extra can of kerosene. “After the generator gets the house warm, use the heater to keep it that way, at least until Sela can get some braziers made.” He had no doubt she’d manage it, somehow, if there was a kiln anywhere in walking distance. He looked around. “I think that’s it. I have another stop to make, so I’ll be going.”
Jim approached with his hand held out. “Son, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us.” He nodded toward Mary Alice. “This makes all the difference.”
Ben shook the gnarled, bony hand, still vaguely surprised to be touching someone voluntarily.
The sun was getting low, the long day almost gone. He was hungry and tired, and that was the least of it. Part of him, if he lived to be a hundred, would never recover from how he’d felt when he’d been racing down the mountain in the dark, terrified that he’d find Sela dead in that store over some fucking gas and knowing he’d never forgive himself for not thinking ahead and knowing there was a slim window of opportunity for stealing it.
Talk about a moment of clarification. He’d known then that if she was just okay, dear God please let her be okay, he’d be rethinking what he’d planned for the rest of his life. In those plans, he’d been alone. For the first time in what felt like forever, he hoped he wasn’t alone, hoped he could handle the transition.
He was also inordinately proud of how she’d handled herself—with nothing more than a tin can plinker to hold off the thieves—but she’d probably never see herself as anything special. She would prefer working behind the scenes rather than putting herself out there, but when the occasion called for drastic measures she did what she had to do. He saw her as special, though, and that was what counted.
He never wanted to spend another ten terrible minutes wondering if she was dead. Everything had crystallized inside him during that short time, letting him see clearly what was important and what he could put aside.
All he wanted now was to see her.
Well, that wasn’t all he wanted, but just seeing her would make him feel better.
He began driving to her house, but when he passed her aunt’s yellow house he saw her white Honda there and whipped his truck into the driveway. He knew he’d be walking into a house full of women and he might feel trapped, but he’d have to tough it out. Before he got out of the truck he picked up a can of the food he’d had the foresight to bring with him, and put it in his coat pocket.
As he got out of the truck he looked around, paying attention to the sky, which had been sunny earlier but in the last hour a low, lead-colored cloud cover had moved in, and the temperature had taken a decided dip. Snow, he thought. Maybe not much, given it was still early in the season, but the weather had to turn sometime and he was betting on tonight.
He went up on the porch and knocked. In a few short seconds Sela’s face appeared in one of the panes in the door, and she opened it. “How did it go today?” Guilt crossed her face. “I meant to get back over there but I slept too long, and when I did go, everyone was gone. Who boarded up the windows? Thank you.”
She stepped back to let him enter, and closed the door behind him. He’d been right: he did feel better just seeing her, being with her. He liked how she’d immediately jumped to the conclusion that he’d been the one who boarded up the windows. “Some guy named Bob Terrell had some plywood to donate. He and Trey Foster helped. I didn’t expect you to come back over there anyway, you were wiped out.” The warmth of the house, and the smell of food cooking, enveloped him like a hug. How could he have forgotten? There was something about women, the way they took a space and without thinking made it into something softer and more comfortable.
Olivia sat on the couch, her eyes big with curiosity as she watched them, and a short, white-haired woman was stirring something in a pot set over the fire in the fireplace. Sela said, “You know Olivia. Barb, this is Ben Jernigan. Ben, our friend Barb Finley. She’s living here for the duration.”