All the Colors of the Dark — Chapter 146

146

“They’re showing Grease at the old Palace 7,” Misty said, at least a dozen times on their next hike. Patch deflected with talk of alluvial, glacial meltwater, and piping plovers.

“You know I still know all the words,” she said. “Want me to prove it?”

“A lot of people mistake the Bell’s vireo for a wren.”

“I reckon I can still fit into that yellow dress I wore the first time I saw it.”

“One time in prison a man shat himself in protest over the poor hygiene

standards. The irony of it, Mist.”

She did frown at that one.

“I do love that movie, though,” she said.

He fussed with his eye patch, cleared his throat, and longed for a mudslide to sweep him away.

Misty raised an eyebrow. “Probably have a big cake for old Walt.

Maybe Mitzie will make it. She used to own the bakery at number fourteen.

My mother said her cakes were a slice of heaven.”

“Sammy said she has the psoriasis. So bad he has me sweep the floor after she visits. Likely be a lot of skin in that cake, Mist.”

Her eyebrow dropped.

They hiked another mile. Misty kept her head down, not looking up for the butterfly glade, the roadrunners, or the lush pastures.

She did not touch her English muffins, even though she had not baked them herself.

And then, finally, back at the car, he took a deep breath. “So, I was thinking, this movie at the—”

“I would love to go. Thank you, kindly.”

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