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They sat down at his table, the remnants of a meal still there.
“Dorothea not cooking tonight?” asked King with a smile.
“That would be correct. In fact, that would be right for most of our marriage. I actually do most of the cooking,” he added with a boyish grin.
“A man of many talents,” said Michelle.
He was dressed in corduroy pants and a black sweater with brown elbow patches. Michelle looked down at his feet and saw loafers.
“I see you finally got the cavalry boots off.”
“Not without effort. Your feet really swell up in those things.”
“When’s your next reenactment?” asked King.
“This weekend. At least the weather’s been cooperative. Those wool uniforms are really scratchy, and if it’s really hot, it’s a killer. Although I’m thinking about retiring from it. My back’s about gone from all the horseback riding.”
“Sold any paintings lately?” asked Michelle.
“Two, both to a collector in Pennsylvania who happens to be a reenactor. Only he fights for the Union, but I won’t hold that against him. Cash is cash, after all.”
“I’d like to see your work sometime,” said King. Michelle said the same thing.
“Well, I have it all in the studio behind the house. Give me a call whenever. I’ll be glad to give you a tour.” He waved to the waiter. “You two look thirsty, and as my mother would say, it’s bad manners and a damn shame to drink alone.”
As they waited for their cocktails, Eddie said, “So have you solved the case and gotten Junior Deaver off the hook?” He paused and added, “Although I guess you can’t tell me. We’re sort of on opposite sides.”
“It’s not an easy nut to crack,” said King. “We’ll see.”
Their drinks came. King tasted his whiskey sour and then said, “So how’s your mother doing?”
Eddie looked at his watch. “She’s at the hospital, although it’s
around ten, so they’ll be kicking her out of Dad’s room soon. She’ll probably sleep there though. She usually does.”
“What’s your dad’s prognosis?”
“Actually, that’s taken a turn for the better. They think he’s past the worst of it.”
“That’s great news,” said Michelle.
Eddie swallowed some of his drink. “He’s got to make it. He’s just got to.” He looked at each of them. “I don’t know if Mom could survive his dying. And while death awaits us all, I just don’t see him riding off into the sunset right now.” He looked down, embarrassed. “Sorry, too many gins and I start sounding pretty cliché-ish. Probably a reason why drinking alone with your problems is never a good idea.”
“Speaking of drinking alone, where’s Dorothea?” asked Michelle.
“At some function,” said Eddie wearily. He hastily added, “A Realtor has to do all that crap. But you can’t argue with her success.”
“True, Dorothea has been very successful,” said King quietly.
Eddie raised his glass. “To Dorothea, the world’s greatest real estate agent.”
Michelle and King looked at each other uncomfortably.
Eddie lowered his drink. “Look, she has her thing and I have mine. There’s a certain balance to that.”
“Do you have any children?” asked Michelle.
“Dorothea never wanted kids, so that pretty much settled that.” Eddie shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I didn’t want them either. I probably would’ve been a lousy dad.”
