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I
've
told
Norma
more
than
one
lie
in
the
fifty-eight
years
we
've
been
married
,
and
I
'd
guess
that
most
men
tell
their
wives
a
smart
of
lies
,
but
you
know
,
most
of
them
could
stand
before
God
and
confess
them
without
dropping
their
eyes
from
His
.
Well
,
drop
over
tonight
and
we
'll
do
a
little
boozing
.
J.
Louis
stood
on
the
top
step
leading
to
Jud
and
Norma
's
porch
--
now
bare
,
its
comfortable
rattan
furniture
stored
to
wait
for
another
spring
--
frowning
over
this
note
.
Do
n't
tell
Ellie
the
cat
had
been
killed
--
he
had
n't
.
Other
animals
buried
there
?
Superstitions
going
back
three
hundred
years
?
...
and
by
then
you
will
understand
more
.
He
touched
this
line
lightly
with
his
finger
,
and
for
the
first
time
allowed
his
mind
to
deliberately
turn
back
to
what
they
had
done
the
night
before
.
It
was
blurred
in
his
memory
,
it
had
the
melting
,
cotton-candy
texture
of
dreams
or
of
waking
actions
performed
under
a
light
haze
of
drugs
.
He
could
recall
climbing
the
deadfall
and
the
odd
,
brighter
quality
of
light
in
the
bog
--
that
and
the
way
it
had
felt
ten
or
twenty
degrees
warmer
there
--
but
all
of
it
was
like
the
conversation
you
had
with
the
anesthetist
just
before
he
or
she
put
you
out
like
a
light
.
...
and
I
'd
guess
most
men
tell
their
wives
a
smart
of
lies
.
.
Wives
and
daughters
as
well
,
Louis
thought
--
but
it
was
eerie
,
the
way
Jud
seemed
almost
to
know
what
had
transpired
this
morning
,
both
on
the
telephone
and
in
his
own
head
.
Slowly
he
refolded
the
note
,
which
had
been
written
on
a
sheet
of
lined
paper
like
that
in
a
schoolboy
's
Blue
Horse
tablet
,
and
put
it
back
into
the
envelope
.
He
put
the
envelope
into
his
hip
pocket
and
crossed
the
road
again
.
It
was
around
one
o'clock
that
afternoon
when
Church
came
back
like
the
cat
in
the
nursery
rhyme
.
Louis
was
in
the
garage
,
where
he
had
been
working
off
and
on
for
the
last
six
weeks
on
a
fairly
ambitious
set
of
shelves
;
he
wanted
to
put
all
of
the
dangerous
garage
stuff
such
as
bottles
of
windshield
wiper
fluid
,
antifreeze
,
and
sharp
tools
on
these
shelves
,
where
they
would
be
out
of
Gage
's
reach
.
He
was
hammering
in
a
nail
when
Church
strolled
in
,
his
tail
high
.
Louis
did
not
drop
the
hammer
or
even
slam
his
thumb
--
his
heart
jogged
in
his
chest
but
did
not
leap
;
a
hot
wire
seemed
to
glow
momentarily
in
his
stomach
and
then
cool
immediately
,
like
the
filament
of
a
light
bulb
that
glows
overbrightly
for
a
moment
and
then
burns
out
.
It
was
as
if
,
he
told
himself
later
,
he
had
spent
that
entire
sunny
post-Thanksgiving
Friday
morning
waiting
for
Church
to
come
back
;
as
if
he
had
known
in
some
deeper
,
more
primitive
part
of
his
mind
what
their
night
hike
up
to
the
Micmac
burying
ground
had
meant
all
along
.
