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Show Go Love/159 "Peckerwood," he says. "I mean it." Bold points the lit end of a cigarette at me. "Big as bucket lids " Judy's in a teri robe with her black hair coiling down, consoling Renee while Lara plays dress up with things from Judy's dresser drawers. She drapes a lacy bra across her chest, sashays into a gauzy blouse The tv's on the weather channel, these bunny-eyed women in low cut blouses forecasting heat followed by low pressure, then more heat. "Hot, hot and more hot, coming at you," the raven haired one says. I'm verging between Bold and the weather women, onion rings you can stick your fist through, and the heave-hoe of breasts between shots of storm maps dopplered across tornado alley. "I guess you've been on high alert," Bold says. He swigs vodka tonic "It's a hell of a thing " A funnel cloud's been spotted south of Tulsa. Warnings now stretch from Fort Smith through Pope County. The twister sighting has the blonde forecaster's blood up~you can see it in her cheeks Lara clacks Judy's heels over the bathroom tiles Renee looks me through-how long does it take to fall out of love? "What do you mean? High alert?" Outside, under the drive through check-in, a man I know, but can't put my finger on steps out of a white rental. A red-headed hummingbird taps the windowglass, thmmming the air. When our dog, Moon, died, I wrapped her in owl's wings clipped from a roadkill bird somewhere in Illinois, a road trip home for a sudden heart stint Mama got dragged into. We,layered the bottom of the hole with broadleaf sage and dog biscuits, her food bowl and water. She was sixteen, a hundred or more in dog years, the remnants of North Carolina-our trial child. A chunk of life, a |