Sacred Dust by David Hill

they ran deep, two pure gray almonds that had seen things and absorbed their meaning. He wasn’t dumb.

    “Where’s Rose of Sharon today?” I asked.

    “She took Miss Eula Pearl to the doctor.”

    “Do I know you?”

    “Heath Lawler. I’m Dashnell’s nephew …”

    Dashnell’s kin. That gave me pause.

    “ … but don’t hold that against me.” He grinned. It was guileless. It washed through me. It made me feel easy. It made me feel allright. He was neither saved nor a hell-raiser. He was absolutely himself, whoever he was. That gave me permission to be myself.

    “I wouldn’t know a grass rake from a tractor tire, but let’s look in the toolshed.”

    He followed me a few paces behind. We dug out a rake.

    “Beautiful place you have here.”

    “It is that,” I said. I was lightheaded. It was probably the sun or the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything that morning.

    “If y’all need any work done around here, I’m your man,” he said somberly. “I can always use work.” There wasn’t a hint of arrogance or flirtation about him. Yet he was no innocent. I generally divide the men in this world into two categories, those who want me and those who don’t. He appeared to be neither.

    “I’m Lily Pembroke.”

    “Pleased to meet you.”

    His manner was so completely undecorated that it didn’t dawn on me for the longest time just how handsome he was. He either didn’t know it or he’d never used it against anyone.

    “Thanks for the rake.”

    He went on back to his work. Every now and then he’d glance my way and I’d look his. I could feel the loneliness knotted in my stomach. I could see by the shadows it was around three o’clock. The kids would be home at four-thirty. Suppertime and Glen and the darkness would follow. He came back with the rake.

    “Tell your husband if he doesn’t put up a retaining wall at the edge of the lake, it’s going to flood come spring.”

    “I’ve been telling him for six months. But nothing I say sticks with him.”

    “Well, if you do get it to stick, tell him I’m the man for the job,” he mused. “Mind if I grab a drink from your hose?”

    “Would you like a Coke?”

    “I don’t want to be trouble.”

    “I was about to get myself one. It’s no trouble.”

    The wind was up when I came back. The thin May leaves were shimmering yellow-green in the late afternoon sun. The water was choppy and stippled. The sweat on his face had dried. His hairfluttered over his forehead. He had helped himself to the chair next to mine and pulled it into the shade.

    “Peaceful up here on the lake.”

    “Quiet as a tomb,” I brooded.

    He drank his cola in two sips. He set it down with an air of finality. I felt a sudden panic as if he was about to abandon me. I wanted his company. I wanted to feel I deserved it.

    “I’m having a bad day,” I muttered more to myself than him.

    “How’s that?”

    “Husband trouble,” I went on, like he should care or show the slightest interest.

    “I wouldn’t know about that.”

    “I was just lying here feeling lonely and sorry for myself and I wouldn’t mind if you passed a few more minutes with me.”

    That’s what was crossing my mind. So I said it. It sounds so common to me now.

    “Everyone is struggling in their own way.” He was talking about me, but I could see he had weights of his own.

    “If they’ll only admit it.” I finished the thought.

    “Most conversation begins with talk about nothing and ends just the same. People are afraid to say what’s on their minds.”

    All either of us wanted that afternoon was the close proximity of another person. We talked easily and freely. We were like strangers on a train harmlessly spilling our hearts to each other because we would never see each other again. I told him I lived with a man I don’t love. He said he was trying to get his life started.

    “Do you ever wonder if you’ll pass through this life and never touch another living