I could thank Zack Young for that nugget of information because there was certainly no on-the-record mention of young Layton at the dedication. This was blue sky PR all the way. Lu introduced the owner of Tri-County Building Supply, and the
(Applause. )
Clapping loudest were Kimmer Norris and her three kids, who'd been promised that house.
The women of the community college's cabinetry class had donated their labor on the cabinet work and, in the end, they took pity on some of their male classmates who felt discriminated against, so it wasn't totally an all- woman project after all. By then, no one really cared. The point had been made.
Annie Sue and Cindy hung in till the end. They could have ducked out without blame, but Annie Sue was determined to finish what she'd begun and Cindy wouldn't admit she couldn't handle it, too.
As each person's contribution was called out and Knott Electrical was recognized, Herman didn't try to stand, just reached back for Nadine's hand on the wheelchair handle and made a joint wave. They smiled proudly when Annie Sue was named, but there was still a worried look in their eyes.
And with reason.
Annie Sue's done a lot of growing up this last month, but she knows how much blame she deserves for what happened to Herman and she's quit dramatizing anything. No more stomping off in anger, but no more flamboyance either.
Not so oddly, I think Herman sort of misses it. More than what he's lost, he's troubled by what Annie Sue has lost. * * *
The following Saturday, I was still at the breakfast table when Dwight came by to pick me up. K.C. Massengill was having an end-of-the-summer weekend party at her lake cottage, and he'd been invited, too.
The puppy met him at the back door, yipping importantly like a real watchdog, but then spoiling it by wagging his little tail like a crazed metronome.
Dwight accepted Aunt Zell's invitation and sat down across from me with a hot corn muffin and a cold glass of milk.
'What'd you end up naming him?' he asked her.
'I just can't decide,' Aunt Zell sighed. 'I thought sure I'd find a name in Paris, but he's too American to be a Jacques or a Pierre, isn't he? I think I've narrowed it down, though. Copperfield, because he was orphaned, too. Or Mowgli. Which do you think, Dwight?'
'What about Q?'
'Short for Barbecue,' he said innocently.
I about strangled on my coffee.
Aunt Zell looked at me anxiously. 'You all right, Deborah?'
'Or Pork Chop's a nice na— Ow!'
Dwight suddenly reached down and rubbed his shin.
My sandals weren't designed for effective kicking, but it's like building a house: one does what one can with the tools at hand.
