Sylvie
“More iced tea?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “It’s very good.”
“It’s the mint,” she says, “I grow it out back.” At the fridge she fumbles around a little for the pitcher. She sniffs the spout, and then I’m sure that the film over her eyes isn’t shadow, but a pair of cataracts.
“Mamaw,” Knox says gently, a stack of unopened envelopes in his hand. “You haven’t been cashing your checks.”
She doesn’t hear him, or pretends she doesn’t. When she refills my glass she somehow doesn’t spill a drop.
He’s still going through her mail. “Property tax bill, I think,” he murmurs.
He looks at me with a grin. “The debt. Like Miss Mara said.” There’s relief in his voice.
He continues. “Light bill, water—Mamaw, some of these say final notice. I’m gonna take some time this week and get it all sorted out, okay? Have your eyes gotten worse recently?”
His grandma hums a little. “Jessie, the neighbor girl, was coming over sometimes to help. But her husband started his own church and now they live in Brevard. That was a month ago, maybe.”
“We’ll get you an eye appointment, too,” Knox says. “I’ll make the calls,” and she doesn’t say anything, just fumbles for his big hand with her tiny veined one. On the floor under the table, Winslow wags his tail, thumping the table leg over and over. Bilbo dozes beside him.
A LITTLE LATER
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I’ve hauled you all the way across the continental US,” I tell him. “But the grocery store? That’s a step too far.” We’re already down the road. My Maps app says the Ingles is fifteen minutes away.
“I appreciate it. That’s one thing off the list. The next thing is to get under the hood of her Buick and take a look. I’m hoping it’s just a dead battery. I don’t think she’s been driving it.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” I tell him, “given her eyesight.”
“You’re right.”
“I’m so happy you’re here, Knox. I don’t know how you knew she needed you. I think maybe you have a special antenna for people needing help.”
“I just wanted to see her,” he says. “And I thought maybe she’d want to see me. I’m glad I was right.”
I touch his shoulder. “Do you think she’ll let me make her dinner? I know people can be possessive about their kitchens.”
“I think she will. But maybe keep it to Greatest Hits. Mac and cheese. Grilled cheese. Anything cheesy, actually. Just not the superfood salad with the chia seed dressing.”
“Hey!”
“I love,” he says, “your superfood salad. But I think it might kill my mamaw dead.”
A LITTLE LATER
I’ve wrapped the leftovers, but then to put them in the fridge I have to clear out the spoiled food, and once I’ve done that I realize I need to wipe it down before anything goes back in (and at least that’s a good use for the Seventh Generation spray I bought at the Ingles along with all the mac and cheese fixings) and then I run to the van to get my toothbrush and I’m pulling out the fridge drawers and cleaning the crevices inside, all the little crannies that have dark marks on them I think might be mold (I will never put this toothbrush in my mouth again), and that’s when Knox comes back down the stairs, his arms full of sheets.
“I changed up her bed,” he says. “I think it wears her out to—Sylvie, what are you doing?”
I’ve finally wiggled my toothbrush into the far back corner. “There’s some tomato sauce. Well, I hope it’s tomato sauce.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says.
“I know.”
“Seriously, I didn’t bring you here to—”
“It feels so good to be helping someone who needs help. Who wants it.”
He puts the sheets on the floor, sits next to me cross-legged. “There’s enough to keep me busy here, that’s for sure.”
And when I ask, he moves the fridge out so we can clean behind it, and then we throw out the toothbrush and wash our hands and go out to the van to kiss for a while and it’s not romantic, but it is.