June whirled to face her mother, her eyes accusing. “I hope you didn’t give him any money in advance. Did you, Mama?”

“Oh no, I’d never do a thing like that.” Ida hated herself for lying. She could feel all her insides quivering.

Eddy slapped his hands together. “No harm’s done, then. Maybe the cops got wind of him and run him off.”

“Thanks for checking it out, Eddy.” Ida felt small as a snail and wished she had a shell to crawl into.

“Well, Mama, no harm’s done. We’ll be on our way, then. I got to go into Asheville to the mall. You wanna come? I got to get a present for Sandy. Her birthday’s coming up.”

Ida shook her head. “Lord, I sure did forget my own granddaughter’s birthday. So many birthdays these days, I can’t keep track no more. Pick me up something for her, will you, June? I feel a little meager today. I’ll just rest and watch TV.”

Ida stood on the porch and waited for June to leave.

When June reached her car she turned to her mother. “You gonna come over at seven and eat supper with us tonight?”

“Probably.” The way Ida’s stomach felt, she couldn’t eat a thing, but she needed to keep things as normal as possible.

“Okay. See you tonight.”

Ida waved and June was on her way. With heavy steps and an even heavier heart, Ida shuffled to a rocker chair on the porch and sank into it. Slowly she rocked, unable at first to think. Then her mind cleared, and she relived her visit with Ray Wilson.

He’d come to the door, hat in hand, so polite like, and asked for water. She’d offered him iced tea. They’d sat awhile on the porch, and he’d told her how hot it was working out in the sun and how he was in the building trades and had been replacing a roof and doing some driveway paving over in Loring Valley. She’d told him about the storm that had flooded Loring Valley a couple of years ago, and how much repair work there had been then, and he’d said how he’d wished he’d known about it.

She’d asked him where he was from, ’cause he didn’t talk like he was from these parts.

“Ohio,” he’d said. “From Hinckley, Ohio.” And he’d told her about the buzzards that came every spring to a field in Hinckley, and how the town folk all turned out to see them.

“Mightly ugly, buzzards are,” she’d said.

He’d laughed. “You’re right. They’re mighty ugly. But it’s our town’s claim to fame and it brings in a lot of tourists.”