He finally saw her, the tall woman with the helmet of gold-gray hair that looked almost like platinum. Then her enormous eyes found him, as did her smile, which he suspected he couldn’t live without.
She hurried toward him, carrying only the large shoulder bag she always carried, which was her sole luggage no matter how long or far the journey. McCorkle found himself trotting toward her. They kissed, hugged, then kissed again.
It was after the last kiss that Fredl McCorkle looked around and asked, “Where’s Erika?”
“Out of town.”
“Where’s out of town?”
“California.”
“Where in California exactly?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Doing what?”
“Visiting a friend.”
“Does the friend have a name?”
“Granville Haynes.”
“Would this Granville Haynes be any relation to Steadfast Haynes and, please God, let him say no.”
“His son.”
“When’s Erika coming home? Next week?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Next month?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What happened, McCorkle?”
“Well,” he said, “that’s a long and rather curious story.”