There was a new movie down at the Fremont, The Warlord with Richard Boone and Charlton Heston, the Ben Hur actor. Leo thought about catching the 7:00 show but that would mean going downtown and he didn’t trust himself to avoid that quick walk to Beatrice’s to see Allie, so he went inside, grabbed a Coke, and went into the parlor to watch baseball with the men.

After the Sox won, Lars and his two friends pulled up chairs at the round card table Ryder and Jim were setting up for a game. Leo stood by the fridge with the Boston Globe and he scanned the local news about the city riots over the weekend. The national news section said there was one still dragging itself out in Newark, New Jersey. He got himself a leftover hotdog from the fridge. It was completely dark out. Around the outside light above the screened kitchen door was a swarm of moths and flies, some mosquitoes, a couple of june bugs too. Jim sat on his stool tuning his Dobro steel slide guitar, while Ryder took cash and coins and passed out chips. Lars put the deck in front of Ryder to cut.

“When’s Jimbo gonna let Einstein piss away his pay?”

Jim slid his finger thimble down along the guitar neck. Without looking up, he said, “He turns eighteen soon and he can do whatever the heck he wants. Right now he watches.”

One of Lars’s taller friends glanced up at Leo and looked him over. He picked up a dime chip and threw it into the ante in the middle of the table.

Leo wiped mustard off his face. “I’m going to GP’s. Be back later.”

The smell of the mill was everywhere tonight. Leo was sweating when he stepped up to the lighted porch and rang the buzzer. Gerry’s father answered the door. He wore a white V-necked T-shirt and a pair of plaid golf shorts that went right to his knees and were unsnapped just under his belly. “Well, Leo.”

“Hi, Mr. P.” Leo stuck his hand out, thinking a handshake was in order. Mr. Poitras was slow on the take, though.

“Gerry home?”

“Gee, you just missed him, Leo. We put him on the train with his friend Logan this morning.”

17

“To the marines?”

“You bet. We won’t see him for thirteen weeks anyway. What’s that, middle of November?”

“Boy, I saw him Saturday. I didn’t think he was leaving till later in the week.”

“No, ’fraid not.”

Leo could see Ruth lying on her stomach on the rug watching the TV. Betty wasn’t in sight.

“Come on in, Leo. Catch us up on things.”

“No, thank you very much, but I have to get home. Do you have Gerry’s address?”

“Sure thing, 111 go get it.”