Mrs. Stevens.
“Yes. We should go.” I pulled the truck out and set off toward Pine Street. It wasn’t a long drive. We probably could have walked, but the air was cold today and I didn’t want Winter to catch a chill.
Mrs. Stevens’s house was a small bungalow, painted cream and white. Her shrubs had been covered for the winter, though her path had not been shoveled in a day or two. I spotted the shovel on the porch and made a mental note to do it for her when we were leaving.
I knocked on her front door and could hear her shuffling before she answered. “Oh, Deacon, is that you?” she said.
“Yes, Mrs. Stevens, it is. And this is Winter Atkins. We wanted to come see you today, to check if you were okay after yesterday.”
She got teary again.
I hadn’t thought for one second that she might not appreciate this. “If this is not appropriate, I will understand?—”
“No, no,” she said, opening the door. “Please come in. It’s very sweet of you, Deacon. Please come in.”
She led us into her kitchen, to the round dining table in the middle of the room. Her house was warm, and there were a few Christmas decorations here and there to brighten the place up. “Please, take a seat.”
“We brought some cookies,” Winter said, offering her the box.
“Then I best put the kettle on.”
“I love your gingerbread house,” Winter said.
It looked as if a child had decorated it, and I wasn’t going to mention it.
“Oh, thank you,” she said with a smile. “My grandson made it.”
Thank goodness . . .
We sat and had a cup of tea, which was not my favorite, but the cookies were delicious. And Mrs. Stevens did seem to appreciate the company.
We didn’t speak of Buddy much, but like how Winter had talked to me on the phone last night, just talking in general seemed to help.
She was smiling by the end of our visit, and that made me happy.
I was glad I’d done this, and I was even more grateful for Winter now. It was his suggestion, after all, and his ability to make conversation looked easy. Small talk was not something I excelled at, or even enjoyed, but he made it look effortless.
I checked my watch, realizing it was past time we left. “My dad will be wondering where I am,” I said.
“Thank you, boys, for stopping by,” she said as we walked out. “It was very sweet of you.”
I picked up the shovel. “I will do this first,” I said, quickly shoveling her path while Winter stood by the door, still chatting with Mrs. Stevens.
Then I collected her mail and gave it to her, leaned the shovel on the porch wall, and again held Winter’s car door for him. Because he seemed to like it so much.
When I got in behind the wheel, he was looking at me, cheeks pink, eyes bright.
“Everything okay?” I asked, starting the engine.
“Just you,” he said. “You are all kinds of wonderful, you know that?”
I stopped and blinked. “Wonderful?”
“Yep. Wonderful. The way you shoveled her path, collected her mail. She said you were just like your dad. Kind, thoughtful, and handsome.”
I stared at him. “She did not say that.”
He laughed. “Okay, well, I added the handsome part. But she totally did say you were kind and thoughtful, just like your dad. She said she made the right decision in making you her vet.”
