dramatically, and I was hooked by the woman and pulled
in among them. The man gripped my arm and the woman herded
us all inside. “This place is a shambles,” she
said, picking up a magazine and shooing us on. I was swept
through a hallway to a well-lit kitchen where a tall, thin
man sat at the table. He got to his feet as we came in, and
we all got our first real look at each other. The woman was
young: she might easily have passed for Eleanor’s
older sister, though I knew she had to be at least my age.
But there wasn’t a wrinkle on her face nor a strand
of gray: her only concession to age was a pair of
small-framed granny glasses. The man was burly: my height
and heavier, about the size of an NFL lineman. His hair was
curly and amber and he had a beard to match. The man at the
table was in his sixties, with slate-gray hair and leathery
skin. Eleanor introduced them. “This is my father,
Gaston Rigby…my mother, Crystal…my uncle,
Archie Moon. Guys, this is Mr. Janeway.” We all shook
hands. Rigby’s hand was tentative but his eyes were
steady. Archie Moon gripped my hand firmly and said he was
glad to meet me. Crystal said that, whatever I had done for
their daughter, they were in my debt—doubly so for
bringing her home to them.
There was more fussing, those first awkward moments
among strangers. Rigby seemed shy and reserved: he hung
back and observed while Crystal and Eleanor did the
talking. Hospitality was the order of the moment: Crystal
wanted us to eat, but Eleanor told her we had stopped on
the road. “Well, damn your eyes, you oughta be
spanked,” Crystal said. She asked if we’d like
coffee at least: I said that sounded wonderful. Eleanor
said, “I think what Mr. Janeway would like better
than anything is some dry clothes,” and Crystal took
my measure with her eyes. “I think some of your old
things would fit him close enough, Gaston,” she said.
“Get him a pair of those old jeans and a flannel
shirt and I’ll get the coffee on.”
Rigby disappeared and Crystal bustled about. “Get
down that good china for me, will you, Archie?” she
said, and Moon reached high over her head and began to take
down the cups. Eleanor and I sat at the kitchen table,
lulled by the sudden warmth. Impulsively she reached across
and took my hand, squeezing it and smiling into my eyes. I
thought she was probably on the verge of tears. Then the
moment passed and she drew back into herself as Moon came
with the cups and saucers and began setting them around the
table.
“None for me, honey,” he said. “I been
coffeed-out since noon, won’t sleep a wink if I drink
another drop.”
“I got some decaf,” Crystal said.
“Nah; I gotta get goin‘.”
“What’ve you gotta do?” Crystal said
mockingly. “You ain’t goin‘ a damn place
but back to that old shack.”
“Never mind what I’m gonna do. You
don’t know everything that’s goin‘ on in
my life, even if you think you do.”
They laughed at this with good humor. They spoke a rich
Southern dialect, which Crystal was able to modify when she
talked to us. “This old man is impossible,” she
said. “Would you please talk to him while I get the
coffee on?—otherwise he’ll run off and get in
trouble.”
Moon allowed himself to be bullied for the moment. He
sat beside Eleanor and said, “Well, Mr. Janeway, what
do people call you in casual conversation?”
“Cliff sometimes brings my head up.”
“What line of work are you in?”
“Why is that always the first thing men
ask?” Crystal said.
“It defines them,” Eleanor said.
“So, Mr. Janeway,” Moon said loudly.
“What line of work are you in?”
“Right now I’m between things.”
“An old and honorable calling. I’ve been in
that line once or twice myself. Sometimes it can be pretty
good.”
“As long as you come up smiling.”
“Just for the