Read There Must Be Some Mistake for Free Online

God. Since there did not seem to be anyone around, I pulled out my phone to record the event— Mary on an Ice Chest —and, as luck would have it, at that minute the smaller of the two gay men emerged from the other side of the garage, a door there to a storeroom, and saw me holding the iPhone in that unmistakable pose necessary for taking a picture, which in no way resembled the way one holds the phone when using it, so there was no getting around what was going on. “Taking a picture of Mary,” I said, thinking the best way to handle the situation was directly. “You don’t see enough of her these days.”
    The guy came to the car window and looked back to see what the shot was, then stuck out his hand and said, “I’ve been wanting to introduce myself. I’m Gil. We moved down from Houston recently.”
    â€œWallace Webster,” I said, sticking my hand out the window. “I used to live there, Houston, out Memorial. Moved here some years ago with my ex-wife.”
    â€œWas that her, the Jilly person I met?” he said.
    â€œNo. Jilly’s a friend I used to work with. She keeps me company down here sometimes. And I have a daughter, Morgan, you may have seen. We live down the way here.” I pointed out the windshield. “Thanks for the shrimp, by the way. Delicious.”
    â€œWe have Mary to keep us company,” Gil said, turning to give her another look. “I’m getting ready to clean her up some, maybe repaint—that blue’s a little faded. We like to have her around. I always say there’s no reason not to have things around you that make you feel better, whatever your beliefs. You don’t think anyone will be upset, do you?”
    â€œCan’t imagine,” I said.
    â€œWe talked to a couple of folks. People walk by, so we talk to them and they all say the same thing. They like it—they said, anyway. We’re not pressuring anyone, but it’s a good feeling you get when you come home and she’s standing there, watching over things. We like her.”
    â€œShe’s nice,” I said. “I was raised Catholic, so she’s an old friend. I’m glad she’s in the neighborhood.”
    â€œGreat,” he said. “We should have dinner sometime. I cook, we could eat out on the deck there. We’ve got some other statuary coming.”
    â€œI don’t get out much,” I said. “Please don’t take offense, but I don’t socialize much, not at all, really. And my schedule’s all screwed up, so—but it’s a kind invitation and I thank you for the thought.”
    â€œWell, all right,” he said, now backing a step away from the car. “I’m pleased to have met you and look forward to seeing you, uh, when I see you. How’s that?”
    â€œPerfect,” I said.
    â€œAnd you can fill me in on the gossip down here. I mean, there are a lot of rumors, and we’re not in the loop, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œProbably more than I am,” I said. “Pleasure meeting you, too. I’m going on to the house.” I pointed out the windshield again and lifted my foot off the brake and let the car roll slowly forward.
    â€œMaybe you could send me a copy of that picture,” he said.
    â€œSure,” I said, toeing the brake to receive the business card he was handing me. It had nothing but his name and an e-mail address on it.
    â€œI’d appreciate that,” Gil said. “Let’s chat again.”
    â€œWill do,” I said, giving him a little salute and pulling away.

6
Velodrome
    ONE AFTERNOON later in the month driving south, toward Texas City, I got caught in a merciless thunderstorm and took refuge at Chantal White’s bar and restaurant, Velodrome. She was once a beauty, apparently, as evidenced by beauty-contest photos hung lopsidedly around the room, but in person she was comfortably weathered. I introduced myself,