A Spool of Blue Thread

by Anne Tyler

“The thing about caller ID is,” Red said, more or less to himself, “it seems a little like cheating. A person should be willing to take his chances, answering the phone. That’s kind of the general idea with phones, is my opinion.”

In those days of no air conditioning, houses in Baltimore wore thick, dark awnings that shrouded the windows nearly to the sills from May to October of every year, but awnings wouldn’t be needed with all those tulip poplars. Besides, the way the house would occupy that particular property, perched at the top of a long, gentle slope: where else could it show so well? So

Junior lived in Hampden, mere blocks away from the Brills but a world apart in atmosphere.

Red just went ahead and married Abby Dalton, whom he had known since she was twelve—a Hampden girl, coincidentally, from the neighborhood where the Whitshanks used to live. In fact, he and she lived in Hampden themselves, during the early days of their marriage.

“All at once I started feeling sorry for her, you know? I really believe that most people who seem scary are just sad.”

Sparrows Point

“We all are the people back home. That’s what Hampden’s made up of.”