“Can you spare a couple of blankets and pillows?”
“You’re vexing me, Lee.” Tuesday sighed as she stirred the soup. “I’ll look when I get home.”
She still knew very little of her husband’s business. She’d suspected rum-running and bootlegging, but with the end of prohibition, she guessed he’d moved on to gambling and money laundering, maybe thugging for some mob boss. She peeked at his knuckles. They were scarred and bruised.
Leroy confessed nothing other than he “worked for a good firm” out of Memphis. But she read the papers, heard the rumors.
Leroy set the pot full of milk on the second burner. “Why were you crying back there?”
“Who said I was crying?” Tuesday reached for the Our Mother’s Cocoa can and the sugar canister.
“You had your face buried in your hands.” Leroy wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. “I heard you. Talk to me.”
“Just some old memories coming up is all.” She pulled away to retrieve paper cups from the upper cabinet. Fisherman Joe, who came in once a quarter and roller-skated until he had blisters on his feet, introduced her to this new invention—paper cups and plates—and she’d never looked back.
“From your mamaw?” Lee said. “What a wicked woman. Baby, those days are behind you. You’re with Leroy Knight now. You own the Starlight.” He tried to hold her again, but she busied herself with setting up the food tray. “You’ll never be homeless again.”
“I was only homeless for a week before the prince put me up.” Though it felt like an eternity. “And the Starlight is good company. However—” She looked him in the eye. “I married you for better or worse, Lee, and I mean to keep my word, but it seems the better is long gone and the road ahead is nothing but worse.”
Leroy sighed and whispered something about checking on the fellas. By the time he returned, Tuesday was ladling the bowls and cups with soup and steaming cocoa. From the cookie tin, she selected five of Harriet’s best and added them to the tray. “Let me get this to my guests. You tend to your people.”
“They’re good men, Tuesday. Just trying to make it in these hard times.”
She glanced back at him. “Might as well take them some cookies too.”
She caved whenever he came around. She’d spend months brewing up a fight, but without fail, love eventually calmed her storm.
In the back room, the kids splashed in the tub. The wife had washed her face and the husband had shaved. He took the tray as Tuesday entered.
“We’ll clean up, I promise,” he said.
“I know you will. You can stay the week. That’s all I allow. Tomorrow, I can arrange one long-distance call for you if that will help.”
“That would be—” The couple exchanged a glance. Then Norvel said, “I’ll find a way to repay you.”
“When you’re on your feet again, help someone who’s like y’all are now. That’s all I ask.”
“Everyone was right, you know,” the wife said. “When we came into town asking for work or any sort of help, everyone—down to the man or woman—said, ‘Go see Tuesday at the Starlight.’” Her eyes glistened. “‘She’ll help you. She’s the nicest woman around.’”
“I’ve been in your shoes. I know what it feels like to be desperate and have a kind soul offer more than you could imagine.”
Lee was gone when she came out, so she unplugged the hot plate, tidied the concession, and locked up her office, then the rink.
In the cool night, she walked home, the neon light of the Starlight behind her. In the distance, a foghorn called to passing vessels. At the end of Sea Blue Way, she turned south on to Third Street, where a single light drifted from her barn, along with a low hum of male voices.
In the kitchen, Tuesday hung her sweater and pocketbook on her hook by the door. Up the stairs, she peeked into the bathroom. The floor was dry, the sink clean, and the towels neatly hung. She found Lee stretched out on their bed in his undershirt, reading the paper.
“You picked up the bathroom.” She slipped from her low-heel oxfords and worked the buttons of her dress, noticing the thin material under the sleeves before hanging it in the closet.
Out of her slip and stockings, she tugged on a cotton nightgown that was once a brilliant blue, knowing Leroy only pretended to read the paper. He was watching her.
“What do you want, Leroy?”
“You.” He patted the bed beside him.
“What am I to think? You return home only when you can’t take it any longer? You think I don’t have needs when you’re away, Lee?” She grabbed the pouch storing her toothbrush and private toothpaste, a little pleasure she allowed for herself.
In the bathroom, she regarded her reflection. At thirty-four, she wasn’t bad-looking, with a nice natural wave to her brunette hair. Her green eyes were nice—set too close for her taste—but the flecks of gold made her feel special. She was no great beauty like Greta Garbo or Claudette Colbert, but she’d earned a whistle or two in her time.
