home. Closest I could get, though.” He looked down at his feet. “Whole hell of a lot better than laying naked in a muddy pit, I’ll tell ya that.” He shook his head and looked at me again. “Yeah, boy. Got a wife here, purdy daughter, grandbaby. I love ‘em all like they was life itself. That’s why I do it. That’s why I keep on.”
I nodded politely, again not understanding exactly what he meant. “Yes, Mr. Banks, I know them. Lovely family.”
“Robert . . . ,” the old man said with a sudden frown. He glanced around us as if he was making sure no one else could hear. His voice lowered. “. . . it ain’t too late for you . You got to get outa’ here. Go home where your family be — where they love ya.”
I stared at him in puzzlement as his daughter came out the front door. Jolene Berry was a pretty, slender woman with her father’s height and her mother’s lovely Asian eyes. She was two years behind me in school. She came to us with one of those is-he-bothering-you? sort of grins on her face.
“Good morning, Robert,” she said.
I nodded to her. “Jolene. Good to see you on such a beautiful morning.”
She glanced around at the lightly smoked sky. “Yes, it is a pretty morning. Not supposed to last long, though.”
I nodded. “We better enjoy it while it’s nice.”
She smiled putting her hand on her father’s shoulder, and he cowered slightly. “Daddy, better come in, now. Mama’s got breakfast ready. And little Rachael wants to see you before she goes to school.”
Without protest, the old man turned away and walked toward the front door of his house, but he paused midway. Not looking back, he said, “Maybe they’ll let me buy some more paint today. Maybe we can talk more, then.” He stepped up on the porch and opened the screen door.
Jolene gave me a half smile. “I’m sorry if Daddy bothered you.”
“He’s a wonderful man,” I said. “He’ll never be a bother to me.”
Jolene nodded.
“He did say something that made me a bit curious — something about ‘laying naked in a muddy pit.’”
Jolene frowned momentarily, then seemed to understand. “He was a POW during the Korean War. Still has nightmares. And that Alzheimer’s is getting worse every day. Don’t take him too seriously.” Jolene smiled. “Nice talking with you.” She turned away and followed her father inside the house as I watched.
I paused in front of the flora, gazing down at the honeysuckle. What a shame Mr. Banks had Alzheimer’s — such an awful memory-stealing disease. With my concussion and seemingly minor memory problem, I could relate, only slightly.
Seconds after I turned and proceeded toward the store, a woman appeared from nowhere about fifty feet down the sidewalk. Perhaps she’d stepped out from the end of some tall hedge bushes edging a short section of the footway. She wore sunglasses, a green sweat suit and tennis shoes. For this woman, I had no mental photo, no words coming from a memory filed away but within easy reach.
The woman stepped toward me, the red hair covering her shoulders thick and full of bounce. I couldn’t help but watch her. Such an attractive figure. Fifteen feet away, she raised her glasses revealing her large green eyes and gazed at me as she drew nearer. For a moment, I became entranced, finding something familiar in those lovely eyes. I slowed my pace cautiously as we were about to pass. When she stepped up to me, a big smile came across her face like she’d bumped into an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while. Her full lips parted as if she was going to speak to me.
But then, her expression changed. She glanced down the street, frowned and tapped her sunglasses back over her eyes.
She stepped past, and the next thing I knew she slapped me on the back of the neck.
I saw stars and cringed. “Damn!” It felt like I’d been stung.
“Bee,” she confirmed. She didn’t say it like Watch out, bee! — only, matter-of-factly, Bee .
I winced, not
I nodded politely, again not understanding exactly what he meant. “Yes, Mr. Banks, I know them. Lovely family.”
“Robert . . . ,” the old man said with a sudden frown. He glanced around us as if he was making sure no one else could hear. His voice lowered. “. . . it ain’t too late for you . You got to get outa’ here. Go home where your family be — where they love ya.”
I stared at him in puzzlement as his daughter came out the front door. Jolene Berry was a pretty, slender woman with her father’s height and her mother’s lovely Asian eyes. She was two years behind me in school. She came to us with one of those is-he-bothering-you? sort of grins on her face.
“Good morning, Robert,” she said.
I nodded to her. “Jolene. Good to see you on such a beautiful morning.”
She glanced around at the lightly smoked sky. “Yes, it is a pretty morning. Not supposed to last long, though.”
I nodded. “We better enjoy it while it’s nice.”
She smiled putting her hand on her father’s shoulder, and he cowered slightly. “Daddy, better come in, now. Mama’s got breakfast ready. And little Rachael wants to see you before she goes to school.”
Without protest, the old man turned away and walked toward the front door of his house, but he paused midway. Not looking back, he said, “Maybe they’ll let me buy some more paint today. Maybe we can talk more, then.” He stepped up on the porch and opened the screen door.
Jolene gave me a half smile. “I’m sorry if Daddy bothered you.”
“He’s a wonderful man,” I said. “He’ll never be a bother to me.”
Jolene nodded.
“He did say something that made me a bit curious — something about ‘laying naked in a muddy pit.’”
Jolene frowned momentarily, then seemed to understand. “He was a POW during the Korean War. Still has nightmares. And that Alzheimer’s is getting worse every day. Don’t take him too seriously.” Jolene smiled. “Nice talking with you.” She turned away and followed her father inside the house as I watched.
I paused in front of the flora, gazing down at the honeysuckle. What a shame Mr. Banks had Alzheimer’s — such an awful memory-stealing disease. With my concussion and seemingly minor memory problem, I could relate, only slightly.
Seconds after I turned and proceeded toward the store, a woman appeared from nowhere about fifty feet down the sidewalk. Perhaps she’d stepped out from the end of some tall hedge bushes edging a short section of the footway. She wore sunglasses, a green sweat suit and tennis shoes. For this woman, I had no mental photo, no words coming from a memory filed away but within easy reach.
The woman stepped toward me, the red hair covering her shoulders thick and full of bounce. I couldn’t help but watch her. Such an attractive figure. Fifteen feet away, she raised her glasses revealing her large green eyes and gazed at me as she drew nearer. For a moment, I became entranced, finding something familiar in those lovely eyes. I slowed my pace cautiously as we were about to pass. When she stepped up to me, a big smile came across her face like she’d bumped into an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while. Her full lips parted as if she was going to speak to me.
But then, her expression changed. She glanced down the street, frowned and tapped her sunglasses back over her eyes.
She stepped past, and the next thing I knew she slapped me on the back of the neck.
I saw stars and cringed. “Damn!” It felt like I’d been stung.
“Bee,” she confirmed. She didn’t say it like Watch out, bee! — only, matter-of-factly, Bee .
I winced, not
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