I ring the bell again and hear muffled noise from inside. I open the storm door, holding it back with my butt, and call through the door, “Unc? It’s Willow. I brought doughnuts.”
The knob rattles as it’s unlocked, and I’m not sure if Unc is opening the door because it’s me on the other side or because of the doughnuts. Either way, I’m calling it a victory.
“Willow? Girl, I wasn’t expecting you this morning,” Unc says. His voice sounds scratchy, like he hasn’t used it for a couple of days. I wave the doughnuts around enticingly, and he steps back with a sigh. That answers that, I guess . . . the doughnuts are my ticket inside. As long as I get one too, I can handle that.
Inside, my eyes adjust to the dim lighting and I get a good look at Unc. He looks like he took a trip to hell, walked through fire, and came back through the grease pits. His hair is slick with oil, but not smoothed back like usual. Rather, it looks like he fixed it a couple of days ago and has slept on it against every flat surface since. His face looks more heavily lined, even from just the short time since I’ve seen him, and I realize it’s because he’s gaunt and probably dehydrated. His eyes are glassy blue and staring at me harshly. Or what should be harshly but looks tired and weak.
Every nurturing cell in my body wants to force him to bed, tuck the blankets up under his chin, and feed him soup. If I so much as attempt to suggest that, he’ll kick me out onto my butt before I finish getting the words out. Alternate strategy time.
“Okay, lead me to a table where I can set these down because they’ve been calling my name the whole way here.” I hold the box to my ear and sing-song, “Willow. Eat me, Willow.”
Hank’s answering smile is tentative. “All right, girl. Come on in here. Fair warning, the maid ain’t cleaned in a while.”
“You have a maid?” I ask, surprised.
One of his bushy brows lifts sardonically. “You’re looking at him.”
That makes more sense. Unc is a do-it-yourselfer if ever I’ve met one.
I follow him into the den, then the small kitchen, where he waves a hand at the four-seater round table pressed up to the wall. I guess he only needs three chairs for poker nights. “Have a seat. I’ll grab us coffee and plates.”
“Oh,” I say with a start toward the cabinets myself, intending to help. But at his glare, which is gaining strength by the second by the sheer force of his will, I do as ordered and sit down to let him keep his pride.
He pours two mismatched mugs of steaming coffee and sets them on the table, then gets plates. I manage to pull two napkins from the holder on the center of the table and hand him one.
Quietly, he opens the box and takes the first pick, putting a bear claw on his plate. Licking the glaze off his fingers, he moans, “Mmmhmm, Darla makes a damn fine doughnut.”
I select the pink one with sprinkles that I bought hoping I could have it. I take a ginormous bite without even setting it down, open-mouth chewing as it dissolves into sugar in my mouth.
Unc chuckles. “Guess you agree.” He makes no move to eat his bear claw, though, seemingly satisfied with a sip of coffee instead. “What brings you by so early? Everything go okay last night?”
I swallow thickly, getting the doughnut down. “Did you hear otherwise?”
Oh, no. Chief Gibson probably already told Unc about my late-night guest at the bar and this is his way of getting me to confess.
Unc’s brow lifts and he stares blank-faced at me, straight as can be, with no hint of what he’s thinking.
I finally set the doughnut down and wipe the frosting and sprinkles off on the napkin. “Chief Gibson stopped by, though I guess you already know that.” His lips quirk, confirming my suspicions. “We weren’t doing anything, just talking. And we left right after the chief.”
Unc takes another sip of coffee. “And by ‘we’, you mean Bobby Tannen and you?”
My eyes widen in realization. “You had no idea, did you?”
He laughs at that, shaking his head. “Knew you two were getting friendly, but sometimes, it’s best to let the other guy show their hand first.”