be wearing black to her wedding.”
“Ooh. Big talk from such a little man.”
“It ain’t the size of the dog that counts, buddy. It’s the fight in the dog—”
“Guys,” Mary Lou interrupted before the reference to size could turn sexual. And it would, as surely as men would be boys. “I’ll get you the cobbler, Nate, if you’ll promise to reserve a larger tux for the wedding while there’s still time. They may have to ship one in from another store location.”
Nate threw up his hands. “Forget the damn cobbler! Jeez, you’re worse than Barb. It’s not like I haven’t tried to lose weight. I have. It’s just that I’ve got this…condition.”
Mary Lou stared. Nate never lost his temper. “What do you mean, condition?”
Looking as if he wished he’d kept his mouth shut, Nate glanced from side to side, then leaned forward. Alarm shot through her.
“I saw a doctor in Dallas,” he confessed grimly. “There’s a problem with my stomach, Mary Lou.”
“Oh, Nate, no.”
“’Fraid so. Something called dunlop disease.”
“Dunlop disease?” She reached for his beefy forearm and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay, Nate. You’ll do what the doctor says and everything will be fine.”
Eyes cast down, he shook his head, his jowls swaying. “Ain’t nothin’ anyone can do. My belly done lopped over my belt, and that’s all there is to it.”
He raised mischievous hazel eyes an instant before he sputtered into laughter. Frank joined in.
Releasing Nate’s arm with a shove, Mary Lou felt her face heat. Gullible to the end, that’s what she was.
Still hooting, Nate pointed a stubby finger. “Got you good that time, honey, didn’t I, Frank?”
Frank met her narrowed gaze and wisely kept quiet.
Stabbing her pencil into her coiled hair, she stacked the men’s empty dishes with clattering force.
Nate sobered. “Aw hell, Mary Lou, I’m sorry for pulling your leg like that. This damn wedding is making me real mean. It’s all Barb nags me about day and night.” He rubbed at a water ring on the counter. “She expects me to be happy, ya know? But the truth is, I’ll miss Cindy somethin’ terrible.”
Mary Lou scooped up the pile of dishes. “Would you like that cobbler now?”
“Guess I’d better not.” He studied her closely and sighed. “Those cat eyes of yours are still hissing mad. I don’t blame you. I can’t expect you to understand what losing a daughter feels like.”
Her fingers slackened. Crockery hit the floor and shattered. Cursing, she lowered her knees to the black and white tiles and stared at the mess. She hadn’t dropped a dish in at least fifteen years.
“You okay?” Nate’s concerned voice drifted over her head.
“I’m fine,” she managed to croak.
“For a minute there, you turned white as a sheet. You see a ghost or somethin’?”
Did a memory qualify? “No. I’m fine,” she repeated, as much for herself as for him.
Grace rushed up, sympathy in her cluck and glee in her eyes. “Would you like me to clean that up, Ms. Denton?”
Mary Lou sent her a wry look. “No, just give Nate and Frank their checks, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Feeling as fractured as the smashed earthenware on the floor, Mary Lou struggled for composure. She’d thought her past safely buried. Yet one innocent comment had unearthed her clawing guilt.
Is she married? Is she a mother? Is she happy?
Not knowing sliced her heart. She bled as much now as thirty, twenty, ten years ago. Time had only changed the questions.
“Here you go, Ms. Denton.”
Blinking, she smoothed back her hair with trembling fingers. Irene had placed a whisk, dustpan and paper bag within reach. Mary Lou slowly began gathering broken shards. Movement flowed uncheckedaround her—a stream purling around the rock suddenly dropped in its midst. At some point Nate apologized again and left. Grace announced she was going on break.
Mary Lou’s awareness returned by degrees. She dumped the
“Ooh. Big talk from such a little man.”
“It ain’t the size of the dog that counts, buddy. It’s the fight in the dog—”
“Guys,” Mary Lou interrupted before the reference to size could turn sexual. And it would, as surely as men would be boys. “I’ll get you the cobbler, Nate, if you’ll promise to reserve a larger tux for the wedding while there’s still time. They may have to ship one in from another store location.”
Nate threw up his hands. “Forget the damn cobbler! Jeez, you’re worse than Barb. It’s not like I haven’t tried to lose weight. I have. It’s just that I’ve got this…condition.”
Mary Lou stared. Nate never lost his temper. “What do you mean, condition?”
Looking as if he wished he’d kept his mouth shut, Nate glanced from side to side, then leaned forward. Alarm shot through her.
“I saw a doctor in Dallas,” he confessed grimly. “There’s a problem with my stomach, Mary Lou.”
“Oh, Nate, no.”
“’Fraid so. Something called dunlop disease.”
“Dunlop disease?” She reached for his beefy forearm and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay, Nate. You’ll do what the doctor says and everything will be fine.”
Eyes cast down, he shook his head, his jowls swaying. “Ain’t nothin’ anyone can do. My belly done lopped over my belt, and that’s all there is to it.”
He raised mischievous hazel eyes an instant before he sputtered into laughter. Frank joined in.
Releasing Nate’s arm with a shove, Mary Lou felt her face heat. Gullible to the end, that’s what she was.
Still hooting, Nate pointed a stubby finger. “Got you good that time, honey, didn’t I, Frank?”
Frank met her narrowed gaze and wisely kept quiet.
Stabbing her pencil into her coiled hair, she stacked the men’s empty dishes with clattering force.
Nate sobered. “Aw hell, Mary Lou, I’m sorry for pulling your leg like that. This damn wedding is making me real mean. It’s all Barb nags me about day and night.” He rubbed at a water ring on the counter. “She expects me to be happy, ya know? But the truth is, I’ll miss Cindy somethin’ terrible.”
Mary Lou scooped up the pile of dishes. “Would you like that cobbler now?”
“Guess I’d better not.” He studied her closely and sighed. “Those cat eyes of yours are still hissing mad. I don’t blame you. I can’t expect you to understand what losing a daughter feels like.”
Her fingers slackened. Crockery hit the floor and shattered. Cursing, she lowered her knees to the black and white tiles and stared at the mess. She hadn’t dropped a dish in at least fifteen years.
“You okay?” Nate’s concerned voice drifted over her head.
“I’m fine,” she managed to croak.
“For a minute there, you turned white as a sheet. You see a ghost or somethin’?”
Did a memory qualify? “No. I’m fine,” she repeated, as much for herself as for him.
Grace rushed up, sympathy in her cluck and glee in her eyes. “Would you like me to clean that up, Ms. Denton?”
Mary Lou sent her a wry look. “No, just give Nate and Frank their checks, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Feeling as fractured as the smashed earthenware on the floor, Mary Lou struggled for composure. She’d thought her past safely buried. Yet one innocent comment had unearthed her clawing guilt.
Is she married? Is she a mother? Is she happy?
Not knowing sliced her heart. She bled as much now as thirty, twenty, ten years ago. Time had only changed the questions.
“Here you go, Ms. Denton.”
Blinking, she smoothed back her hair with trembling fingers. Irene had placed a whisk, dustpan and paper bag within reach. Mary Lou slowly began gathering broken shards. Movement flowed uncheckedaround her—a stream purling around the rock suddenly dropped in its midst. At some point Nate apologized again and left. Grace announced she was going on break.
Mary Lou’s awareness returned by degrees. She dumped the
Similar Books
