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“Lorna! I am not a grim reaper, sniffing the air for … I just thought if Cherniski had gone to live with her daughter in the city, then—”

“Oh, bullshit, you just wanted her gone. Even if she’d croaked, you wouldn’t have minded.”

“Lorna, that is not true, and don’t get all mad at me, it’s bad for the baby, and it’s—”

“Now listen to you, Hosea. In one breath you’re pissed off that Cherniski’s heart attack didn’t kill her, in the next you’re all concerned for the baby and admonishing me for, well, for basically reacting the way any normal person would to your bizarre plan, getting your father—”

“Hello, Mrs. Cherniski,” said Hosea, looking at Lorna and casually slicing his index finger across his throat in an attempt to shut her up. “It’s good to see you up and around, and back at work so soon, my God, you’re a lucky woman.”

Mrs. Cherniski glared at Hosea like she’d just been hit with a pitch, and was preparing to storm the mound. “Lucky? Lucky, my foot,” she said. “Lucky to be back slaving over a hot stove for a bunch of greasy, gap-toothed men in overalls and rubber boots who wouldn’t know a decent meal from a poke in the eye …” Mrs. Cherniski heaved a black garbage bag into the giant bin outside the Wagon Wheel and stomped back inside.

“I’ll tell you what, though, Hosea,” she yelled through the screen door. “Lucky is that my daughter is coming to Algren to help me out. She’s moving here, the whole kit and caboodle, and I’m gonna get myself some long overdue help from that girl. By the way, I hope to heck you’ve managed to get rid of that bastard Bill Quinn, you know he was the one who put me in the hospital, and if I see his scrawny butt ever again you’re the one who’ll be in the hospital, Hosea Funk.”

Hosea smiled and nodded. “Uh, when? When is she, are they, coming?”

“Can’t hear you, Hosea! What’d you say?”

Hosea’s hand flew to the front of his shirt. “I said when? When—”

Lorna grabbed Hosea by the arm and hissed, “Forget it, Hosea, don’t be so obvious, just let it go … say good-bye.”

“But …” said Hosea.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Cherniski,” said Lorna cheerfully, “don’t work too hard!”

Hosea and Lorna walked around to the front of the Wagon Wheel and nearly tripped over Bill Quinn, who was strolling down the sidewalk, tick tick tick, with his overgrown toenails clicking on the concrete and a new goatee-ish tuft of mangled hair on his chin and his soft wet eyes ringed by dark circles as if he’d spent all night smoking Gitanes in a waterfront speakeasy.

“Dammit,” said Hosea, “it’s Bill Quinn.” Hosea lunged for the dog and missed while Lorna put her hands to her face like Munch’s model in The Scream, except she was laughing, and Bill Quinn kept walking. Tick tick tick tick. No problem. Enjoy your trip, Mr. Mayor? See you in the fall, har har.

“It’s okay, Hosea,” said Lorna. “He’s crossing the street, Cherniski won’t be able to see him. Don’t worry.” She crouched down and touched Hosea’s shoulder.

“All right, up you go now, old man,” said Lorna.

“Hey! Whatcha doin’, Hose?” said Combine Jo, who had just pulled up next to the sidewalk Hosea was lying on. “Listening for hoofbeats? Are we in for a raid? Whoah, girl,” she said, as she turned off the ignition. “How much time do we have, Sheriff Funk?”

Hosea cleared his throat. “Actually, I was trying to catch Bill Quinn, but he got away and I tripped over him.” Lorna and Combine Jo exchanged grins.

“Hah!” said Combine Jo, “serves you right, padre, nobody catches a Quinn. Hello, Lorna, nice seeing you, you oughtta hang a sign around Mr. Loverboy here’s neck saying so and so many accident-free days — you wouldn’t get past eight or nine. You know he’s a magnet for trouble, Cherniski will attest to that, strange things happen when he’s around, ask the doc, when Hosea goes to the hospital the Earth moves. People die, babies are born …”

“Oh, Jo, that’s not true,” said Hosea, stretching his mouth into the shape of a smile, more painful than vaginal tearing during childbirth, he thought, remembering the lurid chapter of the pregnant woman book he was currently reading. Not true at all, heh, heh, stretch those lips, push the teeth to the fore and chuckle confidently, now he felt his mouth was at least forty centimetres dilated, don’t forget to breathe and—

“She’s gone, Hosea,” said Lorna. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Hosea, massaging his cheeks, returning them to their original position, expecting to taste blood and pass out at any moment. “Just fine. Shall we?” he said. Hosea and Lorna walked slowly to the bus depot. Hosea didn’t want to say goodbye. He hated saying good-bye. Lorna was sighing in that way people do after laughing, shaking her head, “Ooohhhh God, Hosea,” wiping at her eyes, emitting a few remaining snorts and guffaws. Hosea nodded his head and grimaced amicably. “Ha ha,” he said, “go ahead and laugh. It’s good for the baby.”

“Good-bye, Hosea,” said Lorna, dropping her sunglasses and her bus ticket and holding her arms out for a hug.

“Oops, I’ll get those,” said Hosea. “Good-bye, Lorna, don’t take your love to town.”

“Excuse me?” said Lorna, starting to laugh all over again. “Okay, Hosea, I won’t…. don’t you take your love to town, either….” And then she was gone, laughing, dropping her sunglasses, waving good-bye. Hosea popped a Frisk into his mouth and stood watching while the bus disappeared. He headed back to the Wagon Wheel, hoping, as he always did, for an answer to his question. Man’s life’s a vapour, full of woes … Oh, Mrs. Cherniski, he rehearsed in his mind, you know how I like to pay a visit to new residents of Algren, just to make them feel welcome and all that, so I’m just wondering … (Hosea cocked his head in an attempt to appear sincere) when did you say your daughter was coming to town? Hosea looked over his shoulder, half expecting Lorna to be trailing him, like a probation officer. Aha, she’d say, I told you not to go near Mrs. Cherniski, I told you to leave her alone, you’ve breached the conditions of your probation, Hosea, and now you must be punished. Hosea practised his delivery one more time, “Oh, Mrs. Cherniski … just to make them feel welcome and all that.” He saw Lawrence Hamm pulling up to the feed mill in his silver pickup and immediately Hosea felt the top of his head, was it there? No, thank God, no hat … he’d left it at home. Well, thought Hosea, that will have to do. He nodded at Lawrence across the street, had a quick look around for Bill Quinn, and opened the front door of the Wagon Wheel Café.

In the evenings after Summer Feelin’ went to bed, Max and Knute would sit on top of Johnny Dranger’s pile of hay and smoke and talk and make love. It seemed like maybe they could be a real couple again. They talked about their childhoods. They were okay, pretty good. Knute’s was better. Max told her that he felt his mother loved him. That she loved a lot of things, a lot of people, and that hers was a hard way to go, a potentially disastrous way of living. Knute listened to him talk a lot about Combine Jo. She had got used to hating her, so she didn’t know what to say. Knute talked a bit about Tom and Dory, and Max shook his head. “I wonder what he wants,” he said about Tom. They talked about what Summer Feelin’ got from Max and what she got from Knute. They laughed a lot. The purple sky and warm breeze and the smell of dirt and fresh seed inspired them. Even if they couldn’t quite see a future together they could remember a past, and that was enough to build on. Dusk on the prairie in June, that’s where they were. Enough light to see what’s in your face, too much darkness to see what lies beyond.