Where There's Smoke

“No, I’ll go on along home now.” He knew he must be a sorry sight, what with the brim of his hat dripping rainwater and his pants wet from the knees down. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right, considering what happened this morning. Word around the shop is that Mrs. Tackett is feeling poorly.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.” She unlocked the door and insisted he follow her inside. Reluctantly he stepped into the kitchen, but stayed just inside the door.

“Take off your jacket,” she said. “And your boots. They’re sopping wet.”

“I don’t want you to fuss.”

“No fuss. Let me check on Mama and send Maydale home, then I’ll make some coffee.” She moved through the dark kitchen, but turned when she reached the doorway. “Don’t go away.”

Bowie’s heart swelled so large he could barely draw breath. She hadn’t screamed or shuddered or puked when she saw him. That was a good sign. Now she was asking him, almost pleading with him, to stick around. “No, ma’am. I surely won’t.”

While she was gone, he removed his hat and his damp jacket and hung them on a wall peg near the back door. Balancing on one leg at a time, he tugged off his boots and placed them beside a pair that obviously belonged to Key. The toes of his socks were damp, but he was relieved to see that they didn’t have holes.

He tiptoed across the vinyl tile floor. Leaving the lights off, he gazed through the window over the sink, watching the rain drip from the eaves. After several minutes he heard a muffled conversation at the front door, then watched through the window as Maydale picked her way around puddles to her car while trying to protect her beehive hairdo with a silly plastic bonnet.

At the sound of Janellen’s approach, he turned. “How’s your mama doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“She’s all right, then?”

“Not really. She won’t follow doctor’s orders. She’s too hardheaded to heed the warnings, like the one she got this morning. She doesn’t believe her condition is serious.”

“From what I’ve heard, she’s a stubborn old gal.”

“To say the very least.”

“Maybe her condition isn’t as bad as the doctors say.”

“Maybe.”

“Sometimes they exaggerate to make their point and justify their bill.”

Her wan smile indicated she didn’t believe that and knew that he didn’t either. “Well,” she said, pulling herself up straighter, “I promised you some coffee.”

“You don’t have to bother.”

“No. I want to. I’d like some, too. I won’t be sleeping much tonight, so I might just as well.”

She moved toward the pantry, but her footsteps were sluggish and her voice unsteady. She didn’t turn on the lights, probably because she didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes. He saw them anyway.

The coffee canister almost slipped from her hands before she set it down on the counter. Peeling a single paper filter from the compressed stack proved to be a challenge. Once that was done, she spilled coffee grounds as she scooped them from the canister.

“Oh, dear. I’m making a mess.” She began twisting her hands and brutalizing her lower lip by pulling it through her teeth.

He felt about as useless as a teat on a boar hog. “Why don’t you sit yourself down, Miss Janellen, and let me make the coffee?”

“What I’d really like you to do…” She struggled to get the next words out. “What I’d really like…”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She turned and looked at him imploringly. “If it’s not too much to ask, Bowie.”

“Name it.”

She uttered a little squeaking sound, tilted her head to one side, then swayed forward. He caught her, encircled her with his arms, drew her against his chest, and hugged her close. She was so slight, he was afraid he might be holding her too tightly, but trustingly she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

“Bowie, what will I do if Mama dies? What?”