Free The House on Persimmon Road by Jackie Weger Page A

nearby, and I know a good fishing hole, and that I’d take him sometime. He said maybe tomorrow and I said ‘maybe’ just off the top of my head.”
    “Kids don’t hear ‘maybe.’ Their ears ain’t situated right.”
    “He’s got his heart set on going. Apparently he’s never done any fishing. But if you don’t want to take him, I’ll talk to him, put it off. I’d take him myself, but the old ladies snared me when I was coming back from my run this morning. Somehow I found myself agreeing to shuffle furniture.”
    “You’re just full of virtue this weekend, ain’t you, son?”
    Tucker grinned. “I’m always full of virtue.”
    “Full of somethin’ else, if you ask me. Tell you what, I’ll take the boy fishing if you make it worth my while.”
    “Hold on! You love to fish.”
    “This don’t come under the heading of fishin’, it comes under babysitting.”
    Tucker sighed. “Keep it reasonable.”
    “I wanna take my pipe, a couple of cold beers, and you gotta agree to clean and cook any fish we catch before you haul me back to Iron Bottom’s clutches tonight.”
    “Done,” said Tucker.
    Wheeler’s hangdog affectation fell away. “Somehow I find myself in a right merry mood to dig worms,” he said cheerfully. “What’s the boy’s name?”
    “Pip.”
    “What kinda name is that?”
    “Short for Philip, I think. You want me to drive you down to the river, or you want to walk?”
    “We’ll walk. I think I can handle a quarter mile without bringin’ in the medics. Call the kid.”
    “He’s hanging around outside.”
    Wheeler eyed his son. “You knowed all along I’d agree!”
    “I was hoping.”
    “Huh! What you’re hopin’ ain’t fit to voice. I guess you’re aiming to rub elbows and no tellin’ what else with the boy’s mother.”
    “All I’ve done so far is rub her wrong.”
    Tucker did think helping out up at the house might give him a chance to get on a better footing with Justine. Perhaps, he decided wryly, he would apologize for his snide remarks—provided the opportunity arose so he could do it without sounding mealy-mouthed.
    Wheeler thumped Tucker on the back. The idea of two beers, his pipe, and nobody looking over his shoulder put him in an expansive mood. “Like as not, by day’s end you’ll have her eatin’ outta the palm of your hand. Anybody who can charm old Iron Bottom ain’t got to worry about lesser folk.” In the midst of adjusting his hat lower on his brow, Wheeler stopped. “Say, tell me what the two that’s my age look like. Maybe one of ’em is my type.”
    Tucker drew his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. It had been his mother’s death that had put his Dad on the road to perdition, but the years since then had softened the blow. Wheeler still had a lingering weakness for drink and tobacco. But recently he’d begun to show more interest in other people, particularly women. Unfortunately there wasn’t a suitable female at the old folk’s home with faculties up to Wheeler’s rough, sparring nature.
    With a casualness that was ground cover for mirth, Tucker mused aloud, “The one called Agnes, the ex-mother-in-law, has a face longer than a thigh bone. Pauline dresses as if the preacher is expected for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and all day on Sunday.”
    Wheeler paused only a fraction. “Fishin’ sounds better. Get my pipe and tobacco. I got worms to dig.”
    A half hour later, having seen his dad and Pip off on the path toward the river, Tucker aimed his steps toward the big house.
    He had the feeling that he was about to complicate his life.
    Pauline met him at the back door. “It’s so kind of you to lend us a hand, Tucker. We’re very grateful.”
    “No problem, I’m happy to do it.”
    “I do hope we can work with some speed. I’d like the great room to be finished before Justine returns from doing the marketing. It’ll be a nice surprise for her.”
    Tucker stopped in mid-stride. “Your daughter isn’t