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datatime: 2022-09-29 04:05:54 Author:noLHJTKA

'Not now. There may be. Is your number down in Tashmore unlisted, Mr Rainey?'

'Even the wine,' he said to Evans. 'Even that.'

'I want to get back. Do some work and see if I can't forget all this for awhile.' And he felt as if maybe he really could write. That was not surprising. In tough times-up until the divorce, anyway, which seemed to be an exception to the general rule-he had always found it easy to write. Necessary, even. It was good to have those make-believe worlds to fall back on when the real one had hurt you.

'I will.' He rose, hand outstretched. 'This is always a nasty business. I'm sorry you two had to go through it.'

Mort drove back to Tashmore Lake with his hands clamped to the steering wheel, his spine as straight as a ruler, and his eyes fixed firmly on the road. He played the radio loud and concentrated ferociously on the music each time he sensed telltale signs of mental activity behind the center of his forehead. Before he had made forty miles, he felt a pressing sensation in his bladder. He welcomed this development and did not even consider stopping at a wayside comfort-station. The need to take a whizz was another excellent distraction.

They walked slowly toward Mort's Buick.

Mort drove back to Tashmore Lake with his hands clamped to the steering wheel, his spine as straight as a ruler, and his eyes fixed firmly on the road. He played the radio loud and concentrated ferociously on the music each time he sensed telltale signs of mental activity behind the center of his forehead. Before he had made forty miles, he felt a pressing sensation in his bladder. He welcomed this development and did not even consider stopping at a wayside comfort-station. The need to take a whizz was another excellent distraction.

'I will.' He rose, hand outstretched. 'This is always a nasty business. I'm sorry you two had to go through it.'

'You're not,' Amy said. A single tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it absently away.

They walked slowly toward Mort's Buick.

'Yes.' He wrote it down for Evans. 'Please get in touch if I can help.'

He half-expected Amy to ask him to change his mind, but she didn't. 'Drive safe,' she said, and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 'Thanks for coming, and for being so ... so reasonable about everything.'

'Not now. There may be. Is your number down in Tashmore unlisted, Mr Rainey?'

'You keepin well enough down there?' Ted asked. 'Anything you need?'

They walked slowly toward Mort's Buick.

'You keepin well enough down there?' Ted asked. 'Anything you need?'

'Yes.' He wrote it down for Evans. 'Please get in touch if I can help.'

'Can't think of anything,' he said, opening the Buick's door and fishing the car keys out of his pocket. 'Where do you come from originally, Ted? You or Amy must have told me sometime, but I'll be damned if I can remember. Was it Mississippi?'

'You keepin well enough down there?' Ted asked. 'Anything you need?'

Mort drove back to Tashmore Lake with his hands clamped to the steering wheel, his spine as straight as a ruler, and his eyes fixed firmly on the road. He played the radio loud and concentrated ferociously on the music each time he sensed telltale signs of mental activity behind the center of his forehead. Before he had made forty miles, he felt a pressing sensation in his bladder. He welcomed this development and did not even consider stopping at a wayside comfort-station. The need to take a whizz was another excellent distraction.

'You're not,' Amy said. A single tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it absently away.

Answer: It was technically possible.

'Even the wine,' he said to Evans. 'Even that.'

'Is there anything else?' Mort asked Evans.

Ted laughed heartily. 'A long way from there, Mort. I grew up in Tennessee. A little town called Shooter's Knob, Tennessee.'

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