I’d do just about anything for Buck. At least I ‘d try to. Now, I don’t want all those liberating women types flying their opinions in my face. As I have well proven, in the past, I absolutely can live my life my way. When it comes to Buck and me though, I’m a bit slack in my expectations. That doesn’t mean I lessen my expectations.
“Sissy, are you saying you’d let us live here? 10 artists for 5K a month?” Lorraine looked me this way to Texas and back.
“As long as it stays respectable.” I tried to bring her focus back to St, Charles Avenue, New Orleans.
“That’s pretty vague.”
“Well, nothing on the outside could change. I wouldn’t want everyone to know what was going on.”
There it went again. That judge-in-the-family voice. Sissy’s married a crazy man.
And then I began to weep and Lorraine had her arms around me and I just, well you know, I just blathered away uncontrollably. “When Buck is discharged, I don’t want him coming back here, Lorraine.”
We sat together on the front stoop of that old and judgmental Victorian house my parents had given me. I held onto Lorraine and Lorraine held me.
“If I do this,” Lorraine put a slight distance between us, “where will you go?” Then she kissed my cheek.
“The Norway farm.”
“Neither of us do.” I shrugged.