Wayfaring Stranger (Holland Family Saga 1)

She started to reply and realized his gaze had drifted away, out the tent flap.

“Is that Roy Wiseheart yonder?” he asked.

“He’s co-producer on the film,” she said.

“I didn’t know that.”

“He just showed up out of nowhere. He surprised me, too.”

“That boy sure gets around, doesn’t he?” Hershel said. He took a bite of his hamburger, lowering his eyes, his meaning, if any, concealed.

She was sweating, the veins in her scalp dilating. “How can an architect in Baton Rouge sketch a design for a house on the cliffs above Santa Monica or Malibu?” she said. “What would he know about the soil or the building codes or anything, for that matter?”

“A house is a house. This one will be two stories. It’ll have a baby room, too.”

“A baby room?”

“We’re not getting any younger.” He waited.

“I don’t know what to say, Hershel. You drop in with no advance notice and bring up these things in a public place and make decisions for me without asking—”

He was looking outside the tent flap again. “Wiseheart is getting into a biplane. That guy is something else.”

She glanced at her watch. Twenty-three more minutes before she went back to work. Ten more minutes of Hershel and she would be exhausted. “I have a difficult scene to do this afternoon. I can’t talk about these other matters now.”

“What ‘other’ matters are you talking about? I just wanted to show you the sketches.”

“This is the wrong place and the wrong time.”

“We’ve got to make some choices about where we live. Our rental arrangement with Jack Valentine got canceled,” he said.

“We’re being evicted by Jack Valentine?”

“Not exactly. He’s dead. He was beaten to death two days ago in Los Angeles.”

She stared at him stupidly.

“It was in all the papers. Someone did him in with a lead pipe down in the colored district. The real estate agent said we have to either buy the place or get out. Maybe it’s just as well.”

“I can’t follow all this. Just as well what?”

“It’s just as well about the house in River Oaks. I don’t think you like it there. I don’t, either. River Oaks isn’t our kind of neighborhood.”

“Not our kind of neighborhood? I knew

you’d say something like that. I just knew it.”

“They look down their noses at us.”

“Then fuck them.”

“When did you start using that kind of language?”

“Just now.”

“Where are you going?”

“To lie down for a few minutes. Maybe I’ll take a sedative. Or maybe not. I’m very upset. It’s not your fault. I was just telling you how I feel. But I can’t take this anymore.”