He poured his soup into a bowl and carried his supper to the table. He sat down in the same chair he’d used since that first day all those many years ago when he had come to visit his uncle, and he bowed his head. After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes and raised his head.
“I always liked it that neither of us said anything out loud when we said grace,” he told the cat, who was now sitting in one of the other three chairs. “Seemed more personal that way.”
After he’d eaten supper, he took a long, cool shower. He dressed in a pair of loose-fitting shorts and a tank top, got a beer out of the refrigerator, and sat down to watch a couple of episodes of Longmire. Waylon jumped up on the sofa beside him, turned around several times, then curled up next to his thigh.
Jackson fell asleep sometime in the middle of the second episode and woke with a start when the theme music began playing at the end. He turned off the television and headed to his bedroom, with Waylon right behind him. “You better enjoy sleeping on the foot of my bed tonight, old boy. Those people over there might put you in the garage at night, and you’ll have to spend the nights alone.”
Nessa awoke before daylight with so many things spinning around in her head that she couldn’t grab hold of one before it slipped away and another thought took its place. She couldn’t go back to sleep, so she got out of the narrow bed, tiptoed down the hallway so she wouldn’t wake April, and stopped dead in her tracks. Even in the dark, she could see that the sofa had been put to rights and the bedding was folded neatly on the coffee table.
April had left, and from the lack of the aroma of coffee floating through the house, it was clear she hadn’t even bothered to make a pot before she sneaked away in the night. Now that Nessa didn’t have to be quiet, she went to the kitchen and made coffee in the old percolator with blue cornflowers on the front.
“Next week, when we go back to Paris, I’m going to buy a drip machine,” she declared.
“Why?” April came inside through the front door. “That old thing makes the best coffee in the whole world. It’s strong enough to melt the enamel off your teeth and has enough flavor to make you want a second cup.”
“Where have you been?” Nessa eyed her carefully. “I thought you’d left when you weren’t on the sofa.”
“I told you that I’m not going anywhere.” April’s tone was icy cold. “Not necessarily because I’m all sentimental about being here, but the truth is, I don’t have anywhere else to go. My life has brought me full circle right back here to face my past. I guess it’s a good thing. We’ll see in a few weeks or months. So I hope you weren’t giving thanks that I was gone and hoping you might wind up having this place all to yourself.”
“Where were you?” Nessa asked.
“I couldn’t sleep, which isn’t unusual. I can’t remember ever sleeping without nightmares, and once I’m awake, I can’t get back to sleep. I went down to the waterfall. We got too busy last night to go, and it’s always been where I go to think,” April answered. “I’m just really glad that creek can’t talk.”
“I’m jealous that you got to spend so much time down at the falls when you were a kid. I used to draw the falls and write poems about it. My writing and the art were horrible, but I missed it so much.” Nessa poured two cups of coffee and headed toward the front door. “Let’s watch the sunrise. They’re always so much brighter in the country than in the city.”
April followed her, and they sat side by side on the top step of the porch. “Turkey, Texas, can hardly be called a city. It’s not even as big as Blossom. And that waterfall and creek are the only things I missed when I left here. When I went there this morning, I was glad that it hadn’t changed. We need some things in our life that stay the same.”
“Turkey might not be a huge city like you’re used to living in, but it’s bigger than two houses, both at a dead end, on Hope Creek Road,” Nessa argued. “Look, you can see an orange thread out there on the horizon.”
April cocked her head to one side. “Shhhh . . . I hear something.”
Nessa listened intently for a moment. “Probably deer coming up to feed on the mesquite leaves.”
“Sounds like a cat,” April said.
“Do you think Waylon is . . . ,” Nessa started, but was interrupted when a guy pushing a wheelbarrow rounded the end of the house.
“Guess you folks are early risers, too,” he said in a deep Texas drawl mixed with just a hint of southern Louisiana. “I’m Jackson Devereaux, and I’m returning Miz Lucy’s cat. I’ve taken care of him over at my place since she passed away, but I’m bringing him home to you all.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Nessa O’Riley, and this is my cousin April. Flynn is still sleeping,” Nessa said.
Mercy sakes, but Jackson was a good-looking guy, and that voice of his would make a woman melt in a puddle at his feet. He set the cat carrier on the porch and then unloaded a bag of litter, the plastic pan that it went into, and several cans of cat food. Then he hefted a ten-pound bag of dry food off his shoulder and put it beside the carrier. “I usually keep his dry food bowl full and give him wet food in the evening. That’s the way Miz Lucy took care of him. I took him to the vet for his shots last month when I took my dog, Tex, so you don’t have to worry about that for another year.”
“Thank you,” Nessa said. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got a full day ahead of me, so I’d better get on back home and get busy. You ladies have a nice day, now.” He tipped the bill of his cap toward them and pushed his wheelbarrow back around the house.
“What’s going on out here?” Flynn pushed his way out onto the porch and almost tripped over the cat carrier.
“That’s Waylon,” April said.
“The neighbor, Jackson, has been taking care of him,” Nessa explained. “He could be a recluse like his uncle.”
“Why would you say that?” Flynn yawned.
“Because I get the impression that he planned to put Waylon and all of that stuff on the porch and then leave,” Nessa answered. “He told us what to do with the cat and then hurried back out into the dark like he didn’t want to talk to us.”
“He seemed surprised to see anyone up and around this early,” April added. “He’s younger than I thought he would be.”
“Oh, yeah?” Flynn yawned again.
“Yep,” Nessa said. “I figured he’d be middle-aged at the very least. D. J. was at least eighty, so a nephew would be forty or fifty.”
“Maybe D. J.’s brother didn’t have Jackson until later in life.” Flynn picked up the carrier. “We’re all waking up early because Nanny Lucy used to kick us out of bed before daylight.” The cat began to howl and wiggle around in the carrier. Flynn set it back down. “When we come here, we think that’s what we have to do. The house or the place has its own rules, and we’ve been trained to follow them,” he said above the noise of the cat, and then picked the carrier up again and set it inside the door. “I’m going to turn this noisy critter loose and get a cup of coffee. Is it strong enough to curl my toenails? What did Jackson look like?”