Sonny felt himself being shaken out of a deep, dreamless sleep. “Come on, Bud. If you’re going fox hunting, you got to get up and get dressed. We leave in twenty minutes.”  It was a quarter to four. The shotguns, the shells, the warm hunting coats, fur-lined caps with ear flaps and other necessities had all been loaded into the car the night before. Margie was making sandwiches for their lunch and a thermos of hot coffee to keep them warm and awake. The plan was to drive south to Gladpatch and have breakfast. Then east over some of the worst dirt roads and through some of the muddiest river bottoms in Illinois to reach the site of the hunt.
            Margie was screwing the cap on the thermos when Sonny walked into the kitchen. “You watch what your father does, and do the same. Be careful. Lot of hunters where you’ll be – maybe hundreds. Not all of them watch what they’re doing. Some’ll be drinking. Dean, don’t you drink and hunt!”
            “All right, Margie. We’ll watch it – keep the anti-freeze level as low as we can. Come on, Sonny. Let’s get out of here before she makes us take the pledge.”
            Margie wanted to throw her arms around Sonny as if it were the last time she was going to see him, but she held back. He was a year out of high school and no baby.
            They picked up Ed, Dean’s faithful hunting partner, and were in Gladpatch in time for breakfast. Dean had to shake Sonny out of another sleep. Theirs was among seven or eight cars all parked perpendicular to Garver’s Cafe, the only place in town to eat. Garver’s took up two crumbling store fronts in a row of buildings, half of them vacant.
            They walked in and were hit with the thick smell of hot grease, coffee and cigarette smoke. The three slid into an empty booth, Sonny facing Dean and Ed. The paint on the walls was faded and layered with cooking grease and dust. It was impossible to tell what color it had been. The table top was a mass of carved names and initials. Sonny opened his menu, but couldn’t take his eyes off a freshly carved heart inscribed, “Lisa, let’s be more than friends.”  That was all it took to get his imagination rolling.
            “What’ll you men have this morning?” Sonny heard the voice of an angel. He looked up and saw her mischievous eyes focused on Ed and his dad. She was slender and yet voluptuous where she needed to be, possibly a year or two older than Sonny, with long reddish hair and an open, friendly face; and there was that something about her – the spell of a country siren. He’d known several girls, was going steady now, but this was different.
            “I’ll take the Hunter’s Special and coffee.” Dean was a man of average height, a little overweight, but handsome with graying hair and infectiously friendly. 
            “Bacon or sausage?”
            “Sausage.”
            “Want those eggs scrambled?”
            “Basted.”
            “Okay, three eggs basted.”
            “Give me the same,” echoed Ed. He was tall and lanky. His eyes were sunken, and his cheeks hollow. His thin lips fit tight around his teeth. There was a thick shock of black hair combed straight back. He spoke little but was quick to smile and easy to know once past the severe looks.
            She turned to Sonny, a stripling of nineteen who had inherited his dad’s good looks. For a moment the playfulness left her eyes, and they were a deep, soft brown. Then, she flashed her smile and said, “I know these two from way back. Well, maybe a year anyway. But you’re new.  I’m Lisa, you got a name?”
            “Sonny. I’m Sonny. Glad to know you, ah, ah, Lisa.”
            “What you having for breakfast this morning?”
            “Make mine pancakes and sausage. I’ll have coffee, too.”
            “Coming up.”  And she hurried away.
            Sonny hoped his interest in her was not too obvious to Ed and his dad. “She’s a really nice waitress, Dad. This place is so dingy, who’d expect her?”
            “Take my word for it, Sonny. Don’t go soft on her.”
            “What do you mean? This is a long way from home. Hard to take her out or anything like that.” But he was thinking she was only an hour and a half or so from Greenhaven – didn’t seem far.
            “Just take my word for it,” said Dean.
            Lisa was soon back with three plates, which she flung onto the table with an ease Sonny thought amazing. Her swooping right arm was as pleasurable to watch as a well-done quarterback sneak or a double play. Then she slid into the booth next to him, and turning those playful eyes on the two men, she asked, “So, you guys headed for the big fox hunt today? Would you rather chase the fox or catch her?” She laughed, and they did, too.
            Sonny didn’t laugh. 
            “If you put it that way, don’t you mean vixen?” said Ed, eye lid raised.
            “Yeah, I suppose we're talking about a vixen.”
            “Any Elvis in the jukebox?” Sonny asked.
            “Yeah, Heart Break Hotel and a couple of others, but they never get played Saturday mornings,” she answered.
            “Lawrence Welk crowd,” said Sonny, glancing at the collection of hunters.
            Lisa looked at him and winked.
            “I got an order up,” she said and was gone.
            “Bring the check,” Dean called behind her.
            She was quick with the check. “Well, Sonny, how do you like Gladpatch? You like the girls down here in the country? Are we as nice as the girls up where you live?”
            “Come on. Let’s go,” said Dean. He left a tip, then they walked up front to the cash register and paid. Then out into the fresh air.
            “Dad, there, at the end, that Lisa seemed like a hard case. At first, I liked her. Then all at once she turned strange.”
            ”Sonny, that girl isn’t the right kind for you, and she knows it. She seen you’d gone soft on her and was trying to scare you off. In her own way, she’s a decent sort. You can see that. Most people are like that, you know – we’re all decent, even though we ain’t.”
            Dean opened his car trunk and pulled a fifth of Old Taylor from under the hunting jackets. He took a swig and passed the bottle to Ed. “Sonny, it’s going to be damned cold out there today. A swallow of this might help if you want it.”
            “I better not. The stuff makes me sleepy.”
            “Okay, it’s up to you,” Dean said, and he felt some satisfaction with his boy.
            The hunters who assembled at the starting point were an alarming bunch, mostly rustics with old shotguns showing signs of misuse and neglect. Some weapons were already loaded as if their owners were expecting a fox to appear in the midst of the crowd. Although the use of strong drink was forbidden, bottles of whiskey were passed around with man after man taking a swig as fortification against the cold. There was a good bit of guffawing about the slim chances of any fox surviving the coming onslaught. 
            The three of them got into their heavy coats and caps. Their citified hunting gear set them apart from most of the others, farmers wearing the same clothes they had on when they milked cows earlier that morning.
            Sonny turned to Dean. “Dad, as that ring of hunters tightens up, what’s going to keep one guy from shooting at a fox and accidentally hitting someone on the other side of the circle?”
            “The main thing is, Sonny, we’re supposed to stop walking before we get within range of the oncoming men. Shotguns don’t reach out that far. The other thing is, everyone’s got to use common sense. The fox is on the ground. If you shoot at him, you’ll be shooting at the ground twenty-five or thirty feet out. Just hope everyone is careful that way. But no doubt about it, this is dangerous.”
            “You boys like a swig of this juice?” offered an old farmer with an open smile. “It’s a frosty morning. Where you from?”
            ”Thanks, anyway. We had a shot right after breakfast. That oughta hold us. We’re from up in Greenhaven. Glad to meet you. Name’s Dean. What’s yours?” Dean made friends with farmers because he was naturally friendly and because he was always on the lookout for places to hunt birds.
            “I’m Parker, Gale Parker. I farm a hundred-sixty just west of Cartersburg. Maybe ten miles from here.”
            “You’re right about one thing, Parker. It’s cold out here this morning. I wish they’d get this thing started. How was the quail hunting over your way this year?”
            “I heard they got a few. Don’t do much hunting myself.” Parker passed his bottle to his partner, Tom, who got the last swallow.
            The men were ordered into trucks to be hauled to their starting places. Sonny, Dean and Ed climbed in with Parker and fifteen others, and the truck began to move. The raw wind penetrated their jackets and stiffened their faces with cold. It was a dark, overcast day with two or three inches of snow on the ground. Out over the fields broken corn stalks protruded from the snow and wavered in the breeze. In places the wind had swept the snow from the tops of the furrows leaving black ridges against the stark white. The men hunkered down against the cold, icy fingers wrapped around the frozen shotgun barrels, holding them upright, butts against the bed of the truck.
            “That’s a nice old shotgun you got there, Parker,” said Ed. “Looks like it’s seen some use.”
            “It’s a beauty right enough,” said Parker. “L.C. Smith. Been in the family for three generations.”
            Dean leaned close to Sonny, and said in his ear, “You keep your distance from Parker and that damned shotgun of his. That thing’s old as Methuselah. The s.o.b. is as likely as not to blow up in his face, and I don’t want you near it.  You hear?”
            “I hear.”
            The truck stopped every hundred feet or so to drop off a hunter. Parker jumped off followed by Tom. Then Dean, Sonny, and Ed dropped off in succession. They all stood along the road until somewhere a signal must have been given, because the men began to move into the field ahead.  If a man looked right and left, he might see thirty men or so all in a line. Each one could only imagine that he was part of a huge ring, each walking toward the unseen center of an imaginary circle. It was quiet except for the crunch of feet on the crusted snow and on the frozen corn stalks lying in the furrows. There was the soft rustle of the brittle leaves clinging to broken stalks still half standing. Each man, with a half-frozen finger near the trigger of his gun, lusted for a shot at a fox.
            There are a lot of guys out here…gotta duck under that barbed wire…this field is as barren as the last…no fox hiding here…Frannie as good as proposed to me last night…feeling I got for Lisa isn’t gone…Frannie seems like nothin’, now…never was anything…got to see Lisa again even if it means drivin’ to Gladpatch for breakfast…what’s that…fox…look at ‘im go…straight away…a perfect shot…over the fence…tail flying…there he goes…he’s in my sights…why don’t I shoot…dad’s yelling, ‘shoot, shoot…dammit…’he’s into that draw…too much brush…never hit him now. What a beautiful animal!
            “What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dean bellowed. “We come all the way down here! You’re the only one has a shot at that fox – a perfect shot as far as I could see – and you don’t even pull the goddam trigger!”
            “Yeah, I’m pissed at myself – don’t know why I didn’t shoot.”
            “Well, he’s running now, won’t get far,” shouted Ed.  “One of the boys’ll nail him.”
            “If another one gets up, I’ll get him.”
            “Damn little chance of that,” his dad said. “Once in a great while, little buddy, once in a great while, you get a shot like that.”
            “Well, don’t let it bother you.”
            The hunt resumed. Noon time came, and they ate their sandwiches as they walked. There was the sound of distant gunfire, but Sonny, Dean, and Ed saw no more foxes. Presently, a truck pulled into a muddy lane beside the field, and the men climbed in and squatted low out of the wind. The sun was going down, and it was colder than ever. Sonny thought of Lisa.
            “You the kid that missed a shot at that fox?” said Tom, the man with old Parker. “They oughtn’t of let you hunt unless you mean business. These damned animals are eating our chickens. You know that?”
            “Leave him alone, Tom,” said Parker. “Things like that happen.”
            “If you’d been walking where I was, Mr. Parker, you’d of nailed him with that long barrel of yours.” said Sonny.
            “Good chance of it, boy. Three generations she’s been in the family. But, facts-o-matter is, I’m same as you, didn’t get a shot off all day.”
            “I’m so stiff with cold,” Ed grumbled, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to climb down off this truck.”
            It was dusk when they got back to the starting place.
            “Come on over to the car, Parker.” Dean was in a good mood. “I got a bottle of good Kentucky whiskey in the trunk. You too, Tom.”
            “We’ll just take you up on that one, won’t we, Tom? – after a day like this.”
            Sonny thought, It’s amazing the way dad has made a friend of old Parker and crabby Tom. Mom was right when she said, “Watch your dad and do what he does.”
                                                                                                   •   •   •
            Buck’s Riverside Tavern was not on the way home, but that’s where they headed, “Best steak and pan-fried potatoes anywhere,” Ed said, as he slid forward in the seat and let his head fall back.
            “Best waitress, too,” said Dean.
            They drove in silence, Sonny fantasizing about Lisa. He compared her to Frannie, the girl in Greenhaven who was wanting to marry him, and who had said to him, “Here I am, eighteen, and not even married.”  He’d thought, I’m nineteen and haven’t once thought of marriage. That is until I met Lisa. Man, if this isn’t ridiculous.
            Dean pulled his car into the nearly full lot at the Riverside and turned off the lights. The tavern was housed in a weathered clapboard building with an odd set of gables and eaves. Said to be a 140 years old and to have once been a stagecoach way station, the place was situated on a county road a few hundred feet from an iron trestle over a river. The first floor was given over to a bar, a dining room, and a kitchen. The back wall was composed of small-paned windows overlooking a deck and the river. The interior, including the walls, was pine, stained and gone dark with age. The rustic effect appealed to sportsmen.
            Walking through the door, Sonny said, “Listen to that music, Dad. They got a jukebox.”
            Ed remarked, “Looks like the tables are full. We’re going to have to wait at the bar, which ain’t such a bad thing.”
            “I’m going over by that fireplace,” said Sonny. “My toes are frozen,” and he walked into the dining room and stood close to the blackened stone hearth, looking dreamily into the flames.
            “Hi. Glad to see you guys here tonight.”
            He snapped to and turned at the sound of Lisa’s voice. “I’m glad to see you, too.”
            She thought, Look at that weary face light up, and he’s leaning so far forward, he’s going to fall into my arms. “Gotta  run. Busy night. Catch you later,” and she was gone.
            He looked up to see his dad waving to him; their table was ready. “I shoulda told you, Sonny, Lisa waits tables here on weekend nights”
            “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly sorry to see her.”
            Lisa came over, “What’re you guys having tonight?”
            “I’ll take the T-bone and American fried potatoes. Make it rare,” said Dean.
            “Make mine the same, and another Budweiser,” said Ed.
            “Budweiser it is. What about you, Sonny?”  She gazed at him, and he thought there was a hint of regret about her.
            “Yeah, same for me. Medium, though. Don’t like it too rare. Coke to drink. Thanks.” She wiped a spot from the table, lingering long enough to let their eyes meet.
            The conversation turned to the hunt, and Dean said, “Don’t feel too bad about today, Sonny. I used to go fishing at Deep Lake near Spooner, Wisconsin. Some mornings I’d come out of the cabin early, and a doe, I think she was almost a pet, would be standing there eating leaves off the bushes. I’d look at those big, soft eyes, and I knew I could never be a deer hunter. I’d glance down at the water and back again, and she’d be gone – not a sound.
            “That was a pretty fox today, going over the fence. When I saw you hesitate, I thought about the doe and figured maybe that’s how you felt about the fox.”
            “To tell the truth, Dad, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was daydreaming when the fox got up. If I’d been ready and had snapped the gun up and fired, I’d of got him. But I wasn’t quick enough, took time to watch him run. Like you say, he was something to see. I hesitated, and he was over the fence and into the brush.”
            “Well, like I said before, them other guys no doubt got him. Once they start to run, there’s no place for ‘em to go,” said Ed.
            “I remember you saying that,” said Sonny, “but the more I think about it, the more I hope he got clean away.”
            “Food’ll be here in a few minutes, Dad.  I’m going to the john.” Sonny left the table.
            “You guys wanted steak?!” Lisa exclaimed, wheeling a cart to their table. “Well, here you are – steak a plenty. Where’s Sonny?”
            “He’ll be right back.”
            As she put Ed’s plate in front of him, he winked at her, and she whispered, “You guys going to want the special dessert tonight?”
            “Hang loose, Lisa,” Ed said. “We got Dean’s boy with us. It’s a touchy situation. We’ll see what happens. Okay?”
            “Chances are slim tonight,” Dean said with irritation.
            “I’ll play it cool, guys,” said Lisa. “How about another Bud?  Want another one, Ed?”
            “Yeah.”
            “Right.  Two Buds.”
            Sonny returned.  “Hey, Lisa, I’m just in time for the food.”
            “Anything to drink?”
            “I’m cool.”
            “Okay, two Budweisers coming up.” She left.
            “That Lisa is the nicest girl I’ve ever come across,” declared Sonny.
            Dean’s face darkened and he thought, Jesus, still young and dumb. I shoulda told him. Dammit, how do you tell a kid about this kind of stuff? Who would think he’d care about Lisa? Maybe the best thing is to finish dinner and get the hell out of here.
            Except for the occasional request for steak sauce and a belch, they ate pretty much in silence. But Sonny had his own thoughts. I’ve got to set up something with her. What if I never see her again? Don’t even have a phone number.
            From where he sat Sonny could see that sometimes a waiter or someone from the kitchen put on a coat and went out on the deck. He figured they were taking a break. As he anticipated, Lisa eventually pulled on her jacket and went out the door.
            “I’m going to put some money in the jukebox. I’ll be back in a minute,” said Sonny, getting up and heading across the room. He quickly chose three tunes and then ducked out onto the deck, where, as expected, he found Lisa.  She was standing at the railing looking out over the dark river. If there was a moon that night, it was behind a thick layer of clouds.
            “Hi, Lisa. Cold out here.”
            “It is, and you don’t have a coat. You’ll freeze.”
            “I suppose this is a little unexpected, but I’d like to come down here when you’ve got time off and take you out. What do you think?”
            “Long way to drive, Sonny, to go out with someone you don’t even know. And believe me, you don’t know me.”
            “I’ve never met anyone that I felt so certain about so fast. That’s all I can say. I feel like I gotta give us a chance. What do you say?”
             “I say it can’t work.”
            “What do you mean?”
            “For one thing, I live sixty-five miles east of here in Indiana. My folks’ farm. I come over here to work on weekends because the tips are high – hunting season, you know. Ha, ha”
            “You’re right, that’s a long way. But here’s what, I can tell we hit it off, at least a little. You won’t deny that. If I leave here tonight without a date, I’ll probably never see you again. If we make a date or you give me your number, we at least got a chance. There’s no downside to that. Is there?” She was beautiful in the dim light filtering through the windows. Sonny caught the faint scent of her and was filled with hope.
            “Sonny, I’m tied to what I do. This is a crucial time for me. Saving every cent that comes my way. I’m determined to get off the farm – got plans for next September. No time for what you’re talking about.” She took a breath and looked at him, unable to hide a sense of longing. “Look me up in five years. Maybe things’ll have changed – okay? Right now, I gotta get back to work.”  For a brief moment their eyes held; she turned to leave.
            “Lisa…”
            “No.”
            He thought her shoulders trembled as she walked through the door.
            Their meal almost finished, Ed asked, “Where the hell did Sonny go?”
            “Here he comes,” said Dean, watching his boy’s approach. “Looks sad. Bet he’s been talking to Lisa.”
            “Bet she didn’t offer him the special dessert,” replied Ed.
            Sonny sat down. “I just had a talk with Lisa. Tried to get her to give me a date or her phone number. Turned me down cold.”
            “What’d she say?” asked Dean.
            “She’s intent on saving money for college, I guess,” said Sonny.  “Wants to get off the farm – trapped there, sounds like. Not much of an excuse.”
            “You’ll get over it,” said Dean. “You’ve only know her a day.”
            Sonny was silent. Dean thought, So he still doesn’t know about her.
            Many hunters were leaving, and more than half the tables were empty. While the busboys cleaned, Lisa and the other waiters took dessert orders. “You guys want dessert?” Suddenly there she was again. “We got apple pie and cherry pie – a la mode if you want it. A farmer’s wife near here makes the pies fresh every day, so they’re good.”  She looked at each man, her deep brown eyes wide and soft.
            Like a doe’s, Sonny thought.
            “You want pie, Sonny?” said Dean.
            Lisa was standing close enough that Sonny again caught the scent of her.
            “Couldn’t eat a bite.”
            “No pie, I guess, Lisa. I’ll have coffee, how about you Ed? 
            Ed nodded.
            “Sonny, coffee?”
            “No, none for me.”
            “Two coffees, Lisa.”
            As she left, Ed observed, “How about that old coot, Parker, with that antique shotgun?”
            “I’m just glad he didn’t fire it,” said Dean. “Someday that barrel’s going to blow apart. Not a question of if but when. He seemed like a pretty good guy. Maybe we can cultivate him a little and eventually get to hunt quail on his place.”
            “Yeah, next time we’re over that way, we can drive by and see what it looks like.” Without a word, Lisa set their coffee on the table. The two of them talked on, and the crowd continued to thin.
            Sonny sat quietly, his eyes idling on the dwindling activity in the room and then on following Lisa’s movements. When she walked, or brushed crumbs from a table, or carried a tray on her shoulder, there was an inviting, sensual gracefulness about her he could not escape.
            Ed fidgeted, rotating his empty coffee cup between his hands. Eventually, he slid his chair back and got up. “There’s a guy at the bar I want to talk to.” And he walked across the room.
            Dean tried to talk to Sonny, but Sonny would not respond, one eye over his dad’s shoulder, watching Ed.
            Ed stood at the bar near several other men. Presently Lisa came up to him, leaned in close, and they spoke. Then she went into the kitchen, came out, crossed the dining room and took a stairway to the second floor. Within a few minutes Ed followed.
            “You know what, Dad, I’m dead tired. You care if I go out and lay down in the car?”
            “Nah, I don’t care. Get some rest. There’s a blanket in the trunk. Here’s the keys. Warm the car up if you want to. We’ll be along in a little while.”
            “Thanks.”
            Sonny got the blanket from the trunk. He started the engine, turned up the heater, and tried to listen to the radio. As soon as the car was warm enough, he shut off the engine and lay down on the back seat. The blanket would keep the cold away.  He thought of that moment on the deck, of the look in her eyes. There was an unaccountable loss of something that seemed so near and so possible. Then, as he succumbed to sleep, he tried to work through what his dad had said, “We’re all decent – even though we ain’t.” 

By Dennis Beard

Dennis Beard spends his days reading fiction, writing stories, and trying to keep his wife's computerized embroidery machine running. The reading these days is mostly 19th century Russian novels. The writing includes essays such as An Ideological Lamentation.

He thinks stories ought to reflect the unpredictability of life, both the serendipitous and the maddening. Unexpected things happen, and people respond in ways surprising to themselves. The joyful, the melancholy, the placid, the chaotic, love, and animosity are part of living ─ he tries to reflect all of these in his stories.

Dennis was raised in central Illinois, but has lived most of his life in and around Chicago. He has been published in The Journal (a Northwestern University publication), Further Persons Imperfect (an anthology), Shotgun Sports Magazine, and Quilters Newsletter Magazine. His e-mail address: Dennis Beard