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Trapper clicked off and sat staring through the windshield at the rural landscape, now tinted with the lavender of dusk. A small herd of beef cattle dotted the pasture to his right. On his left, dead winter grass bent to the strong north wind.
Mentally he listed all the reasons why he should drive on and take the next entrance ramp onto eastbound I-20. He could be home in time to crack a beer just before the Mavs tipped off.
Ultimately, swearing at himself for being a damn fool, he took his foot off the brake and made a left turn onto a rural road.
A few minutes later he topped a hill, and the Addisons’ house came into view. There was a light on in every room, and the house was surrounded by parked cars and pickup trucks. Trapper immediately changed his mind about calling on The Major’s longtime best friend.
He was in the process of making a three-point turn when an adolescent girl broke away from a group of kids kicking around a soccer ball in the front yard. She jogged toward him, waving her skinny arms as she directed him to pull the SUV into the dry ditch. Trapper did as directed and lowered the driver’s window.
She landed against the door, breathless. “I’m supposed to tell latecomers to park along the road.”
She had crazy red hair, redder cheeks, and a mouthful of braces. Trapper fell in love. “Latecomers to what?”
“The Bible study. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
Trapper turned off the motor and climbed down. “What do you think?”
She looked him up and down, then grinned and said, “IDTS.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think so.”
He laughed. “Smart guess.”
“You’re John Trapper, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“Everybody knows. You’re the black sheep.”
So, the townsfolk of Lodal talked among themselves about The Major’s wayward son. He wondered if they used coded language in front of the children. But the children now had a coded language all their own.
“I’m Tracy,” the girl said.
“Pleased to meet you, Tracy.”
“You have. When I was about six. It was Thanksgiving. You, The Major, and your mom were here visiting. I got my foot stuck in the commode. You worked it free.”
“That was you?”
“Yep,” she said with pride.
“I never knew why you put your foot in the commode.”
She raised her bony shoulders in a shrug. “I never knew why, either.”
Trapper couldn’t help but laugh again. “The sheriff at home?”
She glanced toward the house, then came back around and leaned in to speak low. “The front rooms are overflowing with deacons and church ladies learning about Job. But the sheriff’s in the kitchen drinking beer.”
It wasn’t beer, it was Jack Daniel’s. Glenn Addison was pouring a shot into a cup of black coffee when Trapper, who hadn’t bothered to knock, came through the mudroom into the kitchen.
Astonished to see him, Glenn nearly knocked over his chair as he stood up, rounded the table, and clasped Trapper in a bear hug. “Son of a bitch,” he said, thumping him on the back. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, not for a lesson on Job. Hank leading the Bible study?”
“Don’t you know it.” Glenn shook his head with bewilderment. “Where’d I go wrong?”
