'About Frankie.'
'Russell, I'm your lawyer.'
'You didn't answer my question.'
'No. I'm not lying.'
He was lying about not lying. Tres was right. Everyone lies.
'Hurry, Andy.'
He hung up and went back inside.
'Reeves?' his father said.
Andy nodded. 'I can hold him off for a day or two, but he'll figure out I'm lying. Then he'll come for her. Frankie. We'll move on in a few days.'
'We?'
'I'm responsible for them now. I found them.'
'Well, he'll never find them here.'
'Dad, I've learned a few things about finding people. First thing they'll do is search the property tax records for 'Prescott.' '
'This land belongs to your mother, Andy. It's under her maiden name-Warren, not Prescott. They can stay here as long as they want. Be nice to have some company.'
Harmon and Cecil walked into the tattoo parlor at 1514 South Congress. BODY ART BY RAMON. A Mexican wearing a white muscle T-shirt was sitting in front of a computer screen and tapping the keys.
'You Ramon?'
'Yep.'
'I'm looking for Andy Prescott. You know him?'
'Nope.'
'He offices right above you.'
'Oh, that Andy Prescott. The traffic ticket lawyer. He's never around.'
'What's he look like, this Prescott?'
'Six-four, black hair, fat.'
'What does he drive?'
'A Buick.'
Harmon walked out and snorted. 'You see that guy? Tattoos all over his body?'
Cecil nodded. 'He could play for the Knicks.'
Jean Prescott was tending to the salmon, Andy and Frankie were setting the table for dinner, and Paul was teaching Jessie a few chords on the guitar on the back porch. Andy could hear their voices in the kitchen.
'Sing this, honey.'
His father played a few notes, then her singing voice came through: 'Honky-tonk heroes, we're a dying breed now, the world's gone corporate and the music has too…'
Her voice was strong and full and good. Paul Prescott came into the kitchen carrying his guitar.
'Jean, you hear this girl sing? She's the real deal. We got us a country singer.'
Jessie followed.
'Paul, you're not teasing me, are you?'
'About what, honey?'
'About me being a country singer.'
'Honey, I never tease about dreams. Sing it again.'
He played and she sang.
'Honky-tonk heroes, we're a dying breed now…'
And his father joined in.
'The world's gone corporate and the music has too…'
They sang until dinner.
'We've had to move around,' Frankie said. 'Montana, New Mexico, West Texas. We hoped this would be our last move. '
'Well,' his father said, 'we've been here thirty-five years now. Jean inherited this land before we got married.' He winked at Frankie. 'I married her for her land.'
'I married him to feed the birds,' his mother said. 'Andy says you're an artist.'
'I want to be an artist.'
'I'd like to see your portfolio.'
'Really? It's upstairs.'
'After dinner, then.'
His father looked over at Jessie. 'You like that salmon? You'd better say yes, or Jean'll make you eat tofu tomorrow.'
'Is that Chinese food?'
'Should be.'
Two hours later, Andy found his mother on the back porch with a glass of wine. His father was already in bed; Frankie and Jessie were getting ready for bed. Andy sat next to her.
'I'm going to miss that man,' she said.
Andy felt the tears come again, so he didn't speak. They sat silently and listened to the night sounds and felt the soft breeze up from the creek.
'I remember sitting on this porch when I was a young girl, wondering what the man I would marry would be like. I never pictured Paul Prescott. But when I saw him that night at the Broken Spoke, those blue eyes, I fell hard for him. Thirty-five years later, I'm still falling.'
'Dave's folks are divorced, Tres' would be except for the trust fund-why'd it work for you and Dad?'
'Because we each have our own life, and a life we share. We never tried to change each other. And we both understand that a life without passion isn't much of a life. It's like a movie-a pretense of life. We've had a real life.'
Andy took her hand and squeezed it. She patted his.
'I knew it would happen.'
'What?'
'You'd bring a girl home to meet your mother. I was hoping Mary Margaret wouldn't be the last one.'
'Hey, she was hot-for a fourth-grader.'
'Frankie's a better fit for you.'
'Than Mary Margaret?'
'Than those Whole Foods girls.'
'It's not like that, Mom. Between us.'
'I saw the way you look at her… and the way she looks at you.'
'I think that's the urge to kill.'
She smiled. 'I don't think so.' She picked up Frankie's portfolio. 'No training and she can do this? She's a natural.'
'She hasn't had many breaks in life.'
'Her life isn't over.' She sipped her wine. 'It's good they're here. Your father was more alive today than he's been in a year. That twinkle was back in those blue eyes.'
Andy thought about life without Paul Prescott. His and hers.
'Mom, can I get a ride into town with you tomorrow? My bike's at the loft.'
She nodded. 'Come by the office. I've got tickets.'
In the penthouse at the Austin General Hospital, Kathryn Reeves grabbed her husband's shirt and screamed, 'Save him, Russell! Save him! Don't let him die!'
Zach had slipped into a coma.
And Russell's wife was slipping into a nervous breakdown. He had found her crying in the bathroom and holding a pair of scissors. He had taken the scissors from her. She had slapped his face.
'You're a goddamn billionaire! Do something!'
'I'll save him, Kathryn. I'll find a way.'
