knowledge neither of them has petitioned the court for a change.”
The door clicked shut. Barbara and Spassero walked out silently through the offices, out to the street where (he sunshine was blinding. Still not speaking, he turned one way and strode off, and she headed the other way toward her car. Only when she was inside it, holding the wheel, did she relax, and then she grinned. Asshole.
FOUR
she should put chairs on her porch, a few magazines, let her guests wait in comfort, she thought when she pulled up at her house. This time it was her father waiting in his car, reading a paperback book.
She tooted her horn and waved when he looked up.
He met her on the sidewalk.
“I thought you were out of here,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“Why do you have an answering machine if you don’t intend to listen to the calls?” He looked her over.
“So you really were in court?”
“Not exactly. Come on in.”
“I went to the restaurant and Martin said you were tied up in court. I didn’t believe him. You look pretty good.”
She laughed and opened her door.
“Help yourself to some wine and pour some for me, will you? I have to make one call and then I’m free as a bird.”
She called Lucille Reiner and had to wait for a child to go get her, and by then Frank was standing in the doorway with a bottle of wine and a glass.
“This?”
“It’s perfectly good wine. Dad, honest.” Then she 56 spoke into the phone.
“Oh, Lucille? She’s off all medication and you can see her during regular visiting hours. I’ll pay a call on Monday.”
She listened to Lucille, grinning at her father, who was tentatively tasting the wine. He looked at it in wonder and, shaking his head, strolled away; by the time Barbara was finished with Lucille, he had gone out to the yard and was examining the dying rhododendron.
He came in as she poured wine for herself. His glass was on the table hardly touched.
“That rhody needs spraying.”
“I know. I’ll get to it. Now, why aren’t you back home? What was on your message?”
“What I thought. You don’t listen to the calls.” He lifted his glass and sniffed, then tasted it again.
“Drink able,” he said.
“A beverage, not actually wine, but drinkable.”
“Any time,” she said, sitting at the table There were several letters she had not got around to opening that morning; she started on them.
“And don’t read your mail. Takes a personal visit to get through to you,” he commented, going to the door, gazing out.
“What I thought I might do is stay in town and look around for a few things, for the house.
Thought I might talk you into hitting an auction or two with me, maybe do some looking around in a furniture store or two.” When he glanced at her, she nodded.
“
“Course, I’ll just move all your stuff over. If you want me to. Even if you don’t use the bed, in case I have company I’ll be able to offer more than the floor.”
She grinned.
“Move the stuff. Dad. Let’s talk about dinner. If I take you out, I can get out of these fancy duds, and we’ll go to Martin’s or Hilda’s. Have you eaten there?” He shook his head.
“Well, you should. It’s awfully good. Central and South American cuisine. And very nice Chilean wines. It’s on Blair, four blocks, walking distance. There are bleeding hearts and lambs’ ears in the yard.” She laughed at the sceptical look on his face.
“On the other hand, if you take me out, I won’t change.”
“Flip you for it,” he decided, and produced a coin.
“Heads it’s my treat.”
She laughed harder, got up, crossed to him, and snatched the coin from his hand.
“Cheat! You’ve been using that coin until it’s worn so smooth you can’t even tell it has two heads.”
She took him to Hilda’s, where, appropriately, they stopped to admire the flowers. The next day they drove the twelve miles to Junction City and an auction where he bought nothing, and then to an
The door clicked shut. Barbara and Spassero walked out silently through the offices, out to the street where (he sunshine was blinding. Still not speaking, he turned one way and strode off, and she headed the other way toward her car. Only when she was inside it, holding the wheel, did she relax, and then she grinned. Asshole.
FOUR
she should put chairs on her porch, a few magazines, let her guests wait in comfort, she thought when she pulled up at her house. This time it was her father waiting in his car, reading a paperback book.
She tooted her horn and waved when he looked up.
He met her on the sidewalk.
“I thought you were out of here,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“Why do you have an answering machine if you don’t intend to listen to the calls?” He looked her over.
“So you really were in court?”
“Not exactly. Come on in.”
“I went to the restaurant and Martin said you were tied up in court. I didn’t believe him. You look pretty good.”
She laughed and opened her door.
“Help yourself to some wine and pour some for me, will you? I have to make one call and then I’m free as a bird.”
She called Lucille Reiner and had to wait for a child to go get her, and by then Frank was standing in the doorway with a bottle of wine and a glass.
“This?”
“It’s perfectly good wine. Dad, honest.” Then she 56 spoke into the phone.
“Oh, Lucille? She’s off all medication and you can see her during regular visiting hours. I’ll pay a call on Monday.”
She listened to Lucille, grinning at her father, who was tentatively tasting the wine. He looked at it in wonder and, shaking his head, strolled away; by the time Barbara was finished with Lucille, he had gone out to the yard and was examining the dying rhododendron.
He came in as she poured wine for herself. His glass was on the table hardly touched.
“That rhody needs spraying.”
“I know. I’ll get to it. Now, why aren’t you back home? What was on your message?”
“What I thought. You don’t listen to the calls.” He lifted his glass and sniffed, then tasted it again.
“Drink able,” he said.
“A beverage, not actually wine, but drinkable.”
“Any time,” she said, sitting at the table There were several letters she had not got around to opening that morning; she started on them.
“And don’t read your mail. Takes a personal visit to get through to you,” he commented, going to the door, gazing out.
“What I thought I might do is stay in town and look around for a few things, for the house.
Thought I might talk you into hitting an auction or two with me, maybe do some looking around in a furniture store or two.” When he glanced at her, she nodded.
“
“Course, I’ll just move all your stuff over. If you want me to. Even if you don’t use the bed, in case I have company I’ll be able to offer more than the floor.”
She grinned.
“Move the stuff. Dad. Let’s talk about dinner. If I take you out, I can get out of these fancy duds, and we’ll go to Martin’s or Hilda’s. Have you eaten there?” He shook his head.
“Well, you should. It’s awfully good. Central and South American cuisine. And very nice Chilean wines. It’s on Blair, four blocks, walking distance. There are bleeding hearts and lambs’ ears in the yard.” She laughed at the sceptical look on his face.
“On the other hand, if you take me out, I won’t change.”
“Flip you for it,” he decided, and produced a coin.
“Heads it’s my treat.”
She laughed harder, got up, crossed to him, and snatched the coin from his hand.
“Cheat! You’ve been using that coin until it’s worn so smooth you can’t even tell it has two heads.”
She took him to Hilda’s, where, appropriately, they stopped to admire the flowers. The next day they drove the twelve miles to Junction City and an auction where he bought nothing, and then to an
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