Durgin was nodding. I drove past the burning Ford and down to the foot of the hill, where I stopped at the rusty bullet-pocked stop-sign. The Red Sox arelooking better than they have any right to. Themoney had been saved up over a period of ten years, according to SonnyTidwell, who did the dickering (as a Red-Top, Son Tidwell had playedwhat was then known as chickenscratch guitar ).
I may only be twenty-one, but I'm not stupid, she said. I put her down. Bill was four years older and a little grayer around theedges, but otherwise the same. Thumbing through the faxed calendar sheets now,my hand not quite back to its proper distance from my eyes but gettingthere, getting there.
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