid not. Flora says you need a couple more days. But once she says you’ll be okay, we’ll take you.”

Luther nodded. “Anything I can do while I’m here? I appreciate the hospitality, but I want to do somethin’.”

“Probably not.” Irene gave an ironic smile. “Unless you’re an expert on skunks? A whole family of them has been raiding the eggs from the chicken coops.”

“I’m a fair carpenter. I’ve made a blind box trap or two. Trap ‘em alive. That way, the place doesn’t reek for months. I can do that for ya.”

“We would appreciate that.”

With that, Flora caught Irene’s hand and the two women headed to their room.

When he woke again a few hours later, Mattie had apparently retreated to her room.

***** Three days passed before Flora declared Luther healed enough to move on. He’d spent more than a few hours building wooden box traps on the workbench in their barn.

It also kept him out of Mattie’s way. While she’d apparently more or less resigned herself to having a McCabe nearby, it was obviously a strain on her civility. What little civility she had, anyway.

He finished testing the last trap, watching the dual doors drop shut perfectly, then looked up to find Mattie staring at him, arms crossed defensively across her chest. “Flora says you’re all healed up. What are you gonna do now?”

“Find a place to live. Get a job.” Luther half ignored her, studying on the wooden hinges of the box trap.

“Wreck stills? Burn some houses? Shoot some people?” Mattie’s voice was dead flat. “Been hearin’ bout that McCabe shit all my life.”

Luther shook his head. “I’m just going to look for work. I’m a carpenter.”

“Really?” Mattie gave him a look of sullen disbelief.

“I’m not gonna be making any ‘shine. I’m out of it. Things were getting crazy afore I even left. Big outfits with truck radiators for condensers, makin’ popskull and sendin’ people blind. Addin’ chemicals to make weak shit draw a bead. Pure poison. Don’t want any part of it.”

“And your brother?”

“I guess I’ll ask the sheriff about that sooner or later. Sheriff’s always been a fair man; there’s gotta be a reason.”

Mattie studied on him for a moment. “An’ them Parkers?” She had a doubtful, serious tone.

“Maybe I met somebody that can get the word to them that whatever shit’s been goin’ on, I ain’t part of it, don’t want any part of it.” Luther gave her a meaningful look.

“Maybe. Maybe they’ll listen, maybe not. I ain’t anyone’s favorite right now.”

“I’d appreciate it anyways. Even if it don’t work, it’s better’n startin’ off ugly.”

“I asked around, an’ Sissy says Bert will rent out a room to you over the bar if you want. Bert says your Ma did right by his wife ‘fore she died.”

“She looked after his missus when she got the cancer.”

Mattie pursed her lips. “Sissy said that.”

“Sissy Campbell?”

“Sissy Martin now, she’s married to Ryan Martin ‘bout two years already.” She actually smiled, the first genuine smile Luther had seen on her. “They even have a baby.”

“Sissy married Ryan? Jesus.”

Mattie shrugged. “They’re happy.” Her excitement faded abruptly, and the smile dropped away. That stubbornly sullen look of hers took over. “It’ll be good to get back to normal around here. You can get Flora to drop you off.”

*** Sheriff’s Department. Saint Clair, Missouri ***

Luther walked up to the front desk. “Sheriff Glenn in today?”

The young female deputy looked confused. “Not in about six months.”

“Six months?”

She nodded gravely, her blonde ponytail bobbing solemnly. “He retired and moved to Florida...”

She straightened up abruptly and looked past him. “Sheriff. This man wanted to talk to Sheriff Glenn.”

“I’d think he would, Amy. This is Luther McCabe.”

The female deputy did a quick double-take, staring at him in frank shock. “Is he related...”

“ ... to Darryl McCabe. Luther here is his brother.”

Luther turned to face the voice. “Jeb?”

“Sorry about Darryl.”

“You the sheriff now?” Luther looked him over.

“Somebody had to, and the election is still over a year away.”

Luther took a long moment. “What happened to Darryl?”

“Let’s take a walk to the diner. I’ll buy lunch.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were looking wordlessly into the Wednesday Catfish Specials and sipping coffee.

Jeb blew out a sigh. “I’ll tell you what I know. I just don’t know much.”

“What do you know?”

“According to Agent Cooper, he pulled a gun.”

“That doesn’t make sense. He never carried a gun when he had a load. Said it only caused problems.”

Sheriff Jeb Posey closed his eyes for a moment. “There’d been some trouble, but the gun didn’t make sense either. A Saturday night special, a Rohm RG14.22. No prints on it at all.”

“Darryl’d never carry a piece of shit like that. If he really thought he needed a gun, he had a Smith and Wesson he liked a lot.”

“All I know is what was in the report.” Jeb paused. “Been a lot of weird shit happening since that Revenue agent showed up. I have a deputy ‘working with’ him as much as I can.”

“You think he’s bent.”

“What I think doesn’t matter worth a shit. I can’t prove a goddamn thing.”

“Who the fuck is he?”

“Agent Kevin Cooper; IRS, Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms division.”

“You think the gun was a throw-away?”

“Only matters what I can prove.” A long moment of silence passed, then Jeb let a long breath out. “You watch out for that bastard, he knows your name, and he knows you’re in town. He’s been askin’ about you.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“I have your brother’s truck. It’s in impound, but I think I can waive the impound fee.” Jeb pushed a set of keys across the table, then took a deep breath. “It’s been bad the last year and a half or so. Some hunters found David Duey back off Devil’s Hollow aways. Beat to death from what the coroner says.”

“Dave was no pansy. Big man. Must’ve been a bunch of ‘em.”

“I know what you’re thinking; I heard rumors you got jumped by the Parkers a few days ago. I don’t think it was them. Duey and the Parkers go back a long ways. I’d of heard if they had a fallin’ out.”

Luther frowned. “Maybe. Some of the worst fights I seen were between people who went back a long ways.”

“There are others. Custis Green was shot. Slim Akin’s place was burnt out; they got his still and his house. He’s gone down south to Arkansas, like most of your kin did ‘fore you got drafted.”

“I heard ‘bout Custis. I don’t remember him ever havin’ issues with anyone.”

“He did knock up that Parker girl, but he was standin’ by her and that’d a been a shotgun weddin’, not a killing anyhows.”

Luther nodded. “That’d make more sense.”

“Be careful, Luther. I dunno what the hell is going on, but this is bad. I just can’t make any sense of it.” The sheriff took in a deep breath. “Sorry about your Mom, she was good people; everybody knows that.”

He pushed an envelope over to Luther. “Coroner and fire chief reports. It looks like an accidental fire. A rumor went around that Darryl had a still there that caught fire, but only a damn fool would believe that. Just a chair too close to the fireplace. Musta caught a spark. I’m sorry.”

“Teddy Manchin still the fire chief?”

“Yeah. And he asked a really experienced fire chief in Saint Louis to look at it just to be sure. He don’t like coincidences.”

Luther stared at the envelope. “Thanks.”

“Figured it’d be best to give you the reports yourself.” He shrugged. “Where are you gonna be staying?”

“Renting a room above Bert’s.”

“Didn’t know they were renting out.”

“Mattie Parker asked Sissy to ask her boss if’n it’d be okay.”

Jeb looked up at him. “Mattie Parker? One of the Parkers. Helping you?” He leaned over and looked out the window. “I don’t see any flyin’ pigs...”

Luther shrugged.

“What the Hell is the World coming to?”

****** McCabe Farm. Devil’s Hollow, Missouri ******

Luther stood in front of the broken and blackened bones of the farmhouse. A little further back, he could see that Darryl had finished the small cabin they’d been working on. Nothing fancy, just a little saddlebag cabin, two living spaces on either side of a giant stone fireplace.

They’d wanted to give Mom some space of her own, so they’d worked hard to get the saddlebag cabin built, with separate living spaces for Luther and Darryl. They’d even built another outhouse. The original place already had indoor plumbing, so the original outhouse was pretty much pointless, but they’d kept it up anyway. Wouldn’t be a proper farmhouse without one.

Pacing around the charcoal-black remains of the old house, Luther stared into the ashes. Fragments of furniture, mostly unrecognizable. Everything else was burnt away, completely gone. He’d never really had much, but what he’d had was in those ashes somewhere.

The fire chief’s report said the fire had started with a chair too close to a fireplace. He could believe that; Mom had always caught chill if it wasn’t the heat of summer, always sat close to the fire for extra warmth. Then, with the shock of Darryl’s death, she’d probably been careless and didn’t tamp the fire or move the chair back when she went to bed. From the coroner’s report, she’d passed in her bed without even waking up. At least he could be thankful for that.

Luther sat on the edge of the old stone wall and stared at the remnants of the past for a very long time.

He’d be staying above Bert’s for a few days.

*** Three days ***

Luther watched the movement in his rear-view mirror as he turned the F100 truck onto the highway. Two cars. An unmarked vehicle and a deputy’s car, definitely moving together. He’d seen them a while ago, shadowing him.

That was why he’d made a detour by Flora and Irene’s.

He made about two more miles before the deputy lit up the lights and pulled him over.

Luther pulled over smoothly; he put his wallet on the dashboard, then put his hands on the wheel, watching in the mirror as a familiar form with a blonde ponytail walked over to him.

“License and registration, please.” The blonde deputy kept her face impassive as he carefully handed everything over.

“No problem, officer.”

She glanced back behind the truck and nodded.

A tall, slick-looking man in sunglasses and a suit moved up. “Luther McCabe.”

“All my life. You must be that revenuer I been hearin’ about.”

“What are you carrying?” He gestured to the bed of the truck. “What’s in the boxes.”

“I dunno Mister Revenue Man. Probably all the drinkin’, I can’t rightly remember.”

The agent looked at him for a moment, then pulled the canvas cover off and tossed it on the ground. “What do we have? Ten crates?”

Luther shrugged. “Maybe. Never was all that good at math.”

The agent pulled the canvas off and looked over the truck bed. “Gallon jugs...” He stopped abruptly. “Empty.”

“Getting’ on to fall, time to make cider.”

“What’s in that wooden box by the tailgate?”

“I don’t think you want to open that Mister Revenuer, sir.”

“And why would that be?” The agent moved to the back of the truck. The deputy moved to stand by Luther’s door.

“Jest a bad idea. You know us hillbillies, we do stupid shit all the time.”

The agent reached for the brass latch on the wooden box. “Your truck stinks...”

Luther gave the deputy a wink, then began to roll up his window. A momentary wind shift twisted the breeze, and the deputy’s eyes shot open. “Wait...”

The box fell apart almost as if by magic, exposing a small, very agitated, black and white shape. The agent backed away with a confused, incoherent, angry shout.

The deputy sprinted down the road, glancing over her shoulder before finally slowing and cautiously looking over the truck.

Even with the windows rolled up, the smell of the skunk crept inside the truck’s cab. The agent was staggering around, wiping at his eyes, cussing up a pure blue streak as the deputy cautiously returned.

Luther cranked his window down an inch. The deputy shook her head, suppressing a grin. “I’m thinking I’d better arrest you. Nothin’ can happen to you while you’re in custody.”

“Gonna take me in on criminal mischief?”

She nodded with a twisted pursed-lips smile. “Criminal mischief. Sounds about right.”

*****

“Luther McCabe, time to rise and shine.”

“Sheriff.” Luther pulled himself up to sit on the jailhouse bunk, grinning.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to, boss?”

“It seems the prosecutor is not remotely interested in anything involving a skunk, a McCabe, and a damn fool of a revenuer who doesn’t have the sense to know that a polite McCabe is up to something. He’s probably afraid you’ll teach our other guests in the jail to be as big a pain in the ass as you are.” Jeb shook his head.

“Really?”

The sheriff looked at him dryly. “Told him that isn’t possible; you got to be born to it to be that kind of pain in the ass.”

“That agent pissed at me?”

Jeb shoved a paper bag into Luther’s hands. “I don’t think he’ll ever not be pissed at you now. You be damn careful.”

“Yeah, that’s probably good advice.” Luther looked in the bag and saw his wallet, belt, and pocketknife.

“Good. Glad you recognize that.”

“I’m not wantin’ any shit, Jeb. I just want to be left alone. I’ll stay clear of the man.”

“You still staying at Bert’s??”

“Got to. I’ll get the cabin knocked into shape as soon as I can, but it needs some work.”

“You need a lift?”

“I’ll walk. Been puttin’ off a stop I need to make anyways.”

***** Beloved Wife and Mother Luther studied the inscription carved into the pink granite. She’d always loved the color pink, even if she’d never had a little girl to dress in pink. Just two wild boys; but she’d always, always done the best she could by them, even after her husband died in a one-car accident, burned to black char in his 1940 Ford.