He piddled the day away and around three decided to head to Greenway to loaf around the golf course. He tossed his old set of Ping Eyes into the back of his rusty Ford Ranger and then remembered Frank. Flower may have taken Sally but she didn’t have a certain three legged possum, did she? Nope, she didn’t. Raymond went back in the house, an old Craftsman that had belonged to his and Stuart’s maternal grandmother, Evangeline. He walked up the steep brick steps, onto the front porch painted a deep, peeling green. He walked through the front parlor with its ancient hardwood floors and a small anteroom/ solarium stocked with maybe a hundred plants and flowers. His bedroom, the guest bedroom, was located down the hallway, first door on the left. In a small wire cage, Frank slept. Grandma’s black and white pictures of the sky (interesting cloud formations, birds in flight, many, many shots of Fred Holbrook buzzing Glade Spring in his ultralight) covered the eggshell colored walls from floor to ceiling. Raymond kneeled on all fours and looked at his little savior, curled in a grey ball.
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