horn. It was a little like looking at himself.
It hadn’t been easy, giving Mazy up after the accident. It hadn’t taken him long to see he’d done it all wrong, either. Her visits home were long and frequent, but her forgiveness was difficult to earn. They didn’t fight—mostly since she didn’t talk—but she went out of her way to show Gun he’d been wrong to let her go. Wrong to make her give him up when she needed a father most.
If it weren’t for her dreams, Gun might have thought Mazy was just being stubborn, vindictive. But her dreams were real, and frequent. They arrived in the early hours of the morning, a week or so apart. She’d call out in a desperate voice, yanking him from sleep and setting him barefoot on the cold pine floor. He would walk into her room, turn on the light, and tell her everything was okay. She’d tell him what she’d just seen: the 737 tumbling out of control, its blinking red lights spiraling down through the night, the deto nation of flame, the crack and whoosh of gas tanks bursting, the wavering pillars of orange terror shoot ing a hundred feet into the sky. And her father playing outfield under the bright lights at Bloomington.
Now, bumping along the rutted driveway, sur rounded by the smells of weeds and flowers and pines, Gun asked himself if maybe his daughter resented him more than he knew. He parked the truck next to the garage. Stepping out onto the uncut grass, he heard the faint jingle of the phone ringing in his kitchen. He hurried only slightly, and picked it up in time to hear a click. He rolled a cigarette and sat at the table to smoke it. It would ring again.
It rang on his third cigarette. He picked it up.
“Hmm,” he said.
“Dad?”
“Mazy.” Gun sat down on the tabletop. “Mazy, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, great, just. . . really fine.”
“Where are you? It’s Sunday ... I mean, we’ve been wondering where you are.”
“With Geoff. Out at Hedman’s. Got here this morning. In fact I just missed you, according to Lyle.”
“What are you doing out there?” He had to ask, had to hear her say it.
“Dad?” The pitch of her voice was higher than usual. The tone harder. Her sentences shorter. “Dad, Geoff and I ... we’re married. We eloped, last night.”
There it was. “You’re in trouble, Mazy.”
“No, really, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. I’ll come and visit. Or no, why don’t you come out here? Lyle says to tell you that you’re always welcome. In fact, why don’t you—”
“Tell me who it was that married you. Where’d you go?”
She said nothing.
“Tell me who married you and Geoff. I have to know.”
“I don’t know his name. A civil wedding, Ojibway County. The old guy that runs the hardware store in Blackstone. Something Gordon, I think.”
“Sweetie, I’ll do what I can. You know that. I’ll do whatever I have to do.” Gun was fingering the tobacco papers, but he didn’t roll another cigarette.
“Come out, all right?” Mazy said. “Do that, okay? And about the land—”
“Forget the land, Mazy. Forget it.”
“I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later. We’re about to have
dinner. Fresh walleye.” She gave a little laugh that sounded almost cynical.
Gun was silent.
“Dad, I love you.”
“You too,” said Gun. “You know that.”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve got to go now, okay?”
“Good-bye, Mazy. Don’t worry now, all right?”
“‘Bye now.”
“I said all right?”
She hung up.
He knew it wasn’t any use but he made the call anyway. Zeke Gordon was pushing ninety, white cataracts on both eyes, the sort of man whose proxim ity to the next world puts soft colors on the present one. Every time Gun had seen him, the man was shedding happy tears about something. New kittens in the alley, bratty children playing in the street, the most recent couple he had joined together in holy matrimony back in the nail section of his hardware store on Saturday night.
Gordon sputtered
It hadn’t been easy, giving Mazy up after the accident. It hadn’t taken him long to see he’d done it all wrong, either. Her visits home were long and frequent, but her forgiveness was difficult to earn. They didn’t fight—mostly since she didn’t talk—but she went out of her way to show Gun he’d been wrong to let her go. Wrong to make her give him up when she needed a father most.
If it weren’t for her dreams, Gun might have thought Mazy was just being stubborn, vindictive. But her dreams were real, and frequent. They arrived in the early hours of the morning, a week or so apart. She’d call out in a desperate voice, yanking him from sleep and setting him barefoot on the cold pine floor. He would walk into her room, turn on the light, and tell her everything was okay. She’d tell him what she’d just seen: the 737 tumbling out of control, its blinking red lights spiraling down through the night, the deto nation of flame, the crack and whoosh of gas tanks bursting, the wavering pillars of orange terror shoot ing a hundred feet into the sky. And her father playing outfield under the bright lights at Bloomington.
Now, bumping along the rutted driveway, sur rounded by the smells of weeds and flowers and pines, Gun asked himself if maybe his daughter resented him more than he knew. He parked the truck next to the garage. Stepping out onto the uncut grass, he heard the faint jingle of the phone ringing in his kitchen. He hurried only slightly, and picked it up in time to hear a click. He rolled a cigarette and sat at the table to smoke it. It would ring again.
It rang on his third cigarette. He picked it up.
“Hmm,” he said.
“Dad?”
“Mazy.” Gun sat down on the tabletop. “Mazy, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, great, just. . . really fine.”
“Where are you? It’s Sunday ... I mean, we’ve been wondering where you are.”
“With Geoff. Out at Hedman’s. Got here this morning. In fact I just missed you, according to Lyle.”
“What are you doing out there?” He had to ask, had to hear her say it.
“Dad?” The pitch of her voice was higher than usual. The tone harder. Her sentences shorter. “Dad, Geoff and I ... we’re married. We eloped, last night.”
There it was. “You’re in trouble, Mazy.”
“No, really, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. I’ll come and visit. Or no, why don’t you come out here? Lyle says to tell you that you’re always welcome. In fact, why don’t you—”
“Tell me who it was that married you. Where’d you go?”
She said nothing.
“Tell me who married you and Geoff. I have to know.”
“I don’t know his name. A civil wedding, Ojibway County. The old guy that runs the hardware store in Blackstone. Something Gordon, I think.”
“Sweetie, I’ll do what I can. You know that. I’ll do whatever I have to do.” Gun was fingering the tobacco papers, but he didn’t roll another cigarette.
“Come out, all right?” Mazy said. “Do that, okay? And about the land—”
“Forget the land, Mazy. Forget it.”
“I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later. We’re about to have
dinner. Fresh walleye.” She gave a little laugh that sounded almost cynical.
Gun was silent.
“Dad, I love you.”
“You too,” said Gun. “You know that.”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve got to go now, okay?”
“Good-bye, Mazy. Don’t worry now, all right?”
“‘Bye now.”
“I said all right?”
She hung up.
He knew it wasn’t any use but he made the call anyway. Zeke Gordon was pushing ninety, white cataracts on both eyes, the sort of man whose proxim ity to the next world puts soft colors on the present one. Every time Gun had seen him, the man was shedding happy tears about something. New kittens in the alley, bratty children playing in the street, the most recent couple he had joined together in holy matrimony back in the nail section of his hardware store on Saturday night.
Gordon sputtered
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