“They ranch, mostly,” he said. “A few of them farm, but mostly the land’s too rocky, and we don’t get much rain. A lot of people make the bulk of their income during the tourist season, and they just coast along on odd jobs the rest of the year. We get a big influx of hunters when the tourists run out, so that’s a major source of income, too. My dad commuted to Mooney, where Doke and Mindy live now. He had a job doing security for a big plant over there. It manufactures wind turbines for wind energy. Doke works there now.”
“And you-all moved here instead of Mooney because . . . ?”
“My dad wanted us to have the whole small-town experience. He thought it would be the best way to finish out my teen years and to bring up Mindy and Craig. Some of my mom’s family was still living in Wright then, too. And he loved the river.”
I looked at the people coming in and out of the businesses we passed. There were lots more brown faces than I was used to seeing, though even Bon Temps had experienced an upsurge in its Spanish-speaking population in the past decade. Some were identifiably Native American. There were very few black faces. I’d really traveled somewhere different. In addition to the differences in skin color, there were more people in western-style clothes, which made sense. We’d passed a rodeo ground on our way into town.
We took a left when we were within sight of the south boundary of the city limits, turning onto a narrow street that could be anywhere in the United States. The houses were small ranch styles, one or two had a trailer in the backyard where maybe a mother-in-law or a newlywed child lived, and most had a prefab toolshed tucked into a corner of the yard. There were lots of open windows. People in Wright didn’t turn on their air conditioners as early as we did in Bon Temps. Instead of garages, there were carports attached to almost every house, some to the side, some added on in front.
At Sam’s mom’s home, the awning extended over half of the front of the house, covering enough area to park two vehicles. Unattractive, but efficient. “This is the house you lived in after you-all moved to Wright?” I asked.
“Yeah, this is the house Mom and Dad bought after Dad got out of the army. Don moved in here when he and Mom got married. By the way, she’s still Bernadette Merlotte. She never took Don’s name.”
Bernadette Merlotte’s home was a modest house, maybe twelve hundred square feet, with white siding and ornamental dark green shutters. The little yard space had barely any grass because it was almost entirely given over to beds containing flowers, smooth river rocks, and concrete statues, which were various in the extreme. One was a little girl with a dog, one was a large frog, and one was a creature that was supposed to be a fairy. (Any fairy I knew would want to kill Sam’s mom after a good look at that statue.) From the dry state of the patches of grass and dirt, it was evident that Sam’s mom cared for her flowers lovingly.
There was a little sidewalk winding to the front porch from the covered driveway, and the “porch” was flush with the ground. This was a slab house.
After an almost imperceptible sigh and a moment of bracing himself, Sam jumped out. I didn’t stand on ceremony. I slid out, too. I wanted to stretch my legs and back after sitting in the truck for so long, and I was almost as nervous about meeting Sam’s family as if I were his real girlfriend.
A screen door slammed, and Sam’s mother hurried down the sidewalk to hug her son. She was about my height, five-six, and very slim. She’d had his hair color, but the red gold had faded now. She’d obviously spent a lot of time out in the sun, so at least we’d have that in common. Then she was in Sam’s arms and laughing.
“It’s so good to see you!” she cried. After giving Sam a final, hard hug, she pulled away and turned to me. “You must be Sookie. Sam’s told me a lot about you!” The words were warm and welcoming, but I could tell how she really felt . . . which was more like cautious.
Shaking hands seemed a little too distant somehow, so I half hugged her. “It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Merlotte. I’m glad you’re doing so well.”
“Now, you just call me Bernie. Everybody does.” She hesitated. “I thank you for taking care of the bar while Sam came down when I was shot.” It was an effort for her to so casually mention what had happened.
“Are you going to let them come in, Mama?” said a young woman standing in the doorway.
“You just hold your horses,” Bernie said. “We’re coming!”
There were a few moments of confusion as we got out our hanging and overnight bags. Finally we went into the house. Bernie Merlotte’s right-hand neighbor, a man in his sixties, came out into his yard—ostensibly to check his mailbox—while all this was going on. I happened to catch his eye, and I gave him a friendly nod. To my amazement, he looked right through me, though I knew from his thoughts that he could see me plainly.
That had never happened to me in my life. If I’d been reading a Regency romance, I would have termed it “the cut direct.” No one else had noticed, and he wasn’t my neighbor, so I didn’t say anything.
Then we were inside, and I had to stuff my bafflement into a corner of my mind because there were more people to meet. The small house was crowded. First there was Sam’s sister, Mindy, a young mother of two. Her husband, Doke Ballinger, was as thin and laconic as Mindy was plump and chatty. Their children, five-year-old Mason and three-year-old Bonnie, eyed me from behind their mother. And finally I met the groom, Craig, who was like a more carefree clone of Sam. The brothers were the same in coloring, height, and build. His fiancée, Deidra Lisle, was so pretty it hurt to look at her. She was lightly tanned, with big hazel eyes and red-dish brown hair that fell to her waist. She couldn’t have stood five foot two, and she was all compact curves and femininity.
She shook my hand shyly, and her smile showed that her teeth were as perfect as her complexion. Wow.
She was pregnant. She was hoping she wasn’t showing, that no one could tell. Now that I knew, I could sort of sense that other mind floating around inside her, but it was a weird read—no language, no thoughts.
Well, another thing that was none of my business. More power to them. I was the only one who could sense that other presence in her womb.
By that time Bernie was showing me to a very small room that contained a pullout couch, a sewing machine, a computer desk, and a card table that was cluttered with scrapbooking materials. “We’re not fancy here,” Bernie said. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping in what the magazines call the all-purpose room. Course, I just call it the room-Mindy-finally-left-out-of-so-I-could-have-it-back.” There was a hint of challenge in her voice.
“No, ma’am, I don’t mind at all.” I set my bag down by the end of the couch. “I’ll just hang these up in the closet, if that’s okay,” I said, taking my hanging bag over to the closet door in the corner and waiting for her permission.
“Go right ahead,” Bernie said, and she relaxed a bit.
The closet had just enough spare room right in the middle.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bernie said. “I meant to get in there and make you some more space. It’s taken me longer to get over this injury than I’d figured.”
“No problem,” I said. There was a hook on the outside of the closet door, so I hung my bag there rather than cram it in and wrinkle my dress.
“What’s the matter with your neighbor?” I said, my mind suddenly leaping back to my previous source of misgiving.
“Jim Collins? Oh, he’s such a grouch,” she said with a half smile. “Why do you ask? Was he giving you a mean look when you came in?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t pay any attention,” she said. “He’s just a lonely man since his wife died, and he was a big friend of Don’s. Don helped him out in the yard all the time, and they went fishing together. He’s blaming me for all Don’s problems.”