house. Enjoy your coffee.”
“Okay. Sit down. But remember, you dragged it out of me.”
Justine kept silent, sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup.
“What it is…is, I get the sense that you drum up hostility to warn people off. Or maybe it’s just to warn me off? Want to think about that for a minute?”
His eyes met hers. She felt the force of his gaze, but did not look away. “I don’t need to think about it. You’re right. It’s just… I used to know where I fit in the scheme of things. Now, I don’t. My husband left me to become a monk, for crying out loud. Tell people that and they look at me as if I have three noses or something. You made fun of it, too. Remember?”
“It does have a bit of shock value.”
“I suppose.”
“Ever think about hanging around to hear what else those people might say about it?”
“What could they say?”
“Maybe they’d say the guy had to be off his marbles to leave you, to forsake his kids. I’d say it was his loss.”
“Mine, too.”
“Forget him. You’re one hell of a good-looking woman, you know.”
His words made her feel warm all over. “Thank you.”
He gave her a winning smile. “You don’t need to protect yourself from me. I’m harmless.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s the last word I’d use to describe you.”
“Tell me some of the first.”
“Perceptive.”
“Very cute. How about, handsome?”
She pursed her lips. “Maybe…in a way.”
“Sexy?”
“More like…helpful.”
“What about sexy?”
“Good-natured.”
“You’re not making my day.” He drained his cup and stood. “Get yourself a sweatband by tomorrow. I’m gonna run your socks off in the morning.”
“Oh, but I just—”
“Do unto others, I always say.” He stepped off the porch. “Gotta go. Work beckons.” He loped off.
“Tucker. Wait! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
He stopped at the line of persimmons and clutched at his chest. “I’m crushed, undone!”
Justine turned away from his antics. Sure you are, Mr. Highsmith. You look about as undone as a caliph with a harem.
She picked up the tray and carried it back to the kitchen, poured herself a second cup of coffee and, standing at the counter, lit up a cigarette.
Smiling, she stared at the column of smoke as it spiraled ceilingward. She felt better about herself than she had in months. Amazing what a bit of exercise will do. The column of smoke registered on her brain. She stubbed out the cigarette. Run my socks off? Hah! Think again, neighbor.
— • —
Tucker soaped himself and sang in the shower. He was happy with himself, his life… Hell! Even his problems appeared manageable for a change.
The old man had been in a mellow mood on the way to the nursing home last night. They parted without a single reference about being stashed in old folk’s storage for the week. He’d only left Tucker with specific instructions for Pip on taking care of the fishing pole.
The boy, Pip, was good for the old man. The mother was good for him.
Tucker felt invigorated. As if he could walk a fence or write tens of dozens recipes—if only he had the time.
He debated calling in sick, taking the day off. He had some sick leave coming. Better not. Better save it. Now and again the old man went into depression and he had to take a day off to sit with him, or get him out of Iron Bottom’s clutches, even if only for a few hours.
Anyway he’d see Justine again tomorrow morning. He’d bet his last fifty cents that she’d be waiting for him at the top of her driveway.
Gettin’ a little cocky, ain’t you old son? came a tiny voice at the back of his mind.
Sure am, he answered . I like it, too.
He closed his eyes as he shampooed his hair. Thinking of Justine, he remembered watching her tie Judy Ann’s hair ribbon. Then his thoughts turned to memories of their run. He could see Justine’s legs pumping, could see her soft white inner thighs.
He felt a sudden rise
“Okay. Sit down. But remember, you dragged it out of me.”
Justine kept silent, sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup.
“What it is…is, I get the sense that you drum up hostility to warn people off. Or maybe it’s just to warn me off? Want to think about that for a minute?”
His eyes met hers. She felt the force of his gaze, but did not look away. “I don’t need to think about it. You’re right. It’s just… I used to know where I fit in the scheme of things. Now, I don’t. My husband left me to become a monk, for crying out loud. Tell people that and they look at me as if I have three noses or something. You made fun of it, too. Remember?”
“It does have a bit of shock value.”
“I suppose.”
“Ever think about hanging around to hear what else those people might say about it?”
“What could they say?”
“Maybe they’d say the guy had to be off his marbles to leave you, to forsake his kids. I’d say it was his loss.”
“Mine, too.”
“Forget him. You’re one hell of a good-looking woman, you know.”
His words made her feel warm all over. “Thank you.”
He gave her a winning smile. “You don’t need to protect yourself from me. I’m harmless.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s the last word I’d use to describe you.”
“Tell me some of the first.”
“Perceptive.”
“Very cute. How about, handsome?”
She pursed her lips. “Maybe…in a way.”
“Sexy?”
“More like…helpful.”
“What about sexy?”
“Good-natured.”
“You’re not making my day.” He drained his cup and stood. “Get yourself a sweatband by tomorrow. I’m gonna run your socks off in the morning.”
“Oh, but I just—”
“Do unto others, I always say.” He stepped off the porch. “Gotta go. Work beckons.” He loped off.
“Tucker. Wait! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
He stopped at the line of persimmons and clutched at his chest. “I’m crushed, undone!”
Justine turned away from his antics. Sure you are, Mr. Highsmith. You look about as undone as a caliph with a harem.
She picked up the tray and carried it back to the kitchen, poured herself a second cup of coffee and, standing at the counter, lit up a cigarette.
Smiling, she stared at the column of smoke as it spiraled ceilingward. She felt better about herself than she had in months. Amazing what a bit of exercise will do. The column of smoke registered on her brain. She stubbed out the cigarette. Run my socks off? Hah! Think again, neighbor.
— • —
Tucker soaped himself and sang in the shower. He was happy with himself, his life… Hell! Even his problems appeared manageable for a change.
The old man had been in a mellow mood on the way to the nursing home last night. They parted without a single reference about being stashed in old folk’s storage for the week. He’d only left Tucker with specific instructions for Pip on taking care of the fishing pole.
The boy, Pip, was good for the old man. The mother was good for him.
Tucker felt invigorated. As if he could walk a fence or write tens of dozens recipes—if only he had the time.
He debated calling in sick, taking the day off. He had some sick leave coming. Better not. Better save it. Now and again the old man went into depression and he had to take a day off to sit with him, or get him out of Iron Bottom’s clutches, even if only for a few hours.
Anyway he’d see Justine again tomorrow morning. He’d bet his last fifty cents that she’d be waiting for him at the top of her driveway.
Gettin’ a little cocky, ain’t you old son? came a tiny voice at the back of his mind.
Sure am, he answered . I like it, too.
He closed his eyes as he shampooed his hair. Thinking of Justine, he remembered watching her tie Judy Ann’s hair ribbon. Then his thoughts turned to memories of their run. He could see Justine’s legs pumping, could see her soft white inner thighs.
He felt a sudden rise
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