“Pack it up. Grab a toothbrush and your nightie. We’re eating and sleeping in our new house tonight. Sonny gave me the day off tomorrow so we can move all the rest. This is it, honey! This is the beginning of us!”
Ellen squealed, and then he began dancing her across the floor and into the kitchen.
“This is the last meal you will ever cook in someone else’s kitchen, in someone else’s pans, and eat on someone else’s plates. Come on, I’ll help,” he said, and together, they packed up what she’d cooked, and then they packed up what amounted to an overnight bag, put all the cookware to soak in the sink, and they were gone.
Driving the few blocks down to Bluebell Street and taking that turn was like finding the end of a rainbow. They pulled up into the drive and went up the steps together, Ellen with their overnight bag, and Chris with the box of food.
He opened the door, set their things down inside, then swooped her up and carried her across the threshold, laughing from the joy of it.
“Just like our honeymoon night,” Ellen said.
Chris put her down and kissed her, and then locked the door behind them before carrying the food into the kitchen, turning on the lights as he went.
“You set the table and get the food out. I’ll take our bag to our bedroom,” Chris said.
Ellen was so giddy she was trembling, but she remembered exactly where the pretty plates were and went straight to the cabinet. The joy of setting plates that matched onto place mats, and getting the flatware out of a drawer, and the salt and pepper shakers out of the spice cabinet was beyond anything she’d ever dreamed for herself.
When Chris came back, the food was on their plates. When he saw she put him at the head of the table, he saw the years ahead, being the man of the house, then turned around and seated her first before he sat down and reached for her hand.
She bowed her head.
And like every meal they’d had together, Chris Jackson blessed the food and the hands who’d prepared it, just like his daddy had taught him to do.
Chapter 18
It had been a slow afternoon at the Yellow Rose, so the cleaning they would normally do after they closed was already done. The cold weather was keeping more people indoors, which turned out good for Pearl. She had other plans. It was time for her to visit Jacob. He was her friend, and not going to see him in person might be construed as a slight.
The second the last customer left the Yellow Rose, she locked the doors and flipped the sign to Closed. Davey, the grill cook, was nearly finished cleaning the kitchen, and she was making a basket of food to take to Jacob. Darla and Cheryl had swept up the floors. When Davey finished, Pearl sent everybody home with a last word to keep warm, then ran upstairs to change.
As always, she showered, fussed a bit with what to wear, and then chided herself for the moment of vanity and put on clean blue jeans and a blue cable-knit sweater, warm socks and a pair of black loafers, and called it done.
Then one look at herself in the mirror, and she wanted to call it off. She never thought about being older, but the mirror didn’t lie. Fifty-five was there, and looking back. No more curly blond hair. It was silver now. Visible wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Life lines, she called them. She applied a bit of rose-colored lipstick, her one bow to fashion, and then went to get her things.
The sun set early in the winter, and it was already dark outside when she went out the back door of the kitchen,but it was of no consequence. She didn’t have far to go. Once the security alarm was set, she was off.
Her heart was pounding as she drove onto the street, then turned right on the highway and headed to the Tumbleweed. The gas station was lit up like the searchlight on a lighthouse—the one bright light for as far as you could see—and still doing business as she passed.
But as she took the turn into the Tumbleweed, the darkened building felt all wrong. Normally, the parking lot would be packed. The bar would be lit from within with all colors of neon lights, and country music from the sound system would be drifting out into the night. The bar was closed, but Jacob was alive somewhere inside, and that’s all that would ever matter in her world.
She drove around to the back, saw Jacob’s truck and a car, and guessed the car would belong to the nurse. She parked beside it, got out with her basket and purse, and headed up the steps.
To the house that had been built for her.
She knocked three times, and waited.
* * *
It was the evening of Jacob’s second day home. He was sitting in the living room watching the evening news. Benny had just gone into the kitchen to heat up some food for Jacob before he went home for the night, when he heard a car pulling up at the back door, and then a few moments later, three sharp knocks.
“I’ll get it,” Benny said, and opened the door to a fairy-size woman with a turned-up nose and a headful of silver curls, carrying an exceedingly large basket.
“I’m Pearl. I came to visit Jacob. I brought food,” she said, handed Benny the basket, and sashayed past him withher chin up, and her blue eyes flashing. It was all bravado. She was scared to the depths of her soul.
Benny stepped aside to let her pass, then carried the basket to the dining table. He’d been forewarned of Pearl, but thought she was too cute and too little to be much of a threat, and followed her into the living room before she had time to sit.
“Jacob, Miss Pearl brought you supper, so I’ll just take myself on home now, and see you bright and early in the morning, okay?”
“He’ll be fine!” Pearl said. “I’ll make sure he’s settled before I leave.”
