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just say in sort of a puddle. Yes, it is pathetic. “You know where I am,” I said, in an inviting tone that a deaf man couldn’t miss. Then, through the fog in my brain, it occurred to me that having him run right over might not be a great plan. I sincerely doubted that either of us would find the experience satisfying—or even pleasant. Before I could start backing myself out of that corner, I realized that he wasn’t exactly spewing forth with a breathy “I’ll be right there, baby” reply.
    “I can’t right now.” Another pause. “I’ve got the kids tonight.”
    Ah, the kids. Jerry’s children are in elementary school, mine are in college. He is in the middle of parenting hell and I’m down to only periodic dips into the fiery flames. It is not a good fit. “That’s okay,” I said, as cheerfully as I could, considering. “I’ll be out at Mother’s tomorrow if you want to drop by sometime after the kids go to school.”
    “Tomorrow then, at nine?” he said, sounding a little disappointed himself.
    “Sounds great.” Okay, great was pushing it just a tad. Great would be seeing him somewhere other than Kickapoo, Texas, and without my mother or his kids.
    “See you then.” His voice rippled through me yet again, but before I could fully enjoy it, he said, “Tell Leroy to call when he gets back.” He was back to his official sheriff voice. “I need to talk to him. Immediately.”
    “He’s not in trouble, is he?”
    Jerry paused for a few long seconds. “I don’t know, Jolene, is he?”
    Not as much as he was going to be, I feared. “As far as I know, everything is just fine.” It wasn’t a lie. Technically, things were basically still as fine as they were before I got here. “Yep, just fine.”
    Mr. Sheriff muttered something about “we’ll see,” and after I hung up, I felt neither warm nor tingly anymore—nor at ease. Fine was out of the question. I’d been in town, what, an hour? And in that short time, how many situations with the potential for seriously bad trouble had formulated? A lot, that’s how many.
    Right on cue, ground zero for the trouble came bouncing back into the office, looking like she’d just been to a Mary Kay makeover party. I didn’t see a single hair out of place, not to mention a crooked eyebrow or lip line. “Well, Mother, if you’re going for the ‘poor pitiful me’ look, you better go give it another shot.”
    “No,” Lucille said, patting her plastered-in-place hair. “I decided to just be me and look my best. I’m going to tell it like it is, and if they don’t like it well, too bad. I’m not backing down and they’re not ruining my life.”
    In truth I couldn’t argue with her about not wanting a parade of trailers, complete with TVs, boom boxes, generators and screaming kids out behind the back fence. Whether they were really going to put them on her back doorstep, I didn’t know. But I did know one thing for sure, if they weren’t already, the parks people were going to be real sorry they messed with Lucille Jackson. We all were. I leaned back in Leroy’s chair again and propped my feet on his desk. “Okay, Mother, tell me about SPASI.”
    I pilfered a legal pad from Leroy’s desk and took as many notes as I could while Lucille rambled. Only one who has had the misfortune of interviewing Lucille Jackson can truly appreciate the effort involved to keep from hurling yourself through the nearest plate glass window during the task. Nevertheless, I emerged from the soliloquy with a few facts and a plethora of local—and pointless—trivia.
    The fact that Agnes’ recently neutered cat had clawed a hole in the window screen and run off the night before the protest didn’t seem like a pertinent detail. Ditto the fact that Merline had bought a new rhinestone-covered denim jacket—that was just plain tacky—at the factory outlet store in Mineral Wells to wear in the picket line because she wanted to look good when the news people came out