funds?'
Doug sighed melodramatically.
'For new books?'
He nodded, drinking his Coke. 'Yeah,' he admitted. 'I'm tired of teaching _To Sir, With Love_.' He leaned back, his head against the wall. 'Some asshole got it into his head a few years ago that teaching popular novels instead of classics would interest kids in reading. So they bought a twenty-year-old novel the kids hadn't even heard of, bought a videotape of the movie, and told me to teach it. It doesn't interest them in reading; all it does is bore them to tears. _The Scarlet Letter_ would bore them to tears too, but at least they'd learn from it.'
Hobiechuckled. 'Ikinda liked Lulu, though. She had nice knockers.'
'Very funny. It's just that the board and the parents are always harping about how our test scores compare to the rest of the state. Well, other schools are reading _Heart of Darkness_ and _Huckleberry Finn_. Our kids are at a disadvantage. I just want them to be able to compete.'
'I learned to read from comic books,'Hobie said.
Doug sat up straight. 'I have nothing against that theory. Of course kids will want to read if they are given interesting reading material. And there is a lot of popular fiction that is worthwhile. I just think that if we're going to operate on that assumption, we should have better material to work with.' He shook his head. 'Shit.'
On the porch Billy giggled.
'Stop spying,' Doug called out. 'Nixon Junior!'
Hobiegrinned. 'Sounds like you're going to the meeting.'
Doug sighed. 'Yeah, I'm going to the meeting.'
'Good. We can present a united front.'
'A united front?'
'I need a new spray gun for my advanced auto.'
'And you want me to back you?'
Hobielooked hurt. 'We're brother teachers.'
'Okay, but you know how tight the board is. If it comes down to a draw, I'll toss you to the wolves.'
'It's a deal.'Hobie held up his Coke can. 'Cheers.'
Walking up the road from the Nelsons', Tritia sawHobie's truck in the driveway before she had reached the mailbox. She considered turning around and going back, returning after he had gone, but she heard his loud voice carrying on the warm slight breeze and could tell that he was just leaving. She walked across the dirt and turned into the drive.
'Trish,'Hobie called out. He laughed loudly and rushed forward, grabbing her around the waist, hugging her. 'How's itgoin '?'
Tritia put on a strained smile. She didn't likeHobie Beecham, although she tried to get along with him for Doug's sake. She honestly could not understand what her husband saw in the man. He was lewd, crude, and a step above beefwit. She tensed as the hug continued, finally pushing him away. The last time he'd greeted her, he'd taken the opportunity to squeeze her ass, though when she'd told Doug about it he said it was probably an accident. It was no accident, she knew, and she'd told him his friend had better keep his hands to himself or he would find himself with one testicle less.
Billy thoughtHobie was great, however, and each time after he came over, the boy walked around the house affecting a swagger, trying to put a southwestern twang in his voice. She wished there was some way to get Billy to emulate and admire some of their more cultured and intellectual friends, but he was at the age when that sort of simplistic macho posturing seemed extremely appealing, and there was no way to effectively dissuade him without pushing him intoHobie's corner completely.
Tritia looked the big man over. 'We missed you at the funeral,' she said pointedly.
'Yeah, well, I didn't go. I mean, itwoulda been kind of hypocritical. I
didn't even know the guy. He dumped off my mail, I saw him every once in a while, but we certainly weren't friends.'
'A lot of people were there.'
He shrugged. 'I wasn't. Sue me.' He smiled. 'Making friends has never been one of my major goals in life.'
'I noticed,' Tritia said coolly.
Hobieturned to Doug. 'Speaking of Ronda, have you seen the new mailman?'
'Yes,' he said noncommittally.
'I saw him this morning by the post office. Creepy guy. I don't like him.'
Someone else had noticed too! Doug forced himself to remain calm. 'Did you talk to him?'
'Don't want to. His job is to deliver the mail, not be my buddy. I don't talk to the meter-reader or the paperboy or the telephone man either. No offense, but that was something I never liked about Ronda. He was always stopping to chat with everyone --'
'Ronda was a good man,' Doug said simply.
'And don't you dare say anything bad about him,' Tritia ordered. She nailed him with dark stern eyes.
Hobiewas about to say something else but apparently thought the better of it and shut his mouth. He gave Doug a condescending smile of male camaraderie, a smile that all but said that his wife was being a typical foolish female. Tritia was right, Doug thought. Sometimes his friend was an insensitive asshole.
Tritia walked up the porch steps and slammed the door behind her.
'Anyway,'Hobie said, 'I don't like the new guy.'
'I don't either.'
'Weird sucker. He's so pale. And that red hair. Shit, I wouldn't be surprised if it was dyed. He is kind offaggoty -looking.'
'Well, I don't know about that . . .' Doug said, his voice trailing off.
He wasn't sure what he thought, he realized. He had no concrete beliefs about the mailman, only an unfounded dislike, a strong sense of unease sharpened by impressions gleaned from a few random meetings. He was not usually given to such impulsive, instinctive judgments, and he was a little surprised at himself.
Ordinarily, he prided himself on giving everyone the benefit of the doubt, on believing only the best about a person until shown otherwise. His negative opinion of the mailman, however, had been born fully formed; he had experienced an instant dislike of the man without knowing a single fact about him.
_Dislike and fear._
And fear, he admitted. He was, on some level, for some reason he could not quite understand, afraid of the mailman. And that too had been instant.
Hobiepulled open the door of the pickup and hopped onto the ripped seat.
He dug into the right front pocket of his Levi's and pulled out his key ring.
'Well, Igotta be going. You're coming with me to the meeting, though, right?'
'You got it.'
'All right. We'll kick some butt.' He slammed the door, grinning, and started the engine. 'I'm onpoon patrol tomorrow and Friday, but I'll give you a call before Monday.'
'Okay,' Doug said. 'Have fun.'
'I will,'Hobie said, pulling his mirrored shades from his T-shirt pocket, putting them on. 'You bet I will.' He backed up quickly and swung about on the road, turning the truck toward town. He waved once, a short swipe of his hand above the cab of the pickup, and then was gone.
Doug walked back up the steps.
'Kick some butt,' Billy said, putting down his BB gun.
'Don't you repeat that,' Tritia called from inside.
'You heard your mother,' Doug said. He tried to make his voice sound tough, but he couldn't help smiling. He pushed open the screen door and walked into the house, picking up the mail from the top of the table where he'd put it down. He glanced at the envelopes in his hand.
Again there were no bills.
5
