His soft chuckle fills my ear. “That means, ‘How are you doing?’ ”
“You could have said that?”
“I did.”
It must be one more of those Southern things, like come see and make groceries. “The central air isn’t working. I don’t think there are any fans in this house, and I’m melting.”
“We can’t have that. Hang tight. I got something you need.”
I can think of a lot of things I need. At the moment, a new air conditioner is number one on the list.
Simon brings the next-best thing: a big fan and a six-pack of cold beer. “At times like this NOLA Blonde goes down easy and hits the spot.”
I laugh, but he’s right. Within a few short minutes, we’re sitting on the front porch, the steady squeak of rocking chairs on old wood lulling away my tension. “I never imagined that I’d one day be rocking in these old chairs. I must be getting old, too.”
“You probably have a few good years left.” Simon raises a beer to his lips as the setting sun washes the night sky in deep purple and orange.
Not so much as a wisp of a breeze tonight, and a scattering of fireflies twinkle and flash like tiny stars right in front of me and the depths beyond. “One or two before I get my AARP card, I suppose.” The scene is enchanting, and the rhythmic creaks of worn planks fill the comfortable silence. I take a long drink and it does indeed go down easy. “Jim picked up Lindsey earlier and they went to a movie,” I say as I lower the bottle.
“Hmm,” is his only response.
“Did Jim tell you she’s pregnant?”
“Didn’t have to tell me.” He raises his bottle again, and I watch as it seems to go down easy for him, too. “It was obvious the first or second time I saw the girl.”
Yep. I’m the only one who didn’t figure it out. “Lindsey says they’re friends. I think it’s kind of… odd.”
Again, “Hmm.”
“She’s going to have a baby in about three months.” I lift a palm inquisitively. “Why would he go out with someone who’s pregnant with another man’s baby?”
“I don’t ask.”
“It’s weird.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe for you.”
I point my bottle at him. “Are you saying you’d date a woman who’s about to pop out another man’s kid?”
“No. I wouldn’t, but Jim’s a different kind of guy. He’s lived a different life. He’s had some rough patches, and I imagine he sees her as someone having a rough time too.”
“That’s what concerns me. Lindsey’s naive for her age.” I look over at his profile, bathed in increasing shadow. “Now she’s pregnant and has no family to protect her. Mom and I are all she’s got.”
“Mais, you don’t have to worry about Jim Poulet, no. He’s the last person on the planet anyone needs protection from, believe me. There isn’t a bad or mean bone in his body.” He finishes off his beer and sets the empty in the cooler next to him. “He had a brain fever when he was a baby, and I think it burned up any meanness in him.” He pulls out two bottles. “Want another?”
I chug the last sip and hand him my empty. “How do you know him?” I ask, trying very hard not to burp like a teenage boy.
“I saw him picking up cans on the side of the road about two years ago. He had a big ol’ garbage bag full, and I thought if a man works that hard for cans, he’s likely to work hard for real money.” Simon screws off the top of the two bottles and hands me one. “I stopped and asked if he wanted to come and sweep up my shop, and he’s been with me ever since.” He drops both caps in the cooler. “He lived in Terrebonne Parish, and I didn’t know he walked to and from work for the first six months.”
“Well, he has a car now.”
Simon laughs. “He loves that Malibu. It looks like hell, but it runs good.”
“My first car was a ’96 Ford Focus I bought off my mom’s last husband. It was almost as big a piece of shit as Lester Doyle.” I take a drink, then press the cold, wet bottle to my hot cheek. “The car lasted longer than the marriage, though.”