Lone Star. Paullina Simons

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      At nine the next morning, Blake knocked on her door.

      “Good morning, Mrs. Devine. Good morning, Chief.”

      “Good morning, Blake,” Jimmy said from the breakfast table, hands around a coffee cup. “How have you been? Looking forward to graduation?”

      “Oh, absolutely, sir. Thank you. Very exciting. Yes.” Blake always talked to her father as if about to be arrested.

      “Listen, I have a tree by the water that’s rotting, a willow.”

      “Say no more. I’ll take it down for you. Do you have power out there?”

      “By the lake? No.”

      “I’ll bring my axe and my gas-powered chainsaw. Today after I bring Chloe home?”

      “Anytime you can, Blake. It’s a big tree, though. If you help me knock it down, you can keep half the wood.”

      “Thank you very much. My dad would like that. He gets cold cramps at night.”

      “How’s he been?”

      “Not too bad. Back keeps bothering him, you know.”

      “I know,” Jimmy said, staring into his coffee cup.

      “Yeah, well, um. Is Chloe ready?”

      Chloe was ready.

      Lang pulled her into the vestibule, that is, the very same short hall Blake had taken over with his broad flannel-clad frame. “You two have fun,” Lang said, “but come back before six.”

      “Okay,” Chloe drew out. “Wheels is from eleven to one, and you know that, so.” She broke off. “That’s well before six. What’s up?”

      “Moody is coming tonight for dinner,” Lang said reverentially, as if announcing the arrival of Queen Victoria. Moody was Chloe’s terrifying grandmother. “I hope you don’t have any prior engagements.”

      Why would she? It was only Memorial Day weekend, when the kids from six towns would be gathering for the fireworks in North Conway, staying out, hanging around by the outlet shops, miniature golfing, eating ices, listening to the free bands in the old town square, making out, maybe other things. “Prior engagements? Who talks like that, Mom?” was all Chloe said. Moody was coming to dinner! Blake pretended to study the picture of Castlecomer on the wall.

      “I just want to make sure you’ll be home.”

      “So you talk like Edith Wharton? Why do I need to be home? Why is she coming?”

      “She wants you to drive her to the cemetery to visit Uncle Kenny.”

      “Ugh, no!”

      “Yes. Plus she wants to talk to you.”

      There it was. Chloe’s teeth set against each other as if in battle. Her antennae shot up, spring-loaded. “About what?”

      “Am I Moody? How do I know?”

      “I can tell you know.”

      “Go. Just be back.”

      “Mom! Is it about Barcelona?”

      “Go!”

      This was a futile conversation, and the fact that Lang allowed it as long as she did only spoke to Lang’s own anxiety about her mother-in-law’s upcoming visit. It was the first time in three years Chloe’s grandmother would be coming to their house. Chloe glanced over at her dad, to gauge his reaction to his mother’s arrival, but he was head down, buried in the newspaper.

      “Blake, ready?” Chloe wanted to storm out of the house.

      “It was nice to see you, Mrs. Devine. Have a great day. Chief, I’ll be by later to help you with that tree. I’ll bring some rope too.”

      “Wait,” Jimmy said and got up. He handed Blake the keys to the Durango. “Take my truck. It’s easier to get in and out of than the Subaru.”

      “Yes, it is, thank you very much, sir.”

      “Dad, you’re giving Blake your truck?”

      “Hardly giving.”

      “You don’t lend it to Mason!”

      “When Mason takes you to deliver food to the infirm instead of parking with you behind Subway, he can have my truck.”

      “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down in that regard, or any other.”

      “I know, son.”

      “One quick thing—where do you keep the siren lights? Somewhere in the truck?”

      “Get out of here, Blake, before I change my mind.”

      “Yes, sir.”