Yesterday I went to visit Indie at the Nursing Home.
“Bibey old boy, how are ya?”
“Fine Indie. Brought Barney some brain food.” I hid two small bottles of Jim Beam in the skull cap cache.
“You are a fine boy. How’s Ms. Marfar and the children?”
“The Christmas Queen is at her best, and both the kids will be in. They send their love. Me and Darrell and Summer are gonna come by when they get back from the honeymoon and pick and few.”
“Great! How’s the book coming?”
“Well, I finished the final MS revision. The agent is gonna see what he can do with it.”
“I love what I’ve read, Bibey. I think it’s gonna do for Harvey County what beer did for Milwaukee.”
“Oh I don’t think we’ll be that famous, Indie, but it has been a lot of fun.”
“Reckon he’ll get a publisher?”
“I don’t know, but if he doesn’t we’ll self publish. We’ll give it six months to a year to see. I tell you one thing that’s a fact though. It wouldn’t have been any good without him. He was more than an agent. He was a dang guru. ”
“I don’t know Bibey. We had a great story.”
“Yeah, I guess so. And my agent says he’d rather have a good writer with a great story than a great writer with a lousy story. I’m thankful that was his philosophy. I warn’t great. You’re the one who made it, pal.”
“But you had the stick to to write it down, Bibey. I’m proud of you.”
I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m proud of you too, Indie. You’re the best. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, son, and tell all the gang I said hello.”
“Will do Indie.”
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