The Hunter

Trey throws a quick glance up at him. Cal says, “We’ll deal with it.”

Trey nods, one decisive jerk, and starts in on the chair. The fact that his word can reassure her makes Cal want to sit down all over again.

Reassured or not, she’s still not feeling talkative, even by her own standards. After a while, Rip and Banjo get thirsty and come in the open front door, take a long noisy drink from their bowls, and bounce into the workshop for some attention. Trey squats to make a fuss over them, even laughing when Rip nudges her under the chin hard enough that she falls on her backside. Then the dogs flop down for a rest in their corner, and Trey picks up her rag again and gets back to work.

Cal doesn’t feel much like talking either. He never for a minute expected Trey’s father to come home. Even made up entirely of anecdotes, Johnny Reddy has always struck Cal as a type he’s encountered before: the guy who operates by sauntering into a new place, announcing himself as whatever seems likely to come in handy, and seeing how much he can get out of that costume before it wears too thin to cover him up any longer. Cal can’t think of a good reason why he might want to come back here, the one place where he can’t announce himself as anything other than what he is.

—

Lena is hanging her washing on the line. She takes an unreasonable amount of private pleasure in this job. It makes her keenly aware of the air around her, warm and sweet with cut hay, of the generous sunlight covering her, and of the fact that she stands where generations of women have stood, doing the same task against the greens of the fields and the faraway outline of the mountains. When her husband died, five years back, she learned the skill of taking every scrap of happiness where she could find it. A fresh bed or a perfectly buttered piece of toast could lighten the weight enough to let her catch a breath or two. A small breeze swells the sheets on the line, and Lena sings to herself, low fragments of songs she picked up off the radio.

“Well, would you ever look at that,” a voice says behind her. “Lena Dunne. Large as life and twice as gorgeous.”

When Lena turns around, it’s Johnny Reddy, leaning on her back gate and looking her up and down. Johnny always did have a way of inspecting you like he was remembering, with approval, what you were like in bed. Since he was never in Lena’s bed and isn’t going to be, she has no time for this.

“Johnny,” she says, looking him up and down right back. “I heard you were home, all right.”

Johnny laughs. “God almighty, word still travels fast around here. The place hasn’t changed a bit.” He gives her an affectionate smile. “Neither have you.”

“I have,” Lena says. “Thank God. You haven’t.” It’s true. Apart from the first smattering of gray, Johnny looks the same as he did when he used to throw pebbles against her window and bring her and half a dozen others to the disco in town, all of them piled on top of each other in his dad’s rickety Ford Cortina, speeding through the dark and shrieking at every pothole. He even stands the same, easy and light as a young lad. He confirms Lena’s observation that the men who age best are the feckless ones.

He grins, running a hand over his head. “I’ve still got the hair, anyway. That’s the main thing. How’ve you been getting on?”

“Grand,” Lena says. “How’s yourself?”

“Never better. It’s great to be home.”

“Lovely,” Lena says. “That’s nice for you.”

“I was in London,” Johnny tells her.

“I know, yeah. Off making your fortune. Did you?”

She’s expecting a flourish-laden story about how he was within touching distance of millions when some villain swooped in and robbed the chance from under his nose, which would at least make his visit interesting enough to be halfway worthwhile. Instead, Johnny gives the side of his nose a mischievous tap. “Ah, now, that’d be telling. It’s under construction. Authorized personnel only.”

“Ah, shite,” Lena says. “I forgot my hard hat.” She goes back to her washing, feeling that Johnny could at least have waited until she was done enjoying it.

“Will I give you a hand with that?” he asks.

“No need,” Lena says. “It’s done.”

“Brilliant.” Johnny opens her gate wide and sweeps a hand towards it. “You can come for a walk with me, so.”

“This isn’t the only thing I’ve to do today.”

“The rest’ll keep. You deserve a bit of a break. When was the last time you skived off for the day? You used to be great at that.”