"Hey, Sam?" he says, smooth as silk in his own mind, "One other thing. You recall spendin' any time out in the woods lately?" Sam nods, makes a production of it, admitting it: you got me. Your investigative tricks are too much for my simple mind. Andy crosses his arms, self-satisfied. Sam goes in for the kill. "Andy... If... If I tell you, you have to keep this a secret, all right? Nobody in town knows, but..." Andy's loving it; he leans closer. "I come from a family of naturists." Like birdwatchers? "No. No, not naturalists. Naturists. Naturists believe in a freer, clothing-optional kind of lifestyle." Andy looks at him almost cross-eyed, but it's honestly the only explanation you could give: "You're a nudist?" Oh, good Lord no. "But my folks were, I'm embarrassed to say. They spent most of their lives at a nudist colony... in Texas, just outside Beaumont. But uh... ever since they passed, I honor their memory once a year by... taking a run through the woods the way they used to. It's... It's my private way of mourning. I'm sorry if anybody had to see it." Andy grunts athletically, and smiles, and it's done.
Lafayette laughs at Tara while he's cooking at the grill: "Hooker, you done got took. That was no damn exorcism, that was a straight-up con job." Except, Tara points out, it worked: "It was like aliens beamed down and switched out her brain or something." Which changes everything: if it works, work it. Who cares where the magic comes from, what faith it demands from you, when it comes down to the same thing? To date I have not made out with Anderson Cooper but it doesn't mean I couldn't, one day; it doesn't mean he doesn't exist. She saw it with her own eyes. "That was 445 well-spent. Shit. Happy dance. You should be glad to be rid of that... That's your Mom. I ain't gonna say it." Even Lafayette doesn't know how much better it would be for Tara, if somebody would. "Fuck that. All the shit you've built up doesn't just go away because a hoodoo woman moves some rocks around on your belly." I am still in pain.
"I thought you said it worked?" Tara reminds him it was a con job by his own admission, but he shakes his head. That's not how it works. "Heifer, it's not a con job if you got your money's worth." She rolls her eyes, but he's right. "Hell, and who knows? It might do you some good too." She says she doesn't have $445 left of bullshit money, but he's unconvinced. "You just saying that 'cause you don't understand it. And trust me, this world is filled with things we will never understand. Compared to a lifetime of Zoloft? 445's a bargain." Especially when it's getting worse. She looks at him.