She couldn’t open her mouth. The mouse would drop out, and one of the dogs, those lowlifes, would steal it. Something as valuable as a freshly killed mouse, neck neatly snapped, would bring out the worst, especially in the harrier; she knew it. But she thought to herself,Goahead, laugh. I don’t see either of you worthless caninesridding this farm of vermin. At least the hounds hunt. Youtwo do nothing, nothing.
Once inside the mudroom, a tussle broke out between Golly and Rooster.
“All right, Rooster, leave her,” Sister ordered the dog, who obeyed but not without a telling glare at the cat. “Golly, what a big mouse. What a great hunter you are. Give me your mouse.”
Puffed with pride, Golly opened her jaws, the limp, gray-brown body thumping to the slate floor.
“Protein,” Gray said.
Sister picked up the mouse, stroked Golly’s head. “Right. Mouse pie as opposed to shepherd’s pie. Hope you like shepherd’s pie because that’s what we’re having for dinner.”
“Is there time to dice the mouse?” He hung up his full-length Australian raincoat.
“No.” She patted Golly again and wondered just what to do with this prize. “Gray, I’m going to put this out by my gardening shed in case Inky comes in tonight. Why don’t you go inside and fix yourself a drink if you’re in the mood?”
“Sure you can tote that heavy mouse by yourself?”
“With effort.” She grinned.
“Can I fix you a drink?”
“Hot tea. I need a pick-me-up.”
When she returned, steam curled out of the Brown Betty teapot. Before she reached the oven to check on the shepherd’s pie, Gray poured her a bracing mug of orange pekoe and Ceylon mix.
“You know how to make real tea.” She lifted the lid, the mesh tea ball floating inside the pot, emitting even more of the delightful fragrance.
“The English taught me.”
“Really?”
“I lived there for five years when I worked for Barclays Bank.”
“I didn’t know you did that.”
“Well, I got my law degree then my accounting. I did it backwards, I suppose. I thought if I had a strong background in banking before finding the right firm, I’d be a triple threat. And when I graduated, I had a choice between Atlanta—where my color would actually help me at that time, remember those were the days of Andrew Young and Maynard Jackson; they put Atlanta on the map in terms of banking and investing—or London. Well, I wanted to experience other cultures, and I thought England would be easier than if I tried to crash Germany.”
“Aren’t you the smart one?” Another ten minutes and the pie would be ready. The crust was browning up.
He smiled.“In some ways. People think tax law is boring. Not me. The power to tax is the power to destroy. I learned a lot about taxation in England. Here I was, a kid really, negotiating a culture mentioned by Roman writers, finally subdued by Agricola in A.D. 84, wasn’t it? I soaked it all up. Haunted Hatcher’s.” He mentioned the venerable bookstore. “Didn’t have enough money to shop at Harrod’s but I liked to stroll through. And on weekends for pennies I could go to France, Germany, Spain. Loved Spain and the Spanish. Couldn’t get into what were then Soviet satellite countries, but I met people, high-level types, visiting Barclays. You know, it was just the right time, the right place.”
“Sounds fabulous. What are you drinking?”
“A perfect Manhattan. I make a mean Manhattan—a good dry Manhattan or Manhattan South. Name your poison.”
A sudden memory of the drunks guzzling hemlock shot through her.“Tea. I’m not much of a drinker, although my flask has port in it.”
“I drank a lot. Not as much as Sam, but a lot. Especially when my marriage tanked.” He helped her set the table. “One day I realized I needed to slow down. I didn’t want to wind up like Sam. Alcoholism floods both sides of the family.” He folded a white linen napkin in thirds. “One drink in the evening, even if it’s a party. One.”
“Good rule.”
“You never drink?”
“Champagne to celebrate, but I don’t have a thirst for it. It’s a true physical drive, and I don’t have it.”
“Sam said even when he was in high school, he’d be plotting how to get liquor, where to hide it. When he rode competitively, he would secrete a bottle in the trailer. He stashed booze in the tack trunks. Carried a thin flask in his barn jacket. Controlled his entire life. Still does. He has to fight it every day.”
“Insidious.”
Golly sauntered through, warbling,“A Mighty FortressIs Our Puss.”The cat had no sense of religious decorum.
“Still crowing.” Sister laughed at her friend.
The dogs, chewing greenies, ignored her. The problem was that Golly wouldn’t ignore them. Their scratched noses bore testimony to her relentless need for attention.
“When did you have time to make shepherd’s pie?”
“I just slaved over this stove.” She giggled. “Lorraine brought it by. She’d made them for Shaker and me. Those two are getting along, but he’s close-mouthed. They’re inching toward each other, and, truth is, he’s scared to death. The divorce took a big chunk out of him.”
“Always does.”
As they enjoyed their meal, Sister asked,“You don’t speak of your first wife, your only wife, I assume.” When he nodded in affirmation, she continued. “That bad?”
“No. Few romantic relationships can last a lifetime. We’d probably be better off with different people at different times in our lives. The person you marry changes. That can be good, but for me those changes were filled with resentment, anger, feelings of abandonment. Nothing too original.”
“Who changed?”
“We both did. The focus of our relationship was our children and my career. We lost sight of each other. Theresa and I get along better today than when we were married. We see each other once or twice a year, usually something involving our kids. I expect in the next few years, we’ll be dealing with grandchildren.” He stopped for a moment. “I talk to her once a week. After the first year of the divorce was over, we both calmed down. I kept telling myself, even in the worst of it, ‘Whatever you saw in her in the beginning is still there.’ And I went into therapy. That helped.”
“You did?”
“You didn’t?”
“I foxhunt three times a week, and attend other hunts if I can. Does it for me. I figure things out. I may not use the same language a therapist does, but I really do figure things out.”
“You’re smarter than I am.”
“Not at all. It takes a lot of courage, especially for a man, to ask for emotional help. Actually, I don’t know if I could do it. Too big an ego.”
“You?” His voice lifted upwards.
“Me. I think I can fix anything, including myself.”
“Whatever you do, it works.”
“Well, I hope so. Lately the truth jumps up at me like a jack-in-the-box. I wonder how I missed it.”
“Unhappy?”
She shook her head.“No. Actually, I love my life, and I suppose, for lack of a better way to put it, I love myself, but I’m blind to things, inside things.”
“Everyone is.”
“I know, but Gray, I think I’m smarter than anyone else.
Isn’t that awful to say? But I do. I’m not supposed to be blind. I’m supposed to be the master. I’m supposed to know hounds, horses, territory, people, weather, scent, the game, game trails, plants, wildlife, and I’m supposed to know myself. I surprise myself these days. Like right now. I can’t believe I’m babbling all this.”
“You’re not babbling.”
“Gray, I was raised a WASP. Grin and bear it. Stiff upper lip.”
“I was raised that way, too. Not so bad. We don’t need to know everyone’s intimate details, but it’s good to know your own.”
“Yes.”
“It’s a rare woman who will admit she has a big ego.”
“Gargantuan. I hide it well. In fact, I’ve hidden it pretty effectively for close to six decades. My first decade I gave my mother hives. With a great effort on her part, she taught me how to cover it all up. She harbored a pretty big ego herself.”