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The other night he even broached the idea of making his living as a farmer. I had to be careful about discouraging him; he’s so happy that I can’t bring myself to tell him how little he’s getting in the grand scheme of things. Even subsistence farming isn’t really possible for one man alone, not even one as strong and industrious as Hugo.I’m in the kitchen brewing up some tomato sauce for the freezer—I’ll be damned if we’ll sell all of it—when I hear somebody drive up. I’ve been doing just about everything but food shopping on-line so we get a lot of deliveries, but I don’t recall ordering anything lately. I turn down the burner and walk out to see who it is.Oh, shit, shit, shit, it’s Irving! Oh, goddammit. What the hell is Irving doing here? He’ll see Hugo, and I’ll have to introduce them, and he’ll stay to chat, and Hugo’s not nearly ready, and—Well, nothing to do but put the best face on it I can. Tremaine, I remember. James Tremaine. I hope to hell Hugo remembers. I walk out on. I hadn't heard from Cherry and assumed that she was keeping busy with the formalities of a corporate function. The night wore on and it was at about 2 am in the morning that I sent her a text asking if everything was ok. She replied "Be there in 30 mins. Be at the window". This was unexpected but also a very familiar message. It meant she was coming home with someone and intended staying outside on a sofa we had placing in front of our lounge room window. The window had a reflective film on it that enabled me to stand up close without anyone on the other side being able to see in. There was a street light in front of our block and our high fence made the front yard very private. I couldn't work out what had happened to her "work rules" that she had reminded me of earlier in the day but the little butterflies in my stomach that I always got while waiting in anticipation soon made me forget about all that. Soon enough I heard the gate latch open and stood at the window and watched.
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