“He’s a sales rep for a computer company. He travels a lot.”
“People who travel a lot don’t have addresses?”
“It’s none of your business, Hack.”
“You’re right, it isn’t.”
She looked at the six-pack of root beer next to Hack’s leg. The vapor on top of the cans was contracting, the beaded moisture on the sides running onto the porch. “What’s in the sack?”
“Vanilla ice cream.”
“You want to come in?”
“I should have called first.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on. I thought you might like a root-beer float. It’s that kind of evening.”
“What kind?”
“When I was a kid, it was a treat to go to the A&W root-beer drive-in. We thought that was big stuff. Later-spring and summer evenings are the best moments in the year.”
“Come inside.”
“Another time.”
“Come inside or I’m going to kick you in the small of the back as hard as I can.”
He looked at the street in the gloaming of the day and at the darkness of the lawns in the shade, and he knew what had been bothering him since early that morning. A teenage boy on a bicycle was riding down the sidewalk, sailing a folded newspaper with the accuracy of a marksman onto each porch, whapping it solidly against the front door, the canvas bags slamming hard on his racks each time he banged over a peak in the sidewalk. The boy reminded Hackberry of himself, or maybe he reminded Hackberry of most boys of years ago, winsome in a way that was not calculated, full of expectation, full of innocent pride in their skill at lofting a tightly rolled, string-wrapped newspaper onto a front porch. But why was the boy throwing his route so late? Hackberry wondered. Why was the light so peculiar in tone—sepia-tinted, golden inside the branches of the trees, a smell like chrysanthemums pooling in the flower beds, more like autumn than spring?
“Hack?” Pam said.
“Yeah?”
“I’d really like some ice cream and root beer. It’s very thoughtful of you to bring some by. Come in, won’t you?”
Her mouth was red, her voice infused with a protective emotion that she rarely allowed anyone to see.
“Sure. That’s what I was about to do,” he replied.
She held the screen door open for him while he walked inside. He could feel her eyes slide across the side of his face when she latched the screen behind them. Then he heard her close the inside door and push the dead bolt into place.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Lock the door.”
“I didn’t think about it.”
“You think Collins will come around?”
“I hope he does. Except I don’t think he’s interested in me,” she said.
“Then why did you lock the door?”
“Maybe I don’t want to be disturbed by a couple of my busybody neighbors. You’re acting a little strange, Hack.”