Page 179 of Wayfarers

“Mamaw . . . could you use some company?”

“I’ll take every bit you got.”

“It’s why I came. I was thinking . . . maybe I could live here with you, if you got room. I’m ready to settle down. I want to get a job and go to school and live a normal life. I want . . . a home.”

Mamaw looks at me like she can’t believe her ears. “You mean that?” Her voice teeters, like it’s about to fall off a shelf.

“If you got space and don’t mind. I could take that little room in the basement. I always loved it down there.”

She sobs, face buried in her hands, her stooped frame quaking. She nods. “I thought I’d die without seeing you again.”

And I begin sobbing too. “I’m here to stay. I promise.”

When we finally compose ourselves with deep, shuddering breaths, Mamaw says, “Won’t life here get awful dull for you? You’re a young man.”

“I’ve been almost everywhere in the country. Waking up in a new town every day gets old. I’m ready for some boring.”

“There’s something nice about a place and folks you know.”

“I hope Mama leaves and comes back home too someday.”

“I wisht I could see her again; work out our differences. I bore her ill will for a long time but with Jesus’s help and seeing you here, not no more.”

“I have Mama’s email. I’m going to talk to her. You never know what’ll happen. And speaking of, remember how I said there was a girl who helped me when I broke my arm trying to find her dog? She’s out front in her van. I’d love for you to meet her. She’s become someone special to me.”

Mamaw and I stare at each other for a second, taking each other in.

I reach over and take her wrinkled hand. “You’re not gonna be alone anymore.”

Mamaw gives me a strange, almost mischievous, smile. “Well now, I haven’t exactly been alone.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

Mamaw snort-laughs as she pulls herself to her feet. “Heavens no. Wait here.” She shuffles back down the hallway.

“Can I help you, Mamaw?” I call after her.

“Just you wait.”

After a moment or two, she returns to the living room, a jingling sound following her. At her heels, a speckled dachshund, his face a gray mask, waddles laboriously. He gives a couple of short barks when he sees me.

My breath catches and I slide to the edge of my seat. “No way,” I whisper. “No way no way no way.”

“In my excitement, it clean slipped my mind.”

I drop from the couch to my knees with a joyous yelp. “Bilbo. Bilbo.” I smother his silvered muzzle in kisses. His tail whips furiously back and forth and he whines and licks at my hand. I lift him and hold him to my heart and sob. “How?” is all I manage. “How?”

“After your daddy passed, I took him in. We’ve been keeping each other company.”

“I can’t believe he’s still alive.”

“He’s around fifteen now. He wasn’t but four or so when you and your mama left. He’s in about worse shape than me. He’s deaf as a post, which is why he didn’t notice you come in. He don’t like walking much. He sleeps near to twenty-three hours a day. You can see he remembers you, though. I think the thing keeping him alive was hoping you’d come back.”

“Well I did, didn’t I, Bilbo.” I weep into the top of his little head. “I came back. Thank you for waiting for me.”

Sylvie

“More iced tea?”