“Think what you want, but someday you’ll see what old George is talkin’ about.” George finished his second beer. After crushing the can and tossing it in the corner, he said, “Hey, listen. I appreciate you decidin’ to stay on with me this summer. Honestly, I don’t think I could run things without you. Not anymore.”
Jack wondered if it was George or the alcohol doing the talking. Probably a little of both, he concluded as the man started on his third beer. “Aww, come on, George. That ain’t no way to talk. You still got a few years left in you.” He watched as George stared sullenly at the rain. “But in any case, I’m glad to do it and thankful for the work. Besides, it beats the hell out of working at the mill. I was talking to Ray Tucker the other day, and he said with all the windows they have in that place, it’s like an oven in the summer. And in the winter you nearly freeze to death. That’s no life I want. No, sir.” He shook his head and glanced outside as the rain tapered off. “At least here I get to be on the water, and like you said, that ain’t bad.”
“Amen!” George slapped the table with an open palm. “I’ll drink to that.”
* * *
By the time Jack’s house came into view, the storm had pushed east into the mountains, but evidence of its passage remained. The hike from the dock to his house, which was over a mile, took Jack along the lakeshore, through a dense stretch of woods, over a creek, and across a field of heather so thick he had to cut a path with his machete.
When Jack finally reached the porch, it was nearly suppertime, so he slipped out of his clothes, set them on the rail to dry, then pushed open the front door.
“That you, JB?”
“It’s me, Mama,” Jack answered wearily. He shuffled into the bathroom, washed his hands and face, and changed clothes before coming to supper.
“How was work today? You didn’t get caught out in that squall, did ya? Donna Rae said Deep Springs Road is a mess.”
“The woods too,” said Jack. “On the bright side, there’s a couple of trees down at the edge of the yard I can cut up and use for firewood. And to answer your question, me and George made it back just in time.”
She looked at him dubiously. “You didn’t pull that engine-trouble trick on old George again, did you?”
The fact that she remembered shocked him. “What if I did? You gonna to tell old George on me? I was only having a little fun.” He rocked back in the chair, balancing on two legs. “Besides, I got us back with five whole minutes to spare.”
Helen Bennett narrowed her eyes at him. “Jack Edward Bennett. I thought I taught you better’n that. And put that chair on all fours. If God had intended it to have two legs, he’d have made it that way.” She shook her head in disgust. “You got too much of your daddy in you. That’s your problem. If you ain’t careful, one of these days you’re gonna fool around and give old George a heart attack. How would you feel then?”
“I’m sorry.” He set the chair right. “It won’t happen again. Promise.”
“Well, good. After all, George ain’t as young as he used to be. I reckon none of us are.” She checked the biscuits. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
When the biscuits were golden brown on top, Helen took them out of the oven, covered them with a towel, and set them on the table to cool. Next, she brought over the jar of honey and a plate of fried bologna, put it beside the biscuits, and finally collapsed into her chair. “You wanna say grace or should I?”
“You go ahead. You’re so much better at it than I am.”
“Very well. Bow your head.”
When the prayer had been said, Helen filled a plate and began eating while Jack poked and prodded at the fatty meat. Usually, he didn’t mind bologna and biscuits, but this made the third day in a row. Even he had his limits.
“Mama, I wish you’d let me help with the groceries. I was counting my money this afternoon, and—”
Helen raised a hand, cutting him short. “Listen, I know you want to help, and God knows you’d give me your last dime if I asked you, but that’s your money. You’ve worked hard for it, and hopefully someday it will help you get that house on the hill you’re always goin’ on about. So don’t go wastin’ it on me. B’sides, this may not be steak and potatoes, but it’s nourishment to our bodies, and we got the good Lord to thank for that. Which is more than I can say for some folks.”
Feeling a tinge of guilt, Jack dropped his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
“But it’s mighty kind of you to offer, JB. You’re turnin’ into a fine young man.”
“Thanks, Mama.” He took another bite of biscuit and chased it with a sip of tea. “Well, if I can’t buy groceries, can I at least paint the kitchen? George has a couple of gallons of chiffon sitting in the shack that came from a man in White Pine. He said it’s mine if I want it.”
“Well, now.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “I suppose there’s nothin’ wrong with that so long as it don’t cost you nothin’.”
“Not a cent,” he said. “Cross my heart.”
“All right, it’s a deal—under one condition. You promise not to make a mess of my floors.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
