“Right there,” I said. “You served her a brandy.”
Wallis looked at me, maintaining the blank look on his face, then smiled.
“Well, hell, Everett, I’ve drunk my share and have dropped a few marbles in my day, but I damn sure do remember her, of course I do,” Wallis said.
“You do,” I said.
“Sure,” he said.
“Have you seen her?” I said. “Have you laid eyes on her since?”
He shook his head.
“Nope,” he said. “She sift through?”
I just looked at Wallis, then looked around the room. Everybody in the place seemed to be talking louder than they needed to be talking. I looked back to Wallis.
“I suspect,” I said.
Wallis looked at me a moment, then grabbed a bottle and poured us both a healthy swallow. He scooted the whiskey across to me and held up his glass.
I looked at the whiskey, staring at it for a moment, then picked up the glass and looked to Wallis.
“To the moon,” he said.
79
“Nice evening,” I said.
“Damn sure is,” Virgil said.
We sat silent for a bit, sipping on the Kentucky.
“That weather came on good,” I said.
“Damn sure did,” Virgil said. “Didn’t it?”
“Next few months might prove to be mild,” I said.
“You think?” Virgil said.
“For some reason,” I said, “I do.”
“Warm now,” Virgil said.
“Unseasonably so,” I said.
“Is,” Virgil said. “Ain’t it?”
“Might be a good time to paint,” I said, looking up at the underside of the porch.
“Thought you said you’d help build but weren’t interested in painting?” Virgil said.
“I did say that.”
“Change your mind,” Virgil said.
“Often do,” I said.
“A man does that once and a while,” Virgil said.
“They do.”
Virgil looked up at the underside a bit.
“I’ll get the paint,” he said.
“Do,” I said. “Before I change my mind.”
“By God,” Virgil said.
I nodded.
Virgil looked back out to the horizon and we sat quiet for a long spell without talking, as we watched the evening sun.
“She rubbed off on you,” Virgil said, without looking at me.
I looked to Virgil.
“Obvious?”
“Is,” he said.
I shook my head a little.
“Some,” I said.
“Where you figure she went?” Virgil said.
“Don’t know.”
“Maybe she ain’t gone.”
“She is.”
“How do you know?”
“Just do.”
Virgil looked at me.
I saw Allie up the street. She was walking our way, carrying a box of groceries.
“Allie,” I said softly.
Virgil looked to her. We just watched her. The setting sun was shining on her. Her hair was a bit untidy and moving with the breeze as she walked. She looked almost angelic the way the golden sunlight was shining on her. She greeted a few folks on the boardwalk as she neared. She looked as happy as I’d ever seen her.
“Allie,” I said quietly again.
Virgil nodded.
She saw us as she crossed the street.
“Hey, boys,” Allie said with a smile. “It’s so nice out, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Virgil said.
“You need some help,” I said.
“No, no,” she said. “I got it.”
She walked up the steps, carrying the box.
“Just wait and see what I’m fixing for supper,” she said.
“Okay,” Virgil said.
I got up and opened the door for her.
“It will be scrumptious,” she said. “Oh... got you something, Virgil.”
Allie balanced the box a little on her knee. She retrieved a cigar from the box and handed it to Virgil.
“Don’t say I never got you nothing,” she said. “Mr. Sadler said it came all the way from Cuba.”
“Why, thank you, Allie,” Virgil said.
“You’re very welcome,” she said, as she continued on inside. “You know I’d have got you one as well, but thankfully you don’t have the habit... Just leave the door open for the breeze, Everett.”
Virgil looked back to me and smiled a little.
I picked up the bottle of Kentucky, refreshed our drinks, then sat back down.
Virgil looked at the band on his cigar and nodded a little. He bit the tip and spit it over the rail. He fished a match out of his pocket and dragged the head of it on the leg of his chair. He cupped his hand, keeping the flame from the breeze, and lit the cigar. He worked on it some till he got it going good, then flicked the match away and leaned back and looked at the cigar for a moment.
We heard the familiar clamor of pans from inside.
“You okay in there?” Virgil called.
“Oh, yes. Fine,” Allie said. “I’m fine, just, it’s fine...”
“You sure?” he said.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Virgil smiled a little. He sat back in his chair and puffed on his cigar for a bit.
We sat quiet for a bit, watching the very last piece of sun until it was gone.
“What is it?” Virgil said, tilting his head a little. “Where are we?”
“December,” I said. “Second day of.”
“Is it?”
“It is.”
Virgil shook his head.
“What happened to November?”
“It came and went, Virgil,” I said.
Acknowledgments
Much obliged to my crew of enduring construction workers for helping me get this bridge across the divide. First and foremost, Jan Griesenbeck, for allowing me to set up camp and bunker down in her Spicewood retreat — thank you so much, Jan! Outrider Rob Wood of Rancho Roberto, for keeping the bullethead blueprints in order, and Jamie “Whatnot” Whitcomb, for his continued supply of ammo. My ex — oil field pard Lowell Reed, for his knowledge in all things engineering, mountain guide Rex “Hook-em” Linn, for his steady tracking, and Kevin “PG” Meyer, for his expertise across the deep and wide. Also, a big thanks to ex-con Billy Ray Snipes for his policy smarts, and Vanessa Rose and Genevieve Negrete, for sorting out the rivets. Robert Woodfin Griesenbeck, for keeping it between the ditches, and most certainly and always, Ed Harris, for bringing Virgil Cole to life on the big screen, and talking in my ear as a sounding and unwavering foreman.
My deepest sympathy to all of those who carried the dynamite: Alison Binder, Steve Fisher, Josh Kesselman, Jayne Amelia Larson, Nat Toppino, Alice DiGregorio, Gabriel Marantz, my sisters — the Clogging Castanets — Sandra Hakman and Karen Austin, and as always, Julie, for everything...
And for Bob and Joan, for without them looking over this construction, Appaloosa would be but a memory.