Leo leaned his head back and closed his eyes to the sun. “You think Chick will really move to Mississippi?”

“Who said that?”

“Allie.”

Tom’s eyes stayed flat on the previous subject.

“Chick’s daughter. We’re going together.”

Burrell nodded, then sipped more coffee. “What did she say about Mississippi?”

“Nothing much. Chick wants to renovate Southern mansions or something.”

“Something?”

Leo looked away and drained his Coke. He could feel the lie in his face, though he knew he only stopped short with the rest of the truth.

“Allison?”

“Yep.”

“Billy had a crush on her awhile.”

“A lot of boys like her. Not like I do, though.”

Tom smiled and stood up. “You going to marry the boss’s daughter, Leo?”

“Maybe.” And he knew when he said it he meant it.

“Well, good luck on that one. I just hope Chick lives to walk her down the aisle. Floyd’s not the kind to call a lawyer, I’m afraid.” Tom buckled on his tool apron and turned it around so the clasp was in back and the nail pouches, tape measure, and hammer were in front. “Let’s hang some sheathing, Leo. The faster we finish this house, the better.”

Leo woke Saturday morning to the whine of cicadas in the trees, the smell of frying bacon. His sheets were damp. A sun shard reflected so bright off the wall he couldn’t look at it. Jim and Ryder were talking out in the kitchen. He showered and dressed in cut-off shorts and a T-shirt and ate breakfast at the table with the men: three eggs over easy, four strips of bacon, and two pieces of buttered Wonder Bread toast. He drank a cup of coffee with milk and three sugars while Jim bragged to Ryder about how well Leo played lead on Lipscomb’s “Blues in G” Thursday night. Jim mentioned Allie and what a polite young girl she was. Ryder winked at Leo and nudged his knee with the point of his boot. The conversation quickly turned to the Red Sox and how damned good they look in second place, how they’re starting to get mentioned as actual contenders for the pennant. “And boy we’re going to fry at Fenway if we end up in the bleachers,” Ryder said. He asked Leo to come with them but Leo smiled and said no thank you, he had a date.

Which he did. He and Allie had planned to picnic somewhere in walking distance from Spoon Hill.

“Take the Valiant, son. Ryder’s heap needs a few city dents.”

After the men had gone, each laughing at something the other had said, Leo took his work cash from his drawer and counted it. He had a little over $150, and with Chick’s seventy-five-cent raise, he could figure on getting eighty bucks a week instead of fifty. He took three twenties and stuffed them into his shorts pocket.