We'd just go on until she couldn't, that's all. Sam, he'd go anywhere with me and Hebe, and he'd never stop.The big guy? Oscar, you mean? Nothing stops Oscar. Look at him. He'll keep going and going and going, like a tank, and Rick does OK.I was thinking about the little trill, the six or seven musical notes Sam told us he'd heard several times. None of the rest of us heard it but I don't think Sam was making it up. I was kind of distracted thinking about it so after I got around that bend I almost had a heart attack when Harry appeared. He jumped down from nowhere, it seemed like, and for a minute I thought he was naked. He likes to take baths in irrigation ditches. Naked, I mean.Oh, you heard about that? Right. Anyway, he's always seemed just as happy covered in mud as with his clothes on. Turns out he wasn't naked. He had something around his waist. For a second I actually thought it was a diaper, but that was crazy. No, it was a loincloth kind of thing, or maybe really ragged. Maybe the best thing was the fresh-baked bread that was still so hot it was hard for her to cut. And the real butter was a treat. I usually content myself with a smear of omega 3 margarine. I could almost feel my arteries harden and five pounds attach themselves to my butt. Yum! If the coffee was a little weak, so what. I could last another two days.I spent some time after I got in bed last night, and a little more after breakfast this morning, going over a few journals and photo albums I found in Georgia’s room. I stuck them in my bag thinking that I’d slip out with them and only show them to Grover if they were significant to him. Mostly they had little meaning other than tracking a course through the woman’s pretty mundane life. I was looking for pictures of people who were close to Georgia. I found two things.First, one of the journals was filled with bad poetry, apparently the work of Georgia herself. They might have been from any age. The wide loopy handwriting at the beginning.
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