“I don’t know, ma’am. He says I daydream too much of the time and sometimes don’t help him about the farm good enough. I guess I don’t behave like I should, either. He’s mad at me a lot.”

She turned her face to the side as if she were dismissing him and waved once, as if to thrust his gloom away.

“Tarnation, Joey. I’m sure he’s awful upset, the way things are now with the rain and all. Man can’t get into the field to harvest his cotton. When these storms are all over, he’ll be getting his crop in and won’t be in such a mood.” Pulling a braid around to the front, she loosened a few strands and plaited them into a tighter weave.

“My daddy hasn’t been the same, since he got back from the war.”

“Your daddy was overseas fighting? No wonder he’s in a state.” A tear sneaked down one of the creases in her cheek. “War does something awful to men sometimes.”

*
For ten minutes Buddy coached Luke, teaching him to keep his guard up, to slash forward with powerful jabs, and to dance around, making himself a moving target.

“One other thing. Don’t let him throw the first punch,” advised Buddy, his usually soft brown eyes hard as dried mud. “Whoever lands that first one is gonna win the fight nine times out of ten.”

Luke nodded dumbly, too scared to focus on the instructions the knuckle-scarred man was giving him.

*

“What can I do?” Al looked around at all the familiar tools hanging in their places, amidst the dust and oily grime. A block and tackle swung loose over the tractor, ready to be attached to the wheel so it could be pulled away from the hub. He wondered how long it would take Cecil to get around to opening up to him.

“Break loose that half moon block, if you can. I almost busted a gut tryin’, so I soaked it good with penetrating oil.” Cecil took the new bearing and with his bare hands, began to pack it with grease. “There’s something I figure you ought to know.”

*

I’m showing you one of the cultural benefits of living in our fair city, convincing you to come here for your residency. My husband is out of town and couldn’t join us.”

“That wouldn’t pass muster in Gotebo, Oklahoma. If you spent more than five seconds in public with someone other than your husband, the local tongue-waggers would have the news all over town. Your reputation would be ruined.”

“What about yours?”

“In Oklahoma, women’s reputations tarnish easier than men’s.”

“Quaint. Do you still want to go to the ballet and ruin my reputation in Oklahoma?”

*

“Excuse me, is there something the matter?”

He sounded nice enough, but they all did before they started feeding her some line about how pretty she was or how they’d like to take her out, or make love to her. God, were all males the same?

“Sitting by the window makes me sick. I think it’s the light—it’s always too glaring.” Better to lie to him than reveal that she was afraid of flying ever since her girlfriend’s father told her about a wonderful book, Fear of Flying, that he wanted her to read. It had been nothing but soft porn and he’d come on to her after she’d read it.

*

After lunch, he unlocked the door of the closed ward and, as he approached the enclosed station, saw the nurse’s dark eyes widen, and her mouth form into a perfect O. She jumped from her chair and hurried toward George, but before she could reach him, he noticed the man lying strapped onto a gurney parked just beyond the station.

Tarkington’s rheumy eyes fixed on George. A weak scowl spread across his face. “Didn’t expect to see me quite so soon, did you?” There was dried spittle caught in the day-old whiskers that jutted from his face. His hair was an uncombed tangle falling across his eyes.

“For God’s sake, Tarkington, what are you doing here?”

“That any way to talk to a patient, George?”
*
I couldn’t take my eyes off his and Mary Jean’s shoeless feet. They had on a matching pair of socks with scores of turkeys staring out from them. It was just too damn personal for the girl I’m going to marry to be wearing matching socks with someone else. But I still hadn’t found my voice, so I just stared at Mary Jean’s and the guitar-picking moron’s feet. I began to shake my head, more out of confusion at what to do than in condemnation of Mary Jean.

“I’m so sorry, Dale. I meant to write you and let you know about Billy. I really did. I just didn’t know what to say.”

*

His hot face was cooled by the mists and damp spray of the falls, his nose filled with the smell of bitter green ferns, poisonous toadstools, and vegetation in all stages of its decline into black loam. Like the incessant role of kettledrums, fluid thunder pounded the stone walls, deafening him to all other sounds. He had almost gone into the river and over the falls.

He pulled himself back up the sloped bank and lay panting, paralyzed with the fear that Nora had gone over the falls and now lay broken on the rocks below.

*
Bill’s aggravation vanished and he felt his heart skip a beat. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Has Mom taken a turn for the worse?”

“No, but we’ve got us a real problem here at home, Bro.”

“We? You and Yvonne”

“No, Dad.” Win took in a deep breath, and its rush into Bill’s ear was like the hiss of a fifties steam engine train.

“Is it his heart again?”

“Well, kind of.” Win snickered and said, “Dad’s having an affair with Julia Hopkins.”