“Guess you’re mine now,” I say to Trout.
ChapterFive
Clementine
When I get homeat four, I can already hear the partying next door.It sounds like they’re playing horseshoes or something, and — by the sounds of it — having at least a couple of beers.
I try to see into their backyard, but there’s a big wooden fence around it, so I don’t have any luck.
Go over later and introduce yourself,I think, even though the thought of just showing up to a party makes my heart beat a little faster.
Show them some Lodgepole, Montana hospitality.I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.
Oh, hell, I don’t even believemyself.Hunter’s over there, having a grand old time with a bunch of dudes andprobablysome girls, and I want to see him again.
Which is fine and normal and okay.We’re old friends.Old friends hang out when they run into each other, and it definitely doesn’t mean that anything is getting rekindled in either party.
I’ve gotta go back to work tonight, because I’m giving a stargazing talk for kids, but I’ve got a couple hours before it gets dark, so I toss my stuff into my room and rummage through the fridge.I’ve just barely grabbed cheese, jam, and crackers when the phone rings.
I know who it is without even looking at the caller ID.My mom’s the only one who calls our land line, because she claims that the static on cell phones gives her a headache.I love her, but she can be a little dramatic sometimes.
No one else is home, and I don’t answer the phone, because I’m not sure I can handle my mom right now.Besides, she’s called me nearly every day for the past six months, ever since my dad suddenly asked her for a divorce, and I feel a little like I’m starting to crack under the pressure.
The phone stops ringing.I chew cheese, cracker, and jam, and hold my breath.Sure enough, it starts again.
If she calls back a third time, I’ll answer, I think.
It stops.I cross my fingers.
Silence.
Come on, don’t ring, I think.
It rings.I sigh.Then I walk over, take a deep breath, and answer.
“Oh, Clem, I thought you weren’t going to answer,” she says, already sounding upset with me.
I ball one hand into a fist.
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom,” I say.
Not staring at the phone from the kitchen, hoping you’d stop calling.
“Theneighbor,” she says dramatically.
I sit on the couch.
“The neighbor?”
Neighboris a generous term for the people that live closest to my parents, since they’re each about a half-mile away.
“You know those new neighbors that moved in last October, the man who wore all those bolo ties and that blond woman with the ostrich skin cowboy boots?”she asks.
I think I met them once and they were perfectly nice.My mom just didn’t approve, probably because they clearly had more money than my parents.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Clem,” my mother says, then pauses for effect.I stay quiet.“I think it washer.”
