Talk about a moment of clarification. He’d known then that if she was just okay, dear God please let her be okay, he’d be rethinking what he’d planned for the rest of his life. In those plans, he’d been alone. For the first time in what felt like forever, he hoped he wasn’t alone, hoped he could handle the transition.
He was also inordinately proud of how she’d handled herself—with nothing more than a tin can plinker to hold off the thieves—but she’d probably never see herself as anything special. She would prefer working behind the scenes rather than putting herself out there, but when the occasion called for drastic measures she did what she had to do. He saw her as special, though, and that was what counted.
He never wanted to spend another ten terrible minutes wondering if she was dead. Everything had crystallized inside him during that short time, letting him see clearly what was important and what he could put aside.
All he wanted now was to see her.
Well, that wasn’t all he wanted, but just seeing her would make him feel better.
He began driving to her house, but when he passed her aunt’s yellow house he saw her white Honda there and whipped his truck into the driveway. He knew he’d be walking into a house full of women and he might feel trapped, but he’d have to tough it out. Before he got out of the truck he picked up a can of the food he’d had the foresight to bring with him, and put it in his coat pocket.
As he got out of the truck he looked around, paying attention to the sky, which had been sunny earlier but in the last hour a low, lead-colored cloud cover had moved in, and the temperature had taken a decided dip. Snow, he thought. Maybe not much, given it was still early in the season, but the weather had to turn sometime and he was betting on tonight.
He went up on the porch and knocked. In a few short seconds Sela’s face appeared in one of the panes in the door, and she opened it. “How did it go today?” Guilt crossed her face. “I meant to get back over there but I slept too long, and when I did go, everyone was gone. Who boarded up the windows? Thank you.”
She stepped back to let him enter, and closed the door behind him. He’d been right: he did feel better just seeing her, being with her. He liked how she’d immediately jumped to the conclusion that he’d been the one who boarded up the windows. “Some guy named Bob Terrell had some plywood to donate. He and Trey Foster helped. I didn’t expect you to come back over there anyway, you were wiped out.” The warmth of the house, and the smell of food cooking, enveloped him like a hug. How could he have forgotten? There was something about women, the way they took a space and without thinking made it into something softer and more comfortable.
Olivia sat on the couch, her eyes big with curiosity as she watched them, and a short, white-haired woman was stirring something in a pot set over the fire in the fireplace. Sela said, “You know Olivia. Barb, this is Ben Jernigan. Ben, our friend Barb Finley. She’s living here for the duration.”
“Who’s there?” someone called from another room.
Sela paused, gave a subtle cast of her eyes heavenward, and called, “Ben Jernigan.” Then she closed her eyes and seemed to be waiting for something.
“What? Stud Muffin Hardbody is here?”
“She’s on pain pills,” she murmured to him, her cheeks heating. “We got her in the shower today, and had to give her an extra dose afterward to knock down the pain. Since she broke her leg she’s had two moods: inappropriate and cantankerous. You can guess which one she’s in now.”
Olivia was giggling on the couch, and she called, “Gran, behave!”
“I am behaving! What I want to do is throw something because I’m stuck in this damn bedroom by myself. Olivia, you didn’t hear that.”
“Yes I did.”
“And . . . the mood just flipped to cantankerous.” Sela gave him a small smile. “You may want to run.”
He’d faced worse things than a pill-fueled granny . . . maybe.
“You have to stay for supper,” said Barb, turning to smile at him. “It isn’t anything fancy, just beef stew and corn bread, but there’s plenty of it.”
His first reaction was to refuse; habit was habit. His second reaction was to remember the woman standing right there beside him, and he said, “Thanks, I’d like that.” Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the can he’d put there. “I brought this. Figured you could use some bacon.”
Sela went still, staring at the can in his hand. Barb wheeled away from the fire, the forgotten spoon in her hand dripping liquid on the floor. Olivia bolted off the couch. “Bacon,” she said in a reverent tone as she came to stand beside him, then in astonishment added, “Bacon in a can?”
“Yeah. It’s all I use.” He held out the can of Yoder’s to Sela and she took it as carefully as if it was made of the finest crystal.
“Well, my goodness. I’ve never seen bacon in a can before.” Barb came over and peered at it. “How do you cook it?”
“It’s already cooked, but you can crisp it up the normal way.”
“What’s going on out there?” Carol hollered.
“He brought bacon!” Barb yelled back.
“Bacon! Damn it! I’m stuck in here and y’all are out there with bacon—”
Ben sighed. Obviously the only way to settle down the granny was with bold action. He wanted to spend time with Sela and he couldn’t with her aunt constantly yelling from the next room. “Is she decent?” he asked Sela.
“She has clothes on, if that’s what you’re asking. I wouldn’t go any further than that.” A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
In battle Ben had learned that action, even if it was the wrong action, was better than inaction. Silently he strode in the direction of the uproar, which broke off as soon as he walked through the bedroom door. The woman in the bed gaped at him, her eyes and mouth wide. Yeah, he recognized her, knew the improbable—now fading—pink streak in her hair. She was covered with a sheet and a blanket, her splinted leg propped on a couple of pillows. Silently he went to the side of the bed, bent, and scooped her up, covers and all. Carrying her out, he asked, “Where do I put her?”
“Right here,” Sela said swiftly, pulling out a chair at the table and turning it to the side, then pulling out another one on which her aunt’s broken leg could be propped. “If she’s going to be in here, she might as well eat at the table with us.” Ben deposited the woman in the chair and carefully supported the broken leg until Sela had the other chair and some cushions arranged. “Is that comfortable?” she asked her aunt, leaning forward to straighten and tuck the covers around her. Ben watched her long dark hair slide over her shoulder, and thought about it sliding over his pillow. Instantly he pulled himself away from that topic, otherwise he’d be standing there with an obvious erection.
“I guess,” the woman said, still staring at Ben. She held out her hand. “I’m Carol Allen.”
“Glad to meet you.” He took her hand. “I’m Stud Muffin Hardbody.”
She didn’t blink. Instead she said, “Oh honey, if you only knew the other names I’ve called you.”