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Show Woodworth/112 the hedge. "Hello," he says, good naturedly. Gray has a face that reminds her of the dools she had seen once with heads made from weathered apples. A complex maze of wrinkles, his face is perpetually tanned. Yet his voice and his eyes always seem young, as if the real Grayson is talking from behind a clever mask. "Urn. Hi." She can't think of any explanation for being inside the hedge. "I thought you were a raccoon. We've had one in the garbage a couple of times this week." He is dressed in worn jeans and a green t-shirt with a large hole in the front and paint stains in a rainbow of colors blotched all over it. "No. I'm just. I wan just..." "I'm trying to figure out a way to catch the coon alive," he interrupts her. "Be a shame to kill an animal like that. But I can't have him tipping over the garbage all the time. I don't suppose you'd like him if I get him?" She laughs. "I don't think so." "Not in the business of raising orphans and threatened members of the animal world any more?" "No. It's not that. I just don't think my landlord would appreciate it." "Your parents? They probably wouldn't mind." "No. My landlord. I just rented an apartment." "Oh. Hey, listen. I'm in the middle of re-finishing a rocking chair I found at an old store up in New Hampshire last weekend. You want to see it?" "Yeah. Sure. Ok." She starts to fight her way through to the gjgyaOH'-»-sitte-gfsthe hedge. |
