Year of the Dog by Shelby Hearon

Author:Shelby Hearon [Hearon, Shelby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780292714694
Publisher: University of TEXAS Press
Published: 2007-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

23

THE FACT OF family being an off-limits topic with James, and the fact that I’d been trying to forget mine was coming, meant it was after James got back from his Thanksgiving campout with Pete and the boys before I broke down and told him the news.

“In two weeks,” I said. “They’ll be here in two weeks.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, watching the French-speaking trio at the next table all in fir-trimmed parkas. We were having late afternoon lattes in a sort of European café on Church Street, at a window table, looking out at the bundled-up knees and calves of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Sitting inside had its good points after months of having coffee at the warm-weather tables outside. I liked the sound of the door opening and the swoosh of cold air, and then people taking off their coats or parkas and hanging them on racks, blowing on their hands as if they’d just come into a room with an open fire, instead of a large space filled with plants and crowded tables, two steps down as you entered.

“You have to come for the afternoon party,” I said. “Aunt May says we need somebody who isn’t family, somebody my daddy can talk to.”

I’d left Beulah at home, loose on her leash, which she had got used to, turning away and heading for the kitchen when she saw that I was leaving. I’d taken her outside to get busy first, but she liked her backyard less and less as the snow had deepened and grown thick and crusty. She didn’t like it being cold and hard under her feet; she didn’t like the yellow stain, still sniffable, not sinking into the green grass the way it had in summer.

“They’ll have questions,” James fretted, warming his hands on his heavy mug. “Your parents.”

“Don’t I know.” I gave him a smile, meant to convey he didn’t have a clue.

“I mean, they’ll ask me stuff.” Draining the creamy caffeine, he licked the foam from his lips, then stood and fished around in his pocket for a wrinkled bill.

“They will.”

He said over his shoulder as we headed out, “They’ll think—you know.”

I had to laugh. “They will. They’ll think you know whether you come or not. They’ll think you know just because I mentioned your name.”

“Your aunt hasn’t even met me.” Outside, he pulled his knit cap over his ears. Snow stuck to his lashes and nose, then melted off. He’d given me a heavy wool cap, cable knit, and I covered most of my flyaway hair with it. Hair in this climate! No wonder women wore long braids or crew cuts. I’d been wearing mine longer, straight, and the bangs had grown out, making me look pretty organic not to say rural.

“Her loss,” I said, slipping my hand through his arm, squeezing his parka with mine. Strolling in the holiday crowd, we saw nine white men in black tuxedos standing in a row singing madrigals in harmony, while Morgan horses

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