“Love ya, Paw-Paw.”
When he scruffs the top of his granddaughter’s head on his way out, I have to catch my breath at the rare gleam of tears shimmering in his eyes.
It’s difficult to see my seldom-ruffled father in so much pain. Today’s situation is a harsh reminder that no matter that this is a job and can become routine—that we can at times seem detached—none of us are free from basic human emotion. Not even Hank Daigle, the town undertaker himself.
He isn’t gone long when there’s a heavy knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Prissy sings, sprinting for the entryway. She’s really taken to our new employee in a way I haven’t seen from her before. She’s been on pins and needles awaiting his arrival since she rolled out of bed this morning.
“Happy turkey day, Miss Priss.” After not having seen Wyatt in nearly three days, the mere sound of his voice brings a smile to my face and a tingle of excitement zinging through me.
“Don’t think I didn’t just see that, Whitney Jean,” Momma taunts while stuffing the green bean casserole into the oven.
“What’re you goin’ on about?”
“I saw that lovesick smile of yours. You ain’t foolin’ nobody.”
“You hush.” I swat her on the bottom with the dish towel in my hand. “You saw no such thing.”
“How goes it, ladies?” tall, blond, and sexy asks, stumbling in with a stack of baked goods boxes in his hands and my child dangling from his left leg.
“Prissy! Get off that man!” My mother proceeds to peel my little pain in the ass off of him.
“Ah, she’s fine,” he insists, while I relieve him of the mountain of sweets he’s carting. “I picked up a few pies and cookies and apple fritters at Dana’s Bakery last night. Hope that’s okay.”
“Duh,” Prissy says. “Desserts are always okay.”
He looks around the small living area like he’s lost something. “Where’s Hank?”
“Mr. Wiltz finally dropped dead this mornin’ and Paw went to scoop him up.”
Wyatt visibly shudders at the reminder of his recent experience with body retrieval.
“He might be a while.” I offer an apologetic shrug. “I told him we’d wait to eat…hope that’s okay.”
“It’s no problem at all. Y’all need some help in the kitchen? I ain’t much of a cook,” he confesses rolling up the sleeves of his button down, “but I can wash dishes like a boss.”
“Leave the ladies to the cookin’.” Prissy tugs on his arm. “Since Paw took off there ain’t nobody to hang out with me.” My child has puppy dog eyes down to an art form. That shameless begging of hers has me wanting to crawl under the table.
“Go on,” Momma shoos him away. “We got this.”
“There’s a game on,” Wyatt says, raising his brows at his biggest fan. “You like football?”
“Eww!” The little drama queen shoves a finger into the back of her throat, forcing herself to gag. “I got a much better idea. Come on,” she says, taking him by the hand. “I wanna show you something in my room.”
Wyatt glances over his shoulder back toward me and Momma to make sure it’s okay. “Go ‘head,” I say, trying not to let the laughter I’m stifling explode, because there’s only one thing she’d be this excited to show the man, and his reaction is one I don’t want to miss.
As soon as they turn the corner into her room, I scurry over, posting up beside the door to listen in.
“You collect anything?” Prissy asks.
“Not really. Not unless you count the collection of beer cans in my garbage.” He laughs, but ever solemn, my daughter doesn’t react in kind. Tough crowd.
“You a big drinker?” Where the hell does she get off with that judgmental tone of hers? Girl thinks she’s grown.
I’m unable to hear his response but imagine it was either a nod or noncommittal shrug by her reaction. “Remind me to go over some alcohol death stats with you later.”
“Sure thing.” He huffs out a laugh, and I find myself picturing the easy smile of his that would accompany it. “Why’s everything so dark in here?” he asks. “I thought little girls liked pink and unicorns and rainbows?” His pitch suggests he’s messing with her. Anyone who knows my daughter wouldn’t expect anything less than exactly what they find in that dungeon of hers.
She grunts. “I’m not your average six-year-old.”
“No kidding?”
I’m biting my lips with anticipation when I hear her begin riffling around in the drawer. “Here it is,” she says, her voice brimming with pride.
I hear the case meet the wood of her desk and the snick of the clasps being unlatched, and my own heart accelerates. “Are you ready for this?” she asks.
Drama—all about the drama.
“As long as a dead body ain’t about to pop outta that little briefcase, I’m all good.”
Prissy snickers. “Okay,” she drawls, “here it comes…I present to you, Gramma Agnes’s eyeballs!”
“Holy, cow!” he says. From the crack in his voice, I can tell he’s feigning excitement for her benefit, but she’d never know the difference. “Are these real?”
“Uh-huh. My momma’s Gramma Agnes got her eye poked out. So, she got to have a really cool glass one.”
“Why do I see three rolling around in here?” By this point, he sounds less shocked and genuinely curious.
I hear the clanking of the globes in her hands. “Because she used to like to switch ’em out. Sometimes she had two blue eyes, sometimes a blue and a green, but my favorite was at Halloween time, when she would wear this purple one.”
I peer around the door frame to witness his reaction as she passes him the little glass eyeball. Prissy gets in real close, pointing out the webbing. “See how this one has spider webs instead of veins in the white part?”
He runs his thumb over it, really inspecting each and every detail. “This is quite possibly the neatest thing I’ve ever seen, Priss.”
And with that I slip away to the bathroom to dry the sudden and unwelcome tears trickling down my cheeks. I followed them back here fully anticipating a really good chuckle over his horrified reaction to a little girl collecting glass eyeballs. Never in a million years did I expect to bear witness to him embracing my unique child and all her weirdness with such grace. Or that it would affect me so deeply.
They say the quickest route into or out of the heart of a single mother is through her child. That beautiful man has no idea of the way he just latched onto mine. I’m beginning to fear it may require the Jaws of Life to extract him.
Keeping myself in check around Wyatt Landry will be harder now than ever before.
“Who’s ready to eat?” Daddy comes barreling through the door at a quarter after two with a smile on his face that does little to hide the pain lingering in his red-rimmed eyes.
The men and Prissy rush to take their places around the table we’ve had set for over two hours now. Momma and I bring out the feast of turkey, ham, rice dressing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and homemade rolls.