"Thank God my father made it back from Korea—seems like no one remembers that war except the guys who fought in it."
"I'm glad he came back too. Where would you be?" She urged Poptart over next to Gin Fizz, reached over, and punched Fair in the arm.
"Love tap? Mother, can't you brush his hair with your fingertips or
something?"'Tucker advised. Tucker had been watching too much TV. She declared it was to study human habits, but Mrs. Murphy said there was plenty of that to study in front of her face. Tucker loved the television because it put her to sleep.
"Tucker, don't yip so loud," Harry pleaded.
"You're hopeless!"Tbit dog ran in front of them. She could see Mrs. Murphy sitting in the hayloft door. "The soul of romance."
"You or Mom?" Mrs. Murphy laughed.
"A fat lot you know about /W, "the dog replied.
"/ know it can get you in all kinds of trouble."
7
Harry was the first to notice it because she walked to work that Monday morning. The Harley, like a raven with folded wings, was perched in front of the post office. Although Tucker and Mrs. Murphy accompanied her, she had no desire to be alone in the P.O. with that man even if Blair did think he was nonviolent.
She peeped into Market's store. "Hey."
"Hey, back at you," Market called to her.
Pewter thundered out the front door when it was opened, the flab on her belly swaying from side to side. She and Mrs. Murphy immediately ran around the back of the buildings. Tucker was torn whether to join diem or stay. She finally followed the cats.
"Where's the biker?"
"The what?" Market wiped his hands on his apron and walked toward Harry behind the counter.
"The Hell's Angel who owns the Harley. If he'd been in your store, you would have noticed."
"Nobody like that this morning. Of course, it's just seven-thirty, so maybe he's out for his morning constitutional and I'll yet have the pleasure." Market offered her a sticky bun. "Is he really a Hell's Angel?"
"Sure looks like one."
"Well, then, Miss Priss, how do you know him? You been hanging around biker bars?" Market teased her.
"He roared up to Ash Lawn the other day when I was giving Blair the tour."
"A cultural Hell's Angel. Harry, you're pulling my leg."
"No, honestly." Harry's inflection rose with her innocence.
"Maybe it's a surprise from Fair."
"Sure, sure."
"Blair?"
"Market, what is this? You're getting as bad as the biddies around here, trying to get me tied down again."
"Better than being tied up." He paused. "Then again…"
"Have you been talking to Art Bushey?"
As Art was famed for his sense of humor, dwelling mostly on sexual topics, this was not a long-shot question.
"Oh, I'm pricing a new Ford truck over at Art's. I'd like to move up to a three-quarter ton."
"Better sell a lot of potato chips."
"Ain't that the truth."
"This roll is delicious. Are you using a new bakery?"
"Miranda. She's decided she needs pin money, as she puts it, and she's going to be bringing in whatever she whips up. She's such a good baker, I think this arrangement might work."
"Put in a Weight Watchers clinic down the street, and you'll have all your bases covered. There's no way you can eat her concoctions without carrying extra freight."
Aysha and Norman Cramer pushed open the door. Harry stepped aside.
"Hi." Aysha bubbled over. "Sweet'n Low, please. I'm manning, I mean womanning, the phones over at the Junior League charity roundup today. We'll be drinking lots of coffee."
"Norman, what about you?" Market pointed to a sticky bun.
Norman blinked. He blinked a lot, actually, Harry observed.
"I, uh, yeah, I'll try one," he said.
"Now, honey, I don't want any love handles." Aysha pinched him.
"Lovegirl, just a little eensy bite." He smiled. He had beautiful big white teeth.
Laura Freely and Mim entered.
Laura went over to the headache remedies while Mim asked Harry, "And why aren't you in the post office? You're five minutes late."
"Waylaid by a Miranda Hogendobber sticky bun," Harry replied.
Norman swallowed. "They're delicious."
"Don't tempt me!" Laura instructed. "And don't take any to my husband over there at the bank." She nodded in the direction of National Crozet across die street. "Hogan looks at sweets and he gains weight."
Mim hovered over die buns. The odor enticed even her considerable willpower. The swirls in the buns resembled tantalizing pin-wheels. "What the heck?" She plunked down a dollar and grabbed two buns. "Does she bring these to work?"
Harry nodded. "She's been baking a lot these last few weeks. She didn't tell me she was going into business though. Guess I was the guinea pig."
"And you don't have an extra pound on your frame," Aysha complimented her.
"Oh, thanks."
Laura pushed her BC Powders on the counter. "If you did all the farm chores, you wouldn't have to worry either. Harry can probably eat three thousand calories a day and not gain an ounce."
"Speaking of fat, where's Pewter?" Norman, who liked cats, leaned over the counter to look for her.
"Walked out the front door to have a chat with Mrs. Murphy. Well, gang, time to sort your mail."
"Throw out my bills, will you?" Aysha laughed.
"I'm going to give you mine." Harry grinned and left.
She unlocked the front door. Mrs. Hogendobber hadn't come in the back yet. Rob Collier pulled into the front parking space before Harry closed the door. She let it hang open and joined him.
"Only one big bag today."
"Thank God. You about killed us last week."
He noticed the motorcycle. "Who owns diat?"
"I don't know his name."
"California plates. A long way from home." Rob hopped out of the truck, bag over his shoulder, and began reminiscing about motorcycles. Motorcycles engendered male nostalgia. "Did I ever tell you about the little Vespa I had? No bigger than a sigh. I wanted to learn to ride a bike, a real bike. I was fourteen, so I gave Jake Berryhill fifty bucks for his brothers old Vespa. Still ran. I didn't get out of second gear for the first month. Then I got the hang of it, so I traded the Vespa in on a 250cc Honda. I thought I was macho man, and I rode that thing on the back roads 'cause I didn't have a license and I didn't have plates."
"How'd you get away with it?"
"Hell, Harry, there weren't but two deputies for the whole of Albemarle County then. They couldn't be bothered with a kid on a Honda." He continued. "Got my license on my sixteenth birthday. Delivered the paper. Saved up and traded up—500cc Honda." He dumped the bag behind the counter, waved to Miranda, and wistfully gazed at the Harley. "You know, I just might have to get me one. Yeah. Slid on your machine, cranked it, and the crank would always fly up and bark your shin. Roll that right wrist in, let out the clutch with your left hand, just nice and easy, pick up your feet and roll—just roll on to freedom."
"Why, Rob, that's poetic," Miranda said.
He blushed. "Happy times." Then he sighed. "What happens? I mean, when is the moment when we get old? Maybe for me it was when I sold that 500cc."
"Honda dealer's in town. There's Harley dealers in Orange and Waynesboro," Harry said.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going to think about it—seriously."
"While you're thinking, go next door and buy one of Miranda's sticky buns. She's entered the baking business."
"I'll do that." He backed out the door and walked over to Market's.
Miranda beamed. "Do you think it's a good idea?"
"Uh-huh." Harry's tone was positive.
Out back, Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter craned their necks upward at the post office drain spout. Little cheeps reverberated from inside.
"Heard it this morning," Pewter solemnly noted. "Haven't seen anyone fly in or out. Of course, I would have caught anyone if they'd tried."