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"Why is he turned? Who is he looking at?" "Maybe if I knew that, I could paint the goddamned thing." "Oh," Patrick said. "I like it so far, anyway. Pretty intense." "Hendrik, are you there with Patrick?" Mrs. Van Slyke's voice came loudly through an intercom. Hendrik made a face, went over to the door, and pressed a plastic button. "Yes, Dear." "Parker is here for Patrick."
Patrick held the brush handle between his palms and walked to the middle of the Van Slyke's lawn, rubbing his hands back and forth, spinning the brush until it was dry. "See if you can finish the garage by four," Parker had said. Good deal, it couldn't be later than three. The paint cans were stacked by the ladder and the folded drop cloths.
The railway company soon obtained another station-agent, but it was some years before the town got another mayor. On Pecos carnival nights like this, when some of the cowboys were in town, prudent people used to sleep on the floor of Van Slyke's store with bags of grain piled round their blankets two tiers deep, for no Pecos house walls were more than inch boards.
"Hey, Willow." "Hello, Patrick. Hungry already?" Patrick patted his stomach. "You make great sandwiches, but I'm celebrating. I got a raise." "Impressive," Willow said. "I'll tell you about it, if you'd like. But I've got to get a beer. Want one?" "No thanks." Patrick returned with a Heineken, his new favorite. "Yeah, I finished a house and garage up on the mountain. The Van Slyke's.
He and Mom are arguing about whether to live in Florida or Costa Rica. Heidi went over to the door where there was an intercom much like the Van Slyke's. "Martin? Martin, can you come over? Patrick O'Shaunessy is here. His father is an old friend." A voice crackled through the speaker, "O.K., just a minute." Patrick looked around. "Nice house," he said. "We've been here many years."
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