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“She sounds like someone I met once,” Da
“I could be wrong about that,” Andy told him. “People age differently, Da
“Oh, it’s been a while-if she’s the one I’m thinking of,” Da
“Da
“No, Hero and I will be all right,” Da
“You and Hero better be on your way to the back dock,” Andy told him. “She left here a while ago, and she’s got a real long stride.”
“Okay, we’ll get going. Thanks, Andy,” Da
“You sure I can’t come out there, or do anything for you?” the builder asked.
“I’ve been looking for a first sentence to my first chapter,” the writer answered. “You wouldn’t have a first sentence for me, would you?”
“I can’t help you with that,” Andy Grant said. “Just call me if you have any trouble with that woman.”
“There won’t be any trouble,” Da
“Da
“Okay,” the writer answered.
Hero was excited, as always, to take a walk with Ketchum’s.30-06 Springfield carbine. “Don’t get your hopes up, Hero,” Da
The snow was knee-deep on the wide-open path to the writing shack, and not quite as deep on the narrow path through the woods from Da
When he passed his writing shack, the writer said aloud, “I’ll be back, first chapter. I’ll see you soon, first sentence.”
Hero had run ahead. There was a grove of cedars, out of the wind, where a small herd of deer had bedded down for the night. Either Hero had spooked them, or the deer had moved on when the wind dropped. Hero was sniffing all around; there were probably deer turds under the snow. The snow in the cedar grove was flattened down where the deer had huddled together.
“They’re gone, Hero-you missed them,” Da
Hero hated baths; Da
There must have been three feet of snow on the roof of Grand-daddy’s cabin, to which neither the writer nor the dog gave more than a passing glance. If that cabin had been haunted before, it was more haunted now; neither Da
The snow had drifted thigh-high onto the back dock. Across the frozen bay, parts of the mainland were visible in the whiteout, but the far shore didn’t emerge distinctly; the mainland was blurred. The clarity of the shoreline was fleeting. In the distance, fragments of the landscape momentarily appeared, only to disappear the next instant. There were no identifying landmarks that allowed Da
What had little Joe said that day at the pig roast? “Plane. Not a bird.” And then, because Da
Now the writer squinted across the bay, into the falling snow, as if he were waiting for another little airplane to appear on the vanished horizon-or for another red-white-and-blue parachute to pop open.
Whoever she was, she wouldn’t be naked this time, the writer knew. Yet he also knew that, like the skydiver, she would suddenly just be there-the way an angel drops down to earth from the heavens. He was looking and looking for her, but Da
What the writer had overlooked was the fact that Hero was a hunter; the bear hound had one good ear and a very good nose. The growl began in the dog’s chest, and Hero’s first bark was muffled-half swallowed in his throat. There was no one out there, on the frozen bay, but the bear hound knew she was coming; the dog’s barking began in earnest only seconds before Da
The snowshoer was in full stride, practically ru
“You’re not going to shoot me-are you, Da
Because it was snowing, the tears on Da