but knowing and then not knowing that what she was seeing was the unchangeable, irredeemable depiction of her own fate.* * *Between the grandfather and the grandson rode the dull-eyed kid from the pet store, sweating, eyes blinking out tears. Quentin was behind the wheel, minding the road, afraid to look the other young man in the eye. Only a mile or two from the bus stop, they pulled up in front of the chain motel, the grandfather slowly, with great effort, climbing out first, dragging the miscreant after him. The trailer was nowhere around. Immediately the old man got a premonition that the kid had been lying. He had the look of a liar. The old man paused for a moment and turned to his grandson, muttering a few particulars: “You wait here. Mind me, don’t you follow till I come after you.” Then he marched the greasy-faced kid up the concrete stairs to the wooden motel room door, a golden 209 hanging along its warped center.“Open it,” the old man said in a low voice, the pistol tapping a sore spot into Gilby’s back.Gilby found the key in his pocket, secretly hoping his brother would be gone.
