Homesick Creek by Diane Hammond Page A

have listings in the yellow pages. I’ll be there as soon as I can to get Crystal. Has she eaten yet, because we’re real low on food right now, honey? I’ve been too busy to get to the store.”
    “Yeah, she’s eaten. I got her Burger King a couple of hours ago.”
    “All right, then put some clothes in a bag for her and a snack for later, and I’ll be there as fast as I can. If they tell you to come down to the jail, just leave me a note on the door.”
    “I can’t fucking believe this is happening,” Doreen said.
    “Well, it’s happening, honey. Just keep your chin up.”
    Anita hung up with a sigh. The girl had always been high-strung. Patrick had been an easy baby, fat and placid, but Doreen had screamed and fussed and demanded, and no matter how much Anita did for her, it wasn’t enough. When she was three and a half, Anita had cracked and hit her on the side of her head with a heavy glass ashtray. It took a while for the bruise to fade, but Anita just said Doreen had fallen down the stairs. Whenever Doreen was naughty after that, all Anita had had to do was look in the direction of that ashtray, which she made a point of keeping out on the coffee table, and Doreen would shut right up. Anita had never had to do anything like that with Patrick. He’d been her dream child, still was. She had a picture of him in his army full dress uniform on a table in the living room. It was still hard to believe he was over there in Germany. When he enlisted three years ago, she’d cried for hours. A couple of times he’d sent home money, forty, sixty dollars, but Anita had sent the money orders right back. She wasn’t going to take money from her baby boy. There might come a time when she had to, but she was damned if it was going to be while Bob could still get out there and work.
    Anita dialed the Wayside number from memory. When Roy answered, she asked him to put Bob on the phone. A minute later she could hear the receiver being fumbled on the bar, and then Bob said, “Honey?”
    “Listen, Danny’s in trouble again. I told Doreen I’d come over and pick up Crystal.”
    “Jesus,” Bob said sympathetically.
    “So you need to come home,” Anita said.
    “I wouldn’t be any help.”
    “Honey, I need the car.”
    “Shit! Course you do.” Bob put down the receiver, and Anita could hear him yell at Roy, “Wife needs the car. You seen it, by any chance? Big blue Caprice, lots of rust, needs a new front left tire real bad, but the others still have a few miles on ’em, muffler’s a real piece of shit—”
    “Bob,” Anita could hear Roy say, amused, “you drove here. Go look in the parking lot.”
    “Oh! Hey!” Bob raised the receiver and with jubilation told Anita, “Honey, it’s okay. It’s right here.”
    “I know it’s there. It needs to be here.”
    “No shit?”
    Anita set her jaw. “Look, honey, put Roy on the phone.”
    Another bunch of fumbling, and then Roy said, “Yeah.”
    “Who’s there who could drive the car home and pick me up? I’ve got to get over to Sawyer. Danny’s in some kind of trouble again.”
    “Dooley’s here. You want me to ask him?”
    “Yes,” Anita said, relieved. Odd or not, Dooley Burden was somebody you could rely on. “Would you, Roy? I’ll wait.”
    The phone clunked down on the bar again, and when it was picked up this time, Dooley was on the line. “I got Bob’s keys right here,” he said. “You want me to come now?”
    “Yeah, I’ve got to get over to Sawyer and pick up Crystal. Danny’s in trouble again.”
    “No problem. What do you want me to tell Bob?”
    “Tell him whatever you want to. He won’t remember it anyway.”
    “Will do. I’m on my way.”
    But when Dooley arrived five minutes later, it was in his own little Subaru instead of the Caprice. He held the passenger side door open for her.
    “Uh-oh,” Anita said once she was inside. “Where’s the car?”
    “You didn’t have much gas,” Dooley said, heading back to the