Mohawk

existed—“like a fart in a gale of wind,” as Dan liked to say. He had a way of saying the most patently offensive things, plain or profane, without offending. A rare gift, she concluded. The other men in her life somehow always managed to offend even when they were tiptoeing.
    “Anyway,” Dan said, “I’m glad he’s better.”
    “He isn’t, really. The doctor says it’s just a matter of time before he has another attack. An oxygen tank in the house would help.”
    “How’s that a problem?”
    “I’m not certain. I’ve been instructed to butt out, though. Mother insists he’s too proud, but I suspect she’s the one. You know how she is about the house—the first set of slipcovers is to protect the sofa, the second set is to protect the slipcovers. An oxygen tank in the living room would be like admitting the unspeakable.”
    “Milly’s the same. We do nothing without permission. Di doesn’t even buy for our bedroom without consulting.”
    Dan wheeled along the deck from pile to pile, scooping leaves into the lawn bag. She knew she should help but suddenly felt leaden and stayed where she was, watching. She had once thought he’d never grow to fit the chair, and for the longest time after the accident she kept expecting him to get up out of it and trot away. But now the chair was part of him. His once trim abdomen was showing signs of a paunch. She knew he was drinking heavily, and while she didn’t blame him, thinking of him the way he had once been always brought her to the verge of tears. She felt them start to well up now and had to look away.
    “I used to look for little things to burn her up,” he said. “A couple years ago I ran across one of those little mechanical obscenities that works on a pulley. This little guy had a prick the size of a leg. Did lewd things with it when you pulled a string. Gave it to her on her birthday, all boxed up and wrapped nice.”
    The idea was very funny, and quickly Anne didn’t feel like crying any more. He
was
the same Dan. “I wish I’d been there.”
    “No you don’t. She went all gray and I thought ‘Uh-oh.’ Diana was fit to be tied, of course, and I’ve been a good boy since then, more or less. I guess there’s no good reason to torment old women.”
    “Remind me again why they’re supposed to torment us.”
    Before he had a chance there was a whistling sound, something cracked, first on the pool deck, then against the metal shed. Dan wheeled over quickly and pickedup the golf ball. “Good one,” he said, holding it up for Anne’s inspection. “Titleist. Just missed you, too.”
    Opening the door to the shed, he deposited the ball in a bucket that must’ve contained a hundred others. “When I get out of this chair I’m going to take up golf again,” he said. “It’s a shame people don’t lose clubs.”
    “You’ve decided to go ahead and try the operation?”
    “What the hell. It’s only money, and according to the quack-of-the-month there’s a chance. You think I’m crazy?”
    “No. I don’t.”
    “Neither do I. My mother-in-law says I’m crazy. But since she plans to inherit all this when I’m gone, she dislikes my spending money.”
    “Hey!” called a voice that belonged to the head of somebody just tall enough to see over the top of Dan’s redwood fence. “Golf ball come through here?”
    “Nope,” Dan smiled cheerfully.
    “Sure.” The man frowned, then muttered, “Brand new Titleist.”
    “What would I be likely to want with a golf ball?”
    The man noticed the chair then and went pale. “Jesus, Mac, I’m sorry.”
    “Forget it,” Dan said. “Drop in some day. We’ll have lunch.”
    When the man disappeared, the patio door slid open and Di was out on the deck. “Stealing golf balls again?”
    “You bet,” her husband admitted. “What’s more, I have an accomplice for once.”
    “God will get you.”
    “He already has.”
    “Lunch is on the table. Bring your accomplice.” Diana surveyed the yard. “Nice job, by the way.”
    Since Anne had stopped skimming, the pool had filled again with blown leaves. When the door closed behind her cousin, Anne noticed that the air was suddenly chill. Nothing was more unrelenting than a Mohawk winter, and Anne wasn’t sure she was equal to another one, not this year. “Shall I give you a push?” she suggested.
    “Provided you turn me around first. You’ll notice I’m headed for the water at the moment.”
    Anne lifted the heavy, leaf-filled bag