PART 4
June folded in on herself.
Walter whispered one word.
“Colin.”
I didn’t ask who Colin was.
Her fear had already introduced him.
I went to the window and moved the curtain with two fingers.
Gray pickup.
Cracked headlight.
Dented bumper.
A thick-bodied man stood by the gate in a dark canvas jacket and red flannel shirt.
Mid-forties.
Wet sandy hair.
Rough beard.
Bloodshot eyes.
The kind of man who thinks volume is proof.
“Your son?” I asked.
Walter shook his head.
“Our grandson.”
That made it worse.
I opened the front door.
Cold rain hit the porch boards.
Max stepped out beside me, silent and ready.
The man at the gate looked me over.
“You the owner?”
“This is my farm.”
“My grandparents are in your house.”
“That’s accurate.”
“They’re confused. Old people wander.”
Behind me, Walter appeared in the doorway, leaning on his cane.
“We didn’t wander.”
Colin’s eyes cut past me.
“Grandpa, get in the truck.”
June flinched.
Max saw it.
So did I.
“Careful,” I said.
Colin laughed once.
May you like
“What are you? Some hero with a rescue complex?”
“No,” I said. “Just a man with a gate.”
