her a glass, picked up his own, and took a long swallow, poured in more cola, then returned the bottle to the refrigerator. “Drink your soda. It’ll help to get some sugar into you. Then we’ll go bring in your clothes.”
Nelda’s heart lurched. Lute’s face wavered in her vision. She felt precariously poised in a vacuum of weakness, lost in a fantasy that couldn’t possibly be happening. She followed him to the back porch, where he reached up and flipped a switch. A light on a pole lit the yard from the house to the barn.
“I didn’t know about that light.”
“I put it in when I was filling the corncrib. It’s darker than the bottom of a well out here at night.” He turned to look down at her. “Did Hutchinson tell you that I rent the land?”
“Yes, he told me.” She didn’t say that the lawyer hadn’t told her until she asked.
Nelda hurried to the end of the line that held her panties and bras.
“I’m starting at this end,” Lute teased. “You get the sheets and towels.”
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Nelda went down the line removing her intimate
garments as fast as she could and dropping them in the basket. Lute folded the two sets of sheets, neatly and swiftly and carried the basket to the porch while she carried the clothespin bag.
“Put away your wash. I’ll make gravy to go with that roast. I’m starving.”
“Gravy?” she repeated incredulously. “I haven’t had roast gravy since Grandma used to make it.”
“Well, you’re back now, and you’ll have some. I’m a darn good cook, even if I do say so. Get moving, or I’ll eat without you.” It was the teasing, scolding tone he’d used long ago when he’d said, “Come on, slowpoke, we’ll be late for school.”
Nelda took a few sips of soda and hurried up the stairs with the clothes basket. The breeze coming in her bedroom windows cooled her hot face. She put the sheets and pillowcases in the chest in the hall, her underwear in her bureau drawers. Happiness played in her heart like a concerto.
She went back downstairs and stood silently in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Lute. He had lifted the meat onto a platter and placed a carving knife beside it. Now with sure, economical movements he was vigorously stirring the bubbling liquid in the roasting pan. She admired his efficiency—and the way his slim hips swiveled slightly as he stirred.
“I couldn’t find the cornstarch, so I used flour,” he said without turning around. She jumped, feeling every inch a spy at her own door, but he continued speaking conversationally as she entered the room. “Sometimes I get lumpy gravy with flour, never with cornstarch. Find me a bowl to put this in, and stick
some bread into the toaster, and set out the butter. I hate to spread hard butter.”
Nelda went to check that Kelly was still sleeping before she sat down across the table from Lute. She was still amazed that he was really here. His hair was damp and combed. He must have done that while she was putting away the clothes. He pulled her plate toward him and filled it at the same time he filled his own; a potato, a slice of buttered toast, then an abundant layer of sliced beef topped with a ladle of streaming gravy.
“Try that. That’s a Hanson special.”
“Looks good.” Nelda laughed. It was really more like a giggle. “Maybe you should open up your own place and run the cafe uptown out of business.”
“Not a bad idea.” He got up between forkfuls and slipped two more slices of bread into the toaster.
She wanted to know so much about him but was afraid to ask, afraid he would go all icy as he had at the cemetery.
“This is good,” she complimented honestly. “I’ve never bought cornstarch. Is it just to make gravy?”
“You can use it for lots of things. White sauce, puddings, chafing—”
“Chafing?”
“In the place of talcum powder.”
“Well, thank you, Betty Crocker. Where did you pick up all this valuable information?”
“4-H.”
A.S. Byatt
CHRISTOPHER M. COLAVITO
Jessica Gray
Elliott Kay
Larry Niven
John Lanchester
Deborah Smith
Charles Sheffield
Andrew Klavan
Gemma Halliday