Lauchlin of the Bad Heart by D. R. Macdonald Page B

good barefoot in a long, loose blouse and that little sideways smile that could say a lot of things.
    “Hello, Maddy. You were expecting Ralph, were you?”
    “Not really. I wasn’t expecting you either. You didn’t happen to drop from that helicopter buzzing all around here, did you?”
    “I never heard it.”
    Maddy yawned, shaded her eyes at the sky. “You wouldn’t know what’s going on by any chance?”
    “Nothing, as far as I know. I was hoping we could change that.”
    She shook her head and looked down at her toes, wiggled them, their chipped red polish. She’d been wading in those stony shallows. She was smiling but some issue lingered behind it. “I’m going to put a big word on you, Lauchlin. Presumptuous. Eh?” She looked at him, not angry, but skeptical, puzzled.
    “I was never good at big words, Mad.”
    “Haven’t heard a word from you, have I, big or little. I’m still at the same location, you know. Same phone number.”
    “I’m getting old, Mad. I don’t get around like I used to.”
    “I bet.”
    “I never liked phones anyway. I like it face to face.” He nodded at the Christmas-tree lights still strung along the eaves of the cottage. “Do you light those up?”
    “Not often,” she said. “Not wise to advertise, as we used to say.”
    They stared at each other, neither moving, Lauchlin with a slight smile, teetering at that moment when pride might make him leave as gracefully as possible. But he didn’t want to leave, not now that he’d seen her.
    “You look chipper,” Maddy said.
    “Do I? Must be you.”
    “Is that why you’re here?”
    “I’m here to see you. That’s all. I was driving by.”
    “Oh.” She took a crushed packet of cigarettes and a lighter from her breast pocket, pulled a crooked one out and lit it. “It’s a mess inside. We had a party last Saturday.”
    “You always had good parties, you and Ralph.”
    She blew smoke above her head. “They were better when you were here.” She stared at her cigarette, then at him before tossing it away: he’d never liked tobacco in a kiss.
    In the kitchen sink there was a heap of dishes to which she added a few more from the table and swiped a sponge over the oilcloth.
    “Don’t bother about that,” Lauchlin said, pulling out a chair.
    “It’s dreary in here, though, isn’t it? I was about ready to leave, you know. It’s funny, I had a feeling. I don’t mean it was about you, but something slowed me down, made me hang around here a while. Now don’t think I was waiting for you, mister. You’ve been awful scarce. I was just reading a book, and you weren’t in it.” Lauchlin glanced at the romance novel splayed on the counter.
    “Pity. You ought to write these, Mad, you’ve read enough of them.”
    “I couldn’t be that silly, not on a page. They’re just soft drinks. Ipop one now and then, take a few gulps.” She rinsed two glasses and poured into one of them red wine from a near-empty bottle. “Some Chilean red?” she said.
    “A little whisky or rum for me, please.”
    She sighed and found a bottle of rye in the cupboard, measured him two fingers’ worth, and sat across from him.
    “Like old times, sort of.”
    “They’re not that old, Mad.”
    “You’re a devil, you know that? Jesus, when was it you came by? When Ralph was out west? A year ago.”
    “Less, I think.”
    “Oh, God, and the two of us. Me on the downhill to fifty, and you racing ahead of me. What’s going to become of us, Lauchie?”
    Her green eyes shone in the windowlight. Her face had softened some, a fondness for wine had taken its measure.
    “You mean now, or down the road?”
    “I don’t want to think of down the road. I never had to. Okay?”
    They touched glasses. Lauchlin finished his rye, set the glass down. “Any more of that?”
    “I haven’t been to town. As I said, I was just going.”
    “Don’t let me interrupt you, Mad.” He smiled.
    “Oh you wouldn’t do that, Mr. MacLean. Lauchlin