Chapter 3

It was still early evening when we finished eating, and though the longest day of the year had passed back in June, it was still summer and the days were still long. As we walked through the back door of the restaurant and toward the car Cecelia said, "I propose a walk."

"Sure, I'm always ready for that. Where you wanna walk at?"

"Someplace where they do not end sentences with prepositions," she told me, and poked me in the ribs with her forefinger. I have never been able to figure out how to block that particular move.

"You might wanna be just a tad bit more specific," I said smiling.

"Very well, I shall be. We are here at Tramway, and there is a walking trail just over there," she said, waving a hand at the other side of the street she'd named. There is indeed a walking trail there, which I've walked on umpteen times.

"So you wanna go north or south?"

"Since the McDonald's parking lot is on the north side of Montgomery, let's go north."

I grinned at her. "You mean you're gonna drive us across Tramway so that we can go for a walk?"

We by now had come to her car, and she fished her keys out of her pocket. She never carries a purse, and has never owned one since I've known her. "I am not you, Darvin," she said, "nor will I ever be. I enjoy walking within reason; I do not find 13 miles under the burning sun to be enjoyable. Yes, I intend to drive across Tramway."

I shook my head as she unlocked her door. "You won't walk across Tramway to get to the trail, yet you'll go out and run for miles at a time."

"Three miles today – I kept it short because I wanted to be with Darlia." When Cecelia goes out to run, she's as liable to go for 10 miles as one, and she usually leaves Darlia with a neighbor for the duration.

"I can't run one mile, and I refuse to run three feet," I said, getting in – for she'd unlocked the other doors with the button on her armrest. I can in fact run a mile, or perhaps two, and occasionally do it in order to stay in fair shape, but it's work. I was just being hyperbolic.

"For once Daddy's right," Darlia added from her customary position behind the driver's seat. "Running isn't as much fun as walking."

Cecelia turned around to look at her daughter. "I trow that you have become insane. You're agreeing with your father – prima facie evidence that your mind is unhinged."

"I don't know what that means, Mommy, but if you're calling me names I'll have Daddy cook supper for you tomorrow."

Cecelia grinned. "I was, in a fashion, calling you names, though of course only in jest. But I shall desist; I would prefer to eat the slop my grandfather gave the hogs than face your father's so-called cooking."

I looked Darlia and smiled. "Now she's calling me names, 'Lia."

She nodded with great dignity. "That's how it's supposed to be, Daddy."

I glanced at Cecelia, who was smiling at me. "I have subverted your victory, and gained one for myself – once again with Darlia's aid. You shall never be triumphant as long as your family consists of two women."

"So I'm quitting while I'm still behind," I said, and she turned the key in the ignition and put the car into gear.

We walked about two miles north, and then two miles back – a little more than two hours walking, for although she's 10 years old Darlia is still a child, not an adult, and doesn't have our long legs. We kept our pace down to hers, nor did we complain, for walking fast is useful only for getting somewhere in a hurry. When you go slow, you see a lot more interesting stuff.

By the time we got back to the car Darlia was yawning, and she was asleep in her seat belt by the time we pulled up into the garage. Cecelia always does that carefully, for a previous owner had for some strange reason lopped off the back of the garage, making it so short her car barely fits. That also lost the garage a direct connection with the house, so we have to go out the main door and up the front steps to get in.