On the drive back, I thought about furniture placement, which led me to think about the fireplace and the last item on my list. It didn’t take long to swing by Jewel’s floral department. Dixie had specific requirements. A yellow rose. If that wasn’t available, yellow anything but carnations or glads.

“No funeral flowers,” she had told me. “I’ll do funeral flowers when we find him.”

“Yellow for remembrance.” I thought as I got back into the car. “Dixie sure is a sentimentalist.”

            Duran’s black dual-wheeled pick-up truck was still parked in the shade by the riding ring when I returned. It was a lot of truck with a masculine, hard-hitting look; its spotless mirror finish reflecting everything around it. Stencils on the door panels read Duran Building and Grading in bold red script. I looked over at Dixie’s muddy white Ford F10 and my own used Altima. As I went inside, I thought about what our vehicles said about us. Dixie had no time, I had no money and Ed Duran had plenty of both.

Duran was talking to Henry when I stepped into the lounge. The two men looked up.

“Dixie’s in the arena,” said Duran, smiling. “Mission accomplished?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You know Henry, my foreman?”

“Nice to see you up close again,” I said. “Usually we wave at each other across the fields.”

Henry removed his cap. “You help a lot. Thank you.”

We shook hands, my fingers wrapped in his enormous palm. I felt his rings bite into my skin and pulled back. Henry looked distressed.

“I hurt you,” he said, looking at his fingers as though they didn’t belong on his hand. “I didn’t think. I am sorry.”

“Jesus, Henry,” said Duran. “Do you have to wear those things all the time? I’ve warned you it’s not safe.”

“No harm done.” I held up my palm.

Henry nodded, staring at his hands. I excused myself, going into the office to set down some of my parcels before dealing with the flower.

The stable office was small; the desk taking up much of the floor space. I had arranged it so the desk backed up to the north wall and was pushed tightly against the west wall so there was room for a file cabinet. Shelving over the file cabinet created more storage. Above the desk was an opening to the lounge where two ivy plants sat on the ledge. The tiny arch provided light and air movement but did not serve any other purpose that I had been able to discover. At five feet, it was too high to be a functioning pass-through.

The men were still at it when I went back out to the lounge to put the rose in the bud vase. Duran and Henry watched, both of them frowning. Sal thought the memorial was obscene. By the looks on their faces, so did they.

“Sorry, Ed,” said Dixie, stopping just inside the door. “I didn’t realize you were still in here.”

“No problem. Henry and I were discussing the fall chores list. I left a copy on your desk.”

“Thank you. Anything special this year?”

“You might say that. It took a year of arm-twisting but I finally bought the place across the road.”

“You did? When?”

“Last week. I was afraid that old geezer’s family was going to sell to some developer and another strip mall would go in. Now it’ll protect this place.”

“Are you going to farm it?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t decided what crops yet. I’m thinking truck farm with a nice vegetable stand.”

“Retail? Tours for children? That kind of thing?”

“No kids. The liability insurance I got is already too much. I’m thinking small. And all organic. Henry, here’s a list of farms out in McHenry County that are like what I want to do. You and Chuck check them out next week.”

“Sounds like quite an undertaking,” said Dixie. “I suppose Henry will be tied up with that all winter?”

“Henry’s staying here to run this place.” Duran clapped a dour Henry on the back. “I think Chuck will do great over there. Henry trained him well. He should be proud.” Duran looked at me. “You got a trunk full? You want Jorge to bring stuff in?”

“Please.”

“Jorge is in tack room.” Henry stepped forward. “I will get him.”

The two men carried boxes into the lounge and stacked them in the corner. Dixie hovered, looking at the illustrations on the cartons and offering comments. Just as we finished unloading my car, we heard frantic shouts of alarm. Someone was making a real commotion.

It was the pitch that caught my attention, elevated and intense. I’d heard Chuck bellow before but this was frenzied, like the call a person uses if a house is on fire. But Chuck wasn’t shouting about fire. He was yelling about bones.