Avery woke up with a crick in her neck and an unfamiliar dog licking her face.
“Howie, leave her alone.” Kathleen’s voice held more laughter than scold. “She doesn’t want you slobbering on her first thing in the morning.”
“Hey, guy.” Avery sat up and rubbed the sheltie’s head. “Where’d you come from?”
“I let him in from the yard after you went to sleep. He stays in the yard during the day but likes to come in at night.” Kathleen let out an embarrassed laugh. “He’s good company.”
Avery looked around the paneled bedroom where she’d slept on a daybed. The drive to Kathleen’s house the night before had been solemn, and they exchanged few remarks while they put sheets on the mattress. “Do you live alone?” Avery asked now.
Kathleen picked up a throw pillow and fluffed it. “Except for Howie.”
“So you’re not married?”
“I’m a widow.” She sat on the edge of the bed.
Avery’s eyes widened. “I had no idea.”
“We don’t exactly move in the same circles. At least not usually.”
With a self-conscious shrug, Avery sat on the side of the bed, pulling the loaned T-shirt over her knees. “Since my husband was killed, I feel like I have a sign flashing ‘Widow’ on and off. I sort of thought other women did too.”
“It felt like that the first year or so,” Kathleen said, “but not anymore.”
“How long has it been?”
“Nearly four years now. Wayne was hooking up his bass boat and dropped dead of a heart attack.” She paused. “One day I was fussing about his socks on the living room floor, and the next I was picking out a coffin.”
Avery could not hold back a moan at the matter-of-fact words. “Were you . . . there when it happened?”
“I was.” Her lips twisted. “I discovered I’m not good in a crisis. You did much better yesterday than I would have.”
“Do you have children?”
“A daughter who’s twenty.” Kathleen pointed to a framed picture of a girl with coal-black hair, a stud in her nose, and a defiant glare at the camera. “I worked for years to have a baby, and then she grows up and decides she’d rather run off to Tulsa with her boyfriend than live with me.”
Kathleen picked up the photograph, then ran her fingers over the glass. “Lindsey was only sixteen when her daddy died. She took it hard. Davis says she’ll come to her senses one of these days. He hangs around here with his son, Jake, to make me feel better.”
Kathleen kissed the picture before placing it back on the dresser. “We’d better hurry. Big corporate meeting at work, so I sure can’t be late.” She started from the room.
“Wait! Have you heard anything from the hospital?”
“T. J. called a few minutes ago.”
“And?”
“Martha will be in the ICU for a few days at least. They’re not sure from there.” She paused at the door. “I put clean towels in the bath there. Come on, Howie, give Avery a little privacy.”
“Kathleen?” Her voice was hesitant. “Lindsey’s fortunate to have you for a mother.”
Kathleen squeezed her lips together, then vanished into the other room.
Avery rushed into the pink-tiled bathroom and threw cold water on her face. A small glass shelf sat above the tiny lavatory, lined with a new toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and hotel-size bottles of shampoo and conditioner. The air smelled of floral air freshener, and plush rose-colored towels were folded on the side of the tub.
Reaching out to stroke them, Avery drew in a deep breath and stepped in the shower, turning the hot water on high. As it streamed down her dirty hair and sweaty body, she gave in to the tears.
“What are you doing here?” The gruff voice startled Avery, and she sloshed lukewarm coffee onto her hand.
“Bill! How’s Martha? Is she . . . ?”
“Is she what? Dead? Do you think I’d be talking to you if she were?”
She bit her lip. “I came to see what I can do to help. Do you need breakfast?”
“What I need is to be at my store selling biscuits.”
Avery, heart racing, patted a nearby sofa. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
“T. J.’s gone to get me something. Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see if you and Martha need anything.”
Bill held up three gnarled fingers. “One, a buyer. Two, reimbursement for the damages.” His shoulders stooped forward. “Three, to be back at our store.”
Lowering herself to the couch, Avery cleared her throat. “I’ve told you I’ll come up with money for repairs.” She would cash the Broussard check, even if it meant she had to leave Samford.
“That ain’t much, but it’s a start.” Bill ambled toward the door. “Make it snappy. I’m not getting any younger.” When he reached the hallway, he turned. “Tell T. J. I lost my appetite.”
Avery paced around the room, rubbing her face.
“Hard morning?” T. J. strode into the room with two white sacks and a bottle of juice. He wore a long-sleeved T-shirt advertising an art festival and a pair of worn khakis. Scuffed Doc Martens that looked like something from Avery’s high school days were on his feet. His brown hair was damp, which it seemed to be every time she saw him.
“You changed,” she blurted out.
He nodded. “I ran home while Bill was in with Martha.”
“You spent the night here?”
Another brief nod.
“I didn’t realize you were that close to them.”
“Their nephew couldn’t make it down from Little Rock. It wasn’t a big deal.” He gave up a small smile. “After years of crashing on friends’ couches, I can pretty much sleep anywhere. And it’s easier on my bones than it would have been for Bud.”
“So he’s good friends with Martha and Bill?”
“Not exactly.” He sat beside her, setting the sacks on an end table. “Bud likes to help others.”
“So do you, obviously.”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “I’ve got a long way to go.”
“My dad’s like that. He serves wherever he goes.” She sipped the coffee. “That’s a gift.”
“Is he in Lafayette?”
“He used to be.” Her eyes widened. “So you were eavesdropping that day at Evangeline’s.”
“It was hard not to when the shouting started.” He made a face. “Sorry for bringing it up.”
“Half of Samford knows my business anyway.” She fidgeted with her bracelet. “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t part of the Broussard circle.”
An odd look ran across T. J.’s face. “My mother is—” He stopped when Bill rounded the corner into the room, face drawn, steps slow, his cane making a thunking noise.
They jumped up. “What’s wrong?” Avery asked.
Bill limped over to the couch and let himself down as though the weight of his body was too much to hold. “They say Martha may not be strong enough to go home for weeks.” He looked at T. J. instead of Avery. “When she’s well enough to leave, she’ll be sent to some sort of cardiac-rehab unit in Shreveport.”
“That’s good news,” T. J. said. “That means they expect her to improve.”
Bill sank even lower onto the sofa, like a tire with the air seeping out. “Who’s going to run the store? We’ll have to close.”
“Only for the short term,” T. J. said.
“Our customers will leave us for that new gas station down on Trumpet.” He stopped and glared at Avery. “We’ll never find a buyer for a run-down building without any business.”
Avery reached for his arm but let her hand drop back into her lap. “I can talk to Ross Broussard. He’s an expert on commercial property.”
Bill opened his mouth, an argument on his face before it reached his lips. Then he shrugged. “Whatever. I should have listened when my nephew told me to sell to the outfit that wanted the land.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I held out to get more. Now I’ve got nothing.”
T. J. leaned forward, arms on his knees. “This doesn’t have to be resolved today. Give it a little time.”
“I don’t have time.”
Avery squirmed in her seat, and Bill flung his hand out as though to sweep her away. “You shouldn’t even be here. Without you, we wouldn’t be here either. We’d be preparing to move to our new condo.”
“Bill . . .” T. J. said.
But Avery held up her hand. “He’s right.” She swallowed. “I swear I will pay for the repairs.”
“No point in fixing it up now. We might as well take the money and leave the place boarded up.”
T. J. looked from one to the other. “Now’s not the time to make a decision like that, Bill.”
“I can’t afford to keep that place closed.” His eyes searched T. J.’s, looking less antagonistic. “I don’t know what to do.”
Avery glanced at a picture of Christ in prayer on the far wall. “I can run the store.”
“What you talking about?” Bill said. T. J. shook his head at the same time.
“Until you decide what to do.” Avery delivered the words in a rush, an odd bubble of excitement in her throat. “I have experience and I’m . . .” She shrugged. “I’m available.”
Bill sat up straighter. “What kind of experience?”
“I managed a dress shop for five years.”
A strange laugh erupted from his lips. “You wouldn’t last a day. We sell coffee and biscuits to working people, not frippery to high-and-mighty types.”
Avery set her mouth in a straight line. “I increased profits every quarter at the boutique, and I know how to deal with people.” She glanced at T. J., pleading with her eyes. “You’ve seen the store. Tell him I can do it.”
“I don’t know. A convenience store is a different kind of place.”
Her heart sank at T. J.’s words. “Why not let me try?”
“You’re biting off more than you can chew,” Bill said, but he hadn’t folded his wrinkled body back into the couch.
“Maybe I am, but it can’t be worse than the store sitting closed indefinitely.”
“Do you know how to cook biscuits?” Bill asked.
“I can learn. My mother made excellent biscuits.”
“Hrrmph. Our customers expect the best, not Elly May Clampett rocks.”
“I used to be a decent cook, when I first married, and I know how to read a recipe.”
“You think that recipe’s written down? Martha learned it from her mama, who learned it from hers.”
Avery’s momentum slowed. “Have you ever helped with them?”
“We’ve had that store for fifty years, open every day except Sundays, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. Of course I’ve cooked ’em.”
“You can write the recipe down for me.”
“Like I’d trust you of all people with that recipe—and my cash drawer.”
T. J. leaned forward. “I suppose it could work.” He paused. “I’ll vouch for Avery.”
She stiffened. “I don’t need someone looking over my shoulder.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Bill rose from the couch and crossed his arms. “Ain’t like I got a lot of choice, I reckon. T. J. can keep an eye on you.”
“That makes it sound like I’m on parole.” Avery frowned.
“You owe me and my Martha. This is only a start to repay us.”
She closed her eyes. “It would be short-term, until you get your buyer back or hire someone. And I’ll report to you, not T. J.”
T. J. cut his eyes at her.
Bill’s shoulders sagged again. “I can’t fool with this right now.”
“Hold on,” T. J. said. “What if you work out a deal with Avery till the end of January? She’ll have a job, and you’ll buy time to make a decision.”
“I need to check with my nephew. He likes to stay involved in what’s going on.”
“Just let me know,” Avery said. “I can go over to the store and prepare to open as soon as you tell me.”
Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose a few days couldn’t hurt.”
Bill’s voice was stronger as he lectured Avery that afternoon on how to run Magnolia Market. The hospital waiting room was mostly empty.
T. J. had left for a cabinet-building job hours ago, promising to check in later. Avery wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Bill.
A motley collection of keys on a plain silver circle lay on the table in front of her. “Write this down,” Bill said when her pen paused. “It’s important.”
“Did you get that?” he asked a moment later. “The soft-drink delivery man is due tomorrow, and don’t turn off the light behind the counter when you leave. It’s important to Martha that it’s always on.”
Avery flipped through the small notebook. “I’ve got five pages of instructions, Bill. I can call if I have questions.”
“What’s your phone number?” He fished a scrap of paper and stub of a pencil from his blue work-pants pocket. “I’m sure I’ll remember other things you need to do.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have a phone at the moment.” Then she brightened. “But you can reach me at the store.”
“What kind of a person doesn’t have a phone?” The familiar scowl covered his face.
“My power’s out. Just because I don’t have a phone doesn’t mean I’m not trustworthy.”
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea . . .”
Avery took a risk and patted his arm. “Even though it hasn’t seemed like it this week, I’m dependable.” She smiled. “Besides, like we said, it’s better than keeping the place locked up.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh! That reminds me. I need the code to the security system.”
“Security system?” Bill’s nose wrinkled again, an expression Avery had come to think of as his default look. “We don’t have an alarm. No need.”
Frowning, Avery leaned forward. “With you and Martha away, maybe you should consider one.”
“What would anyone steal? A loaf of bread? A jug of milk?” He laughed. “Oh, yeah, I know. A package of vanilla-cream cookies. They’re always a big hit.”
“Real funny. That’s not the best neighborhood.”
“Phooey,” Bill said. “The money’s in the safe, and we’ve never had a lick of trouble, other than a vagrant or two hanging out in our parking lot.”
“Sir?” A nurse stuck her head in the door, interrupting the conversation. “Your wife is asking for you.”
Bill bolted up. “Is everything okay?”
“She’s weak,” the nurse said, “but improving.”
“That’s what you’ve said since she arrived,” he grumbled.
“And probably what we’ll say for a few days,” the nurse said, her white clogs slapping against the floor as she walked away.
Bill fell into step behind her and then turned. “I’ll expect to hear how tomorrow’s sales are. You have my cellular number.” He walked back to where Avery stood and picked up the keys. “Keep these in a safe place.”
“Yes, sir.” Avery resisted the urge to salute. The ring of keys was heavy in her hand as she watched him scurry to catch up with the nurse.
Maybe she had been swept up by T. J.’s words on serving others, but this was better than sitting in the dark, cold house.