Was it her?“Look, Katherine, you shouldn’t speak to your mother like that,” I said as Sally and Carole walked out of the door.“But —” “T...ere are no buts, Katherine,” I cut in. “She’s not spying on you. In fact, we invited your mother on this break to help her deal with the breakdown of her marriage.”“But, Mr. Johnson, I can explain.” I wasn’t in the mood for her excuses. “Katherine, you don’t get it, do you?” She needed admonishing but not here in the tavern. “Where are you staying?” I. He milked several dozen goats out of a herd of more than a hundred, ran their milk through a cream separator, and once a week loaded the cream cans into a battered Model A truck to deliver it to the creamery in Winthrop. His pal Purdy usually rode with him to town. The spectacle of the two bachelors, one short and slight, dressed all in black; one tall and gangling, in grimy blue, was a "normal" eccentricity of Methow Valley life.Patch was leaning against the cracked fender of his Model A. More

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