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“It’s her boy Hatch is raising.”
    “It doesn’t seem fair,” Curtis said. “Hatch was a good boy and he just never seemed to catch a break. Marvin should have left him that business. They didn’t have any children, and you know Hatch probably never missed a day of work in twenty years.”
    “Maybe he’ll come work for us,” Patrick said. “I’ll run out there and ask him again in a week or two.”
    “You know I love my son-in-law,” Curtis said, “but that Hatch would have been an excellent addition to our family. Hannah was heartbroken when he quit school. Just think if he hadn’t done that he’d probably be working here with us now.”
    “For cheap, like me,” Patrick said.
    “You heard from Sam?” Curtis asked him.
    Hannah’s husband Sam was Patrick’s best friend.
    “No,” Patrick said. “But he’ll be back.”
    “I don’t know if that marriage is going to make it,” Curtis said.
    Patrick was silent, watching Hatch pull out of the service station parking lot in a beat up truck that nevertheless sounded like it possessed a finely tuned engine under the hood.
    “Sam always comes back,” Patrick said.
    “That he keeps leaving her is the problem,” Curtis said. “I know he had a bad experience in the war, and I know he has things to overcome, but there’s only so much a woman can be asked to bear. I’m afraid my girl’s at the end of her rope.”
    “Hannah’s tough,” Patrick said. “She’ll be alright.”
    “Every woman’s got her limit,” Curtis said. “Most men don’t realize that until it’s too late.”

CHA PTER THREE - Tuesday
     
    Hannah left Fitzpatrick’s bakery and drove the animal control truck out to Bear Lake to look for a stray dog reported near there. She stopped at a small convenience store called “Roush’s Bait Shop,” which sold more beer than bait. There was a group of old men huddled around the ancient coal stove inside, smoking and chewing the fat, just like at her dad’s service station. They all knew Hannah, of course; before she quit smoking she used to join them on many a cold, snowy day.
    Owners Fred and Fanny Roush were working behind the counter. Fred was running the register and Fanny was deep frying fish and chips for a lunch order. Fanny motioned Hannah back around the counter.
    “Hi, honey,” Fanny said. “The fella who reported the dog said it had a collar but no tags, and was real friendly like. It’s hanging around the roadside picnic spot between here and Fleurmania.”
    Hannah thanked her but declined the free order of french fries Fanny scooped up for her. Her stomach felt queasy. She bought a package of hotdogs to use to catch the stray.
    Hannah had run into Hatch several times over the years. Fleurmania wasn’t in Pine County, but nevertheless, it was a small community out in the same neck of the woods, and Hatch was a fixture. Hannah kept track of him through local gossip, and she knew pretty well at all times what was going on with him. When he passed her truck at the roadside picnic area he turned around, came back, and parked his truck nose to nose with hers.
    “Hey, you!” he hollered over the hill, to where Hannah was trying to coax a dog to come to her using a hotdog as bait.
    “Hey yourself!” she hollered back. “You know this dog?”
    The dog in question was a hound mix with big long ears and a dopey expression. He was standing on the other side of a shallow creek. Hannah could tell he was tempted by the smell of the raw hotdog but didn’t like the look of the loop lead she was holding. Hatch came half-walking, half-sliding down the hillside to stand next to her.
    “I think that’s Hollis Marcum’s pooch,” he said. “Now, what’s that dern dog’s name?”
    Hannah threw the dog a little piece of hotdog. The dog gobbled it up and looked interested in having more. She broke off another piece and threw it to the side of where she was standing, hoping to at least get him on her side of the