by Lynne Gentry
Leona held up a palm. “This ain’t church, remember?”
Noontime sunshine had heated the back of Leona’s neck by the time Roy rapped on the newspaper window. She grabbed her purse and shoved away from her desk. “Heading out to lunch, Modyne.”
“Might as well. You’ve been so starry-eyed, you haven’t gotten a blame thing done.”
She’d argue, but Modyne was right. Since seeing Roy, she’d only edited one obituary. The rest of her time had been wasted Googling passports. “Want me to bring you a sandwich?”
“I’m having leftovers.” Modyne stopped pecking away at the computer. “I’d offer you some, but I can’t see you ever settling for leftovers.”
“I eat leftovers.”
“Eatin’ them is one thing,” Modyne said. “Marrying them is another.”
Feeling confused and a little undone by Modyne’s comment, Leona stepped out to meet Roy on the sidewalk. He’d taken the time to freshen up. Bright white shirt. Khaki pants. A new straw safari hat. Roy McGee was nobody’s leftovers.
“Get to see David?” She took Roy’s offered arm, well aware that Modyne was watching through the glass. She was having lunch with an old friend, not walking down the aisle with him.
Roy patted the hand she’d threaded through his crooked elbow. “He’s a fine boy, Leona.”
“David is his father’s son, that’s for sure.”
“I see more than a little bit of you in him, too.”
How could someone as secure in themselves as David possibly be anything like her?
“Roy McGee?” Maxine’s voice jarred Leona from her ponderings. “We haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” Maxine and Howard stood outside the door of the Koffee Kup café.
Howard extended his hand. “Is it fundraising time again?”
Leona slowly extracted her arm from Roy’s. “He’s back for a little R&R, Howard.”
Roy pumped Howard’s hand like he was working one of the many water wells he’d dug in Africa. “I’m taking a six-month furlough on the dime of a very generous contributor.”
“What do you mean?” Maxine asked.
“I know you fine folks would never flaunt the blessings the Lord has bestowed upon you,”—Roy winked at Maxine—“but just between us, there’s no need to be so modest.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roy,” Howard said, sweat beads forming upon his bald head.
“Your gift of ten thousand,” Roy explained. “That was you, right?”
“Ten thousand?” Maxine’s eyes were so huge Leona knew they’d pop out if she told Maxine she’d written that check.
“Biggest single contribution my ministry has ever received. My accountant said the gift came from Mt. Hope. I just assumed ...” Roy let his enthusiasm trail off
When Maxine realized someone in Mt. Hope had made that contribution and it wasn’t her, she let her eyes slide toward Howard. One glimpse of her husband’s gaping mouth and she pretty much had her answer. The money hadn’t come from him. That’s when Maxine did the only thing Maxine could do ... she covered her surprise with a scriptural reprimand. “Well, like you say, Roy. In matters of tithing, it’s better if the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.” She tethered Howard with her arm. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“LeLe and I were about to pop in for a burger,” Roy said. “Why don’t you join us?” Roy’s invitation, while genuine, had the air of killing two birds with one stone. The man understood the importance of staying in good with supporters, even stingy ones like Howard and Maxine. “I’ll be in town a few days and plan to use the time to catch up, with this sweet woman.” His arm was an octopus tentacle wrapping Leona’s shoulder.
“I know you and LeLe have a lot in common, both being recently widowed and all.” Maxine’s emphasis on Roy’s pet name stung more than the recently widowed. “We wouldn’t dream of intruding.”
“Nonsense.” Roy snugged Leona to him, with an over exuberance that told her Maxine’s comment had left him smarting as well. “There’s always room for others at our table, right LeLe?”
Maxine’s brows rose. Leona wasn’t sure if Maxine’s discomfort stemmed from the embarrassing nickname, Roy’s public displays of affection, or the nasty prospect of sitting across the table from someone she hadn’t had a civil conversation with in over a year.
Suddenly, the idea of investigating all three possibilities sounded extremely fun. Leona smiled and threaded her arm through Roy’s and cozied close to his massive frame. “Absolutely, Roy.”
“It’s settled then.” Roy pulled the diner door open. With a sweep of his hand, he ushered Maxine and Howard into the greasy world of fried meat and mashed potatoes. Angus, met them at the newly installed WAIT TO BE SEATED sign, his idea of making the diner into more of a restaurant, according to Ruthie.
“Hey, Mrs. Harper. Good to see you not eatin’ alone.” Angus, red hair slicked back and decked out in one of the suits he’d bought at Leona’s garage sale, snatched four menus. “Y’all want a booth or a table?”
Seeing J.D.’s herringbone tweed filled with vibrant life had the unexpected effect of making Leona feel like a traitor. She slid her arm from Roy’s. “A booth please, Angus.” Leona followed J.D.’s jacket through the crowded diner. While she couldn’t take her eyes off her husband’s old jacket, she felt as if all eyes were on her. What was she doing having lunch with another man? And in such a public place? She never thought she’d be grateful for being forced to sit down with Maxine and Howard, but having them at the table was the buffer she needed.
“Leona?”
Leona stopped in front of the booth where Saul Levy sat having his usual burger, fries, and coffee. “Saul,” she stuttered. “Uh, it’s nice to see you.”
Saul lowered his coffee cup. “I’m glad to see you’re well, Mrs. Harper.”
Leona’s brow puzzled. “Well?”
The attorney looked from her to the man standing beside her. “When you missed your appointment this morning, I assumed you were ill.”
Leona gasped. “I totally forgot.” Yes, she had. The moment Roy walked in, all her other obligations flew right out of her head. “I can run by after lunch.” She hated that she was babbling like a school girl. Saul was her lawyer, for Pete’s sake, not her warden. “That is, if it’s convenient for you.”
“I’ve got a court appearance, but Juanita can give you what you need.”
“This fellow a friend of yours, LeLe?” Without waiting for her introduction, Roy’s hand shot in Saul’s direction. “Roy McGee.”
Saul wiped his mustache with his napkin, slid crisply from the bench, and stood. Feet apart, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, his power stance communicated no intention of reciprocating Roy’s good will. “Saul Levy.”
“Saul is my ... attorney.” The designation hardly explained the man’s rude behavior. Saul was what he was. So why did she feel the need to add, “Mr. Levy’s helping settle J.D.’s affairs.”
“I’ve always admired a legal mind.” Roy let his unshaken hand drop. “And it’s nice to have smart people around you in your time of need. That’s why I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with LeLe. She’s one sharp cookie.”
Saul’s eyes had returned to Leona. “A remarkable woman, indeed.”
For once, Leona wished her lawyer’s ridiculous dark glasses were covering his eyes rather than neatly tucked inside his shirt pocket. Saul’s penetrating gaze made her feel as if she was standing in some sort of breath-sucking Bermuda Triangle: J.D.’s old suit brought to life behind her. A flamboyant old friend prodding her from the left. And her new uptight lawyer flanking her on the right.
Little beads of sweat morphed into trickles running down Leona’s face.
“Leona?”
She could hear Saul calling to her. Tenderly, like he had that fateful Christmas Eve when her drug-induced stupor had forced Saul to carry her wasted body up the parsonage stairs. As futile as her efforts had been th
en, she couldn’t make any part of her body respond to his command now.
“Have a seat, Leona.” Saul’s hand cupped her elbow and guided her to the bench he’d recently vacated.
“LeLe, you alright?” Roy asked, sliding in on the opposite side of the table. “Last time I saw you this pale, you’d just announced to J.D. that you were pregnant.”
“I believe it’s safe to assume she’s not pregnant, Roy,” Maxine snapped.
“Angus, bring Mrs. Harper some water.” Saul’s command was not to be argued with, by Angus or by her.
“It’s just the heat,” she told Saul, catching a strange expression on Maxine’s face out of the corner of her eye. “I’m fine, really.” Leona pushed out of the booth and offered Saul her hand. “I’d like to reschedule my appointment.”
Saul’s hand clutched hers. “Business can wait.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“So Roy thought you were pregnant?” Roxie had not quit cackling about Leona’s story. “I would have loved to have seen Maxine’s face,” she laughed as she pawed through one of the boxes of new bedding stacked in Leona’s small bedroom.
“It was strange.” Leona’s head still throbbed with images from the whole embarrassing encounter.
Roxie ripped open the packaging on the new pillows for Leona’s bed. “Strange that a man from your past suddenly appeared? Or strange because of Maxine’s reaction to said man’s interest in you?”
“Both.”
“Maybe your gallant missionary has always had a crush on you and Maxine is jealous.” Roxie tossed the pillows on Leona’s freshly made bed.
Leona caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. Hair in a clip, her favorite ugly paint shirt, and bags under her eyes. Even if she wanted to draw a man’s attention, she was so out of practice she wouldn’t know where to start. “Roxanne Brewer, you can put the brakes on those spinning wheels of yours right now.”
“You didn’t buy these nice new sheets so you can sleep alone for the rest of your life.”
“The old ones reminded me too much of J.D. I needed a fresh start.”
Her friend grabbed a bedpost and hopped up on the bed with an evil grin. “See what I mean?”
“I’ve got Tater.” The dog lifted his head at the mention of his name. Once the aging cocker realized there was no treat in his future, he wearily laid his head on his paws.
“There’s nothing fresh about that old dog.” Roxie was right. Tater was nearly thirteen and, like his bedraggled mistress, beginning to show his age. She wouldn’t have her furry companion forever. Then what? Roxie patted the bed indicating this conversation would go better if Leona would sit. “Obviously, something happened in that diner to upset you.” Roxie was worse than Modyne when she smelled a story.
Leona pretended to tighten the new dresser knobs. Putting her feelings into words seemed dangerously close to confessing her loneliness. She’d only spent one night alone in her new home. But it had been her first night alone in nearly thirty years. She’d expected quiet, but she hadn’t expected the silence to be so painful. In the course of one night, she’d gone from feeling confident and courageous about her new life to terrified and impulsive.
Impulsive?
Yes, that was it. Impulses had buckled her knees in the diner. Standing between Saul and Roy, two very different men, neither even remotely close to measuring up to the man who used to wear the herringbone tweed, she’d felt this intense desire to run. Leave her loneliness behind. Seek her true purpose somewhere far away. And start over where no one had any preconceived notions of who she should or should not be. Crazy impulsive, right? Unlike her, impulsive. Worse than wearing red high heels to church impulsive.
Then the truth hit her. A hard punch to her gut. Moving out of the parsonage could have been a huge mistake. Perhaps her meltdown was the result of trying to stand on her own two feet before she was ready. If that was the case, she had no business thinking about men who could never fill this huge hole in her heart.
Roxie slid from the bed. “Leona?”
Leona jerked her unsettling emotions back into line. “Did you come to help me get settled or spy for my children?”
“I’m on your side, Leona.” Roxie reached in a box and removed J.D.’s tackle box. “I see you decided to keep this.”
Leona ran her hand over the cool metal. Each dent in the rusty box had been put there by her husband. “I sold his jon boat. His fishing poles. I couldn’t let everything go.” She set the empty box on the small table beside her bed. “You never know what you had until it’s gone.”
Roxie cocked her head, considering more than Leona’s choice of placement. “You’re going to need a shiplap accent wall if you’re going rustic in here.”
They both burst out laughing. Starting over was harder than Leona had ever dreamed and every bit as hard as Saul had implied. Good friends who understood the difficulty of each tiny step were a treasure. They were still laughing when the doorbell rang.
“I hope the Lord never asks me to do without you, Roxanne Brewer.” Leona wiped tears of release from her face. “That’s probably Saul with the final copy of my closing papers.”
“You mean the ones you forgot to pick up because you were too busy thinking about a certain missionary?” Roxie’s determination to move her on down the grief road had only stalled long enough for Leona to catch her breath.
“I mean, Saul said he’d drop them by. And that’s all I mean.” Leona ran to the living room, checked her hair in the mirror, then yanked open the front door. “Etta May. Nola Gay.” Disappointment sounded in her welcome. “What brings you girls out this evening?”
Etta May thrust a jar of pickles at Leona. “Housewarming gift.”
“Thank you.” Leona took the jar and smiled at the silver-haired sweethearts grinning expectantly at her. While she hated to start a new precedent, one that might encourage the Story twins to show up on her new doorstep every Sunday morning, she couldn’t very well take their pickles and not show them some hospitality. “Would you like to come in?”
Nola Gay shook her head and elbowed her sister. “Tell her the real reason we dropped by, Etta May.”
“We’re starting a business,” Etta May crowed.
“A pickle delivery service?” Leona asked.
“No, pickles are our love offering to the Lord.” Nola Gay took Leona’s hand and pulled her out onto the stoop. “Look.” She pointed to the large blue van parked at the end of the sidewalk. “We’re tuber drivers.”
“It’s Uber, Nola Gay,” Etta May corrected then whispered behind her hand to Leona, “Sister’s been working with garden produce far too long.”
“Uber drivers?” Leona repeated.
“You know,” Nola Gay said. “It’s like a taxi service.”
“Only better,” Etta May added.
“I know what an Uber driver is,” Leona said, still processing how these two ancient relics had learned about such a modern service. “Maddie and I took an Uber last time I went to visit her in New York. I guess I’m surprised no one else in Mt. Hope seems to think we need Uber drivers here.”
“That’s exactly why we’re gettin’ in early,” Nola Gay said. “Be first or go home, we always say.”
“I’ve always had a terrible fear of pickin’ up strangers,” Etta May said. “Y’all remember how antsy I got when Angus passed out in the fellowship hall, him bein’ a stranger and all,” Etta May said. “But then Nola Gay pointed out we know everyone in Mt. Hope, including Angus now, so we’d only be drivin’ friends.”
“Or friends of friends, of course,” Nola Gay added. “Come on, you’ve got to see how cozy our crocheted seat covers have made it inside.” Before Leona could dispose of the pickles, Nola Gay pulled her down the sidewalk. “Howard Davis gave us a good deal on the van because it has nearly two hundred thousand miles on it.” She kicked the back tire. “Howard was worried about selling it to us at first, but then I told him, ‘We’re 82, Howard. How many miles do you think we’ve got l
eft in us anyway?’”
Etta May pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “We’ve even purchased one of these new-fangled phones, you know, the kind that isn’t attached to the wall. I told Nola Gay we needed a pocket phone like we needed hemorrhoids, but she said we’ve got to be on call twenty-four-seven.” She poked at the screen. “You want our new number, Leona?”
Leona could not let her imagination picture what it would be like letting two old women who had never worked a cell phone drive her around. Every Sunday morning, they parked on the curb outside the parsonage. No telling what they’d hit between their house and the Harpers. “I...well...I usually drive myself,” Leona stuttered.
“I can understand your hesitation,” Nola Gay said. “People say we should act our age, but we don’t know what 82 should feel like. So we can act however we want, right?”
“The girl at the phone store told us all our clients have to do is type in their number and then I can type them a message and they’ll have our number.” Etta May held out the phone.
“You mean you’ll text me?”
Etta May shrugged sheepishly. “Seems like it would just be easier to write it on a piece of paper, don’t it?”
“Sometimes Etta May’s slow to grasp progress,” Nola Gay chided.
Etta May rolled her eyes. “We don’t know for sure how this new business is going to work. Every time Nola Gay drives past a bathroom she has to stop. Can you imagine how long it will take us to get anywhere? But we thought, if Leona can step out in faith and buy herself a little house and build a new life, we can start a business.”
“You’re our inspiration, Leona,” Nola Gay said. “We’re proud of you.”
She’d never been anyone’s inspiration. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“Thank you.” Nola Gay punched her sister’s arm playfully, all bickering between them forgotten, whether by grace or true forgetfulness, who could say? “We need to finish our rounds.”
Etta May climbed in the passenger seat and hollered out the lowered window. “Where we headin’, Nola Gay?”