Rose Nash Writing

Chapter One
Bad Heart

On the day of her father’s vasectomy, Flame left school early in order to beat the five o’ clock November sunset, and she took the two chocolate Labs on her father’s usual five-mile walk, the only thing besides whiskey about which he was religious. Son and Gun were her father’s labs. Son, the prodigal one her father never had, and Gun, his mother, were equally religious about the daily walk, though truth be told, they were probably more steadfast in their faith than their owner. Flame and her father lived way out on an infrequently traveled dirt road, and those few who drove the road knew her father’s walking routine and kept an eye out for the dogs, who walked without leashes. Though few drivers stopped to talk, they knew Flame’s father’s name - Phil Clay, and they knew what he did for work – graphic design – because for fifteen years they’d seen his business sign hanging in front of the oldest house on Main Street in Shadtown, but most of all, the passing drivers knew his striding gait, his penchant for interesting hats, and the dogs’ shapes trotting along the road. Lifting three fingers from the steering wheel in recognition of the fellow traveler was a sign of friendliness. This was the reason why Flame wasn’t surprised to see a pickup slow down, though she was a mile or so from the nearest driveway in either direction. Some girls might have found it strange for a guy to slow his truck, or stranger still for him to bring the truck to a stop. Flame didn’t.