To Lily’s eyes the man looked old and frail, but maybe it was the light this timeof day, neither dusk nor dark, or coming down off the mountain she was nervous enough to seek out trouble where it didn’t exist. “Hey, Shepherd,” she said. “Come say hello to a blast from the past.”He leaned over the fence rail and shook Tres’s hand. “Doctor Quintero. Heard a rumor you were back in town.”“Tres’ll do, Shep. I’m no longer practicing medicine.” “Yeah, I heard that, too.”“Seen Mami and Pop?” Lily asked.“Your mother took off in her plane just a little bit ago.”“Did she have the dogs with her?” Lily asked. “Did Pop make her get rid of the greyhounds?”“One of them. The other’s in the house, listening to the radio.” “What about Pop?”“Trailered out early this morning with a fellow who wants to buy Matisse. He took Alfred. I expect they’ll be back shortly.”“Well, poop.” In Lily’s mind the homecoming scenario had played out so beautifully—Pop and Tres clapping one another on the back, Mami inviting them in for drinks—a cozy Wilder welcome that would make Tres feel comfortable, included—and closer to her.
