29
Once Ralph and Richard got to a pause in their discussion, I made our excuses. Ralph was quiet in the car, riding a post-feast mellow.
“So what did you think of Richard?” I asked.
“He seems nice enough. I just tend to be a little … distrustful of the people who worked in Stetler County in those days.”
“Is that why you got pissed that I’d asked him about Teresa Hart?”
“I’m sure it’s just me,” he said, answering without answering.
“I’m sure it is.”
We sat in silence for a mile or so worth of headlights on dark asphalt, short metal guardrails and intermittent fog, me sulking, Ralph fat and happy.
“Mike, on the other hand,” he said, “Him, I like. You like him, right?”
“Of course,” I said. Even if Mike didn’t agree with me. Which he should have done.
Although a master with witnesse
