Beverly had been sad, but not lonely. There’s a difference. Even though all her friends were miles away and she only talked to them in letters, Reagan got the feeling she wanted it that way. Beverly had told her once she had a hundred books she’d planned all her life to read. If Reagan had thought about it at all, she probably figured that was why Beverly stayed at a quiet place like the home.
Jeremiah huffed. “She said it was because she couldn’t live with the memories of her husband and kids in town and she didn’t want to live with me out here.”
“I guess you two weren’t close.”
He was silent for a few moments. “I was in the army by the time she started school. When I came home, she was grown and married. We were never close. A part of me still thinks of her as that little girl I’d swing around. We never had much to say to each other after I came home from the war, but she was my sister and I want to do right by her.”
He shoved the money toward Reagan. “You go into town with the sheriff. Buy a new dress for Beverly, a nice one, and order a big bunch of flowers to set on top of the casket. Beverly would like that. Just tell the store to make sure Tyler Wright gets them as soon as possible.”
Reagan almost swallowed her gum. “All right,” she managed.
He wasn’t finished. “While you’re there, you might as well get yourself some clothes. Something nice for the funeral and whatever you need for school. I’m tired of looking at those you got on. I’ve seen refugees fresh off the boat who dress better than you do.”
“But . . .” Reagan couldn’t argue with his opinion of the clothes. They were hand-me-downs from the thrift store. But the money . . . She’d never held this much money in her hand in her entire life.
“If everybody in town thinks you’re my niece, you might as well look like you’re not living on the streets.” He stared at her. “When the funeral’s over, I’ll go into town and set up a few accounts for you so you can charge what you need at the drugstore and that Lady Bug store that claims to have everything females need. I’ll not tolerate excess, but I am aware a girl needs certain things.”
“You’re not kicking me out?”
“You got somewhere else you want to go?”
“No.” She almost added, nowhere that she could go, but she figured he already knew that if she was staying here.
“Spend what you need and put any left over back in this drawer along with the receipts.” He pointed at the square little drawer in the middle of the desk. “If you want to air out this room, you can. It’s yours to use if you need it.” He cleared his throat. “Beverly always liked to read in this room when she was a kid.”
Reagan twisted the roll of money in her hand. No one had ever trusted her with a dime. “Thanks for letting me stay . . . Uncle Jeremiah.”
She waited for an explosion, but none came.
He moved to the front door. She followed and they watched a battered old pickup pull up behind the sheriff’s car. “I’m the last Truman,” he whispered, more to himself than her. “If you want to pretend to be family for a while, I don’t mind.”
Reagan shifted beside him, guessing he wouldn’t welcome a hug. “If I go to town with the sheriff, how do I get home?”
“It ain’t that far. I’ve walked it many a time,” he said.
“But, if you want, I’ll drive over about five and pick you up near the post office. We could go to the funeral home and pay our respects. I imagine Beverly will be waiting there by then.”
They walked onto the porch just as Noah “Preacher” McAllen reached the first step. The old dog, who barked at everything, including fireflies, was licking Noah’s left hand in welcome.
“Who are you?” Jeremiah demanded. “Folks are wearing out my road today.”
Preacher removed his hat. “Noah McAllen,” he said. “And if you don’t mind me saying, there’s not much of a road to wear out, sir.”
Jeremiah
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