“If you get a chance, you ought to look for the owls.”
He slammed the door of his Ram, started the engine, reached for the gearshift, then dropped his hand again as something else occurred to him. “If you get a chance, you ought to look for the owls.”
“What owls?”
“There’s a couple of plastic owls around here someplace. They might be in y’basement or out in Jo’s studio. They come in by mail-order the fall before she passed on.”
“The fall of 1993?”
“Ayuh.”
“That can’t be right.” We hadn’t used Sara in the fall of 1993.
“’Tis, though. I was down here puttin on the storm doors when Jo showed up. We had us a natter, and then the UPS truck come. I lugged the box into the entry and had a coffee—I was still drinkin it then—while she took the owls out of the carton and showed em off to me. Gorry, but they looked real! She left not ten minutes after. It was like she’d come down to do that errand special, although why anyone’d drive all the way from Derry to take delivery of a couple of plastic owls I don’t know.”
