Late

A short story shared by author of “The Summer of 1934” and “The Pisgah Grande 1936“.

Wendy Varble's Blog

Johnny was an hour late for lunch. This was not unusual–he was frequently late for both lunch and dinner. It was, however, always cause for concern to me, never knowing what perilous activities he was involved in. An hour was the limit for me–all I could do was to go out and search for him.

lateMy searches would always start at the barn. And that’s where I found him, behind the barn, leaning over a tractor motor. I got out of my car and walked over to where he was working. When Johnny turned around, I saw that he was covered in dirt, grease and oil. His hands were black, and I could see his arm was bleeding. At that moment, I thought to myself, “I should have married the cardiologist.” He looked at me and said, “Let me see your hand. “I was puzzled, but said nothing–just held out…

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