listen.
She grinned to herself and took a long deep breath, letting it go as the store came into view. As she neared the porch, a laugh rolled out into the high noon sunlight. It was a luxurious sound, rich with patience and pleasure.
Angel froze. For a moment, she thought it was God laughing, just the way she always heard him in her mind, and had since she was a little bitty girl.
But God didn’t laugh out loud, not that Angel had ever heard, anyway. As she stood there frowning, she placed the familiar notes. Twenty years and she could still remember it—Jordan High laughed that way.
But ghosts, so far as she knew, didn’t laugh either.
Realization washed over her, and she pressed a hand to a place in her ribs that suddenly pinched. Sudden, emotional tears clogged her throat.
Isaiah. Only a year had passed since his last letter to her, but five or six had gone by since she’d last seen him. Somehow, she’d imagined that she would have some time to prepare.
And yet, there he was, coming around the corner of the store. Isaiah, grown into a man. He’d been a thin and leggy boy, with hands too big for his wrists and feet like flippers. Now he was a tall man, long-limbed and lean, with skin the color of oiled pecans.
As he noticed Angel, staring like she’d been shot, he halted. The small boy walking with him stopped, too.
She swallowed. “Hello, Isaiah.”
“Angel,” he said with a nod. His eyes, luminous and grave at once, took her measure as surely as she took his.
She found it hard to keep looking at him, harder still to stop. “Your mama didn’t mention you were home when I saw her last night.”
“I asked her not to.”
“Oh.” The word came out a little airless and she tried to think of normal things you might ask some returned soldier, a person who was essentially a stranger. Except that he wasn’t, not really. She cleared her throat. “How long you been back?”
“Got home the day after they buried your daddy.” His voice had grown deep on his travels, and some of Texas was gone from it, replaced with a hint of places Angel had never seen. “I’m real sorry.”
She shifted under the warming sun, trying to swallow the quick grief swelling in her throat. Waving toward the porch, she asked, “Y’all want some tea? I have some made.”
“No, thank you.” Isaiah glanced up the road. “We just stopped for a minute.”
Angel shaded her eyes to look up at him. The sun haloed his proud, well-shaped head and tipped the edges of his ears, throwing his face into shadow. “You look well, Isaiah. The Army must have done you some good.”
He shrugged. “Some good, some bad.”
“I sure didn’t expect to ever see you in Gideon again.”
“Brought Mrs. Pierson’s niece home to her. I don’t aim to stay. “The thought seemed to give him some pause, for his eyes narrowed briefly before they fixed on Angel again. His mouth moved, pursed and relaxed. “I hear your roof is ruined.”
“Been going a long time,” Angel agreed. “This last rain did it in.”
“I come to say I’ll fix it for you.”
Angel made a dismissive noise, halfway between a laugh and a snort. “I don’t have any money.” She shook her head. “And I won’t have any. Cost me everything I had to bury my daddy.”
He measured the roof with his eyes for a minute. “That man got me out of here when there were folks who would have gladly seen me go straight to hell.” He looked at her. “I’ll take care of it.”
She hesitated. It gave her a worrisome ache in her shoulders to think of him here, after all this time, working so close by.
“What else you gonna do?” he prodded.
“I don’t know.” She looked at the roof. Even at this distance, it was plainly shredded. “I just can’t let you do it all for nothing.”
“You been doing for people your whole life,” he said quietly. “Let somebody do something for you.”
Biting her lip in indecision, she made herself look at his face. His dark eyes,
She grinned to herself and took a long deep breath, letting it go as the store came into view. As she neared the porch, a laugh rolled out into the high noon sunlight. It was a luxurious sound, rich with patience and pleasure.
Angel froze. For a moment, she thought it was God laughing, just the way she always heard him in her mind, and had since she was a little bitty girl.
But God didn’t laugh out loud, not that Angel had ever heard, anyway. As she stood there frowning, she placed the familiar notes. Twenty years and she could still remember it—Jordan High laughed that way.
But ghosts, so far as she knew, didn’t laugh either.
Realization washed over her, and she pressed a hand to a place in her ribs that suddenly pinched. Sudden, emotional tears clogged her throat.
Isaiah. Only a year had passed since his last letter to her, but five or six had gone by since she’d last seen him. Somehow, she’d imagined that she would have some time to prepare.
And yet, there he was, coming around the corner of the store. Isaiah, grown into a man. He’d been a thin and leggy boy, with hands too big for his wrists and feet like flippers. Now he was a tall man, long-limbed and lean, with skin the color of oiled pecans.
As he noticed Angel, staring like she’d been shot, he halted. The small boy walking with him stopped, too.
She swallowed. “Hello, Isaiah.”
“Angel,” he said with a nod. His eyes, luminous and grave at once, took her measure as surely as she took his.
She found it hard to keep looking at him, harder still to stop. “Your mama didn’t mention you were home when I saw her last night.”
“I asked her not to.”
“Oh.” The word came out a little airless and she tried to think of normal things you might ask some returned soldier, a person who was essentially a stranger. Except that he wasn’t, not really. She cleared her throat. “How long you been back?”
“Got home the day after they buried your daddy.” His voice had grown deep on his travels, and some of Texas was gone from it, replaced with a hint of places Angel had never seen. “I’m real sorry.”
She shifted under the warming sun, trying to swallow the quick grief swelling in her throat. Waving toward the porch, she asked, “Y’all want some tea? I have some made.”
“No, thank you.” Isaiah glanced up the road. “We just stopped for a minute.”
Angel shaded her eyes to look up at him. The sun haloed his proud, well-shaped head and tipped the edges of his ears, throwing his face into shadow. “You look well, Isaiah. The Army must have done you some good.”
He shrugged. “Some good, some bad.”
“I sure didn’t expect to ever see you in Gideon again.”
“Brought Mrs. Pierson’s niece home to her. I don’t aim to stay. “The thought seemed to give him some pause, for his eyes narrowed briefly before they fixed on Angel again. His mouth moved, pursed and relaxed. “I hear your roof is ruined.”
“Been going a long time,” Angel agreed. “This last rain did it in.”
“I come to say I’ll fix it for you.”
Angel made a dismissive noise, halfway between a laugh and a snort. “I don’t have any money.” She shook her head. “And I won’t have any. Cost me everything I had to bury my daddy.”
He measured the roof with his eyes for a minute. “That man got me out of here when there were folks who would have gladly seen me go straight to hell.” He looked at her. “I’ll take care of it.”
She hesitated. It gave her a worrisome ache in her shoulders to think of him here, after all this time, working so close by.
“What else you gonna do?” he prodded.
“I don’t know.” She looked at the roof. Even at this distance, it was plainly shredded. “I just can’t let you do it all for nothing.”
“You been doing for people your whole life,” he said quietly. “Let somebody do something for you.”
Biting her lip in indecision, she made herself look at his face. His dark eyes,
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