Her head barely came to his chest as he folded her into a tight hug. That’s when her glowing smile faded to dismay and embarrassment, then anger. He smelled of whiskey, and he staggered against her as she tried to guide him away from the depot’s crush of people. When she introduced, us, his fat lips stretched into a silly grin. He was holding his cigar in the hand he extended, and that just made him giggle. He leaned on Sanna as we hurried on towards his new seven-passenger touring car in the cold mist of late afternoon. It was easy to picture us freezing to death in a ditch or stuck in the mud or worse, so I said I’d sure like to get the feel of thé steering wheel if he didn’t mind my driving. “By all means, Mr. Tweedy,” he said, and was asleep in the back seat before we reached the road to Mitchellville. Supper was a mix of good hot food and imitation gaiety, a lame attempt by everybody to cover up the fact that the big man at the head of the table was besotted.
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