to Sophie, return to my life in DC. I’d been antsy to go almost since I drove into town. Now that it was here, I didn’t want to go.
Today, Sophie had taught me a lesson about true unselfishness. She’d been willing to let me go, to do what she thought was right for me and sacrificing her happiness in the bargain. It was time I did the same.
“Sophie accused me today of being selfish.” Emmadean and Dormer glanced at each other but didn’t comment. “Seems to be a theme with everyone. Y’all are all right. I didn’t want my life interrupted. I wanted her to leave Charlie so I wouldn’t have to think of her down here, in his bed.”
Dormer shifted in his chair again.
“Oh, settle down, Dormer,” Emmadean said.
“I guess I’m more like Ray than I thought.”
“The good news is, it’s not terminal,” Emmadean said.
“Emma,” Dormer gently chided.
“No, I deserve that,” I said. “You’ve always given me everything, and I’ve never given you anything.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is, but that changes now.” I nodded, my mind working. “I need to call my boss.”
“Are you quitting?” Emmadean said. “But, it’s such a good job, and the benefits!”
“Make up your mind, woman,” Dormer said. “You’ve been jawing about her moving down here for weeks, and now she’s on the verge and you’re mourning her loss of the government teat.”
“I wouldn’t call it a teat,” I said.
“Nora. Don’t you quit your job because you don’t think I can handle taking care of my wife, ’cause I can, and I will.” He got the set to his mouth that always told he would not be moved.
I laughed. “Selfishness isn’t terminal, but it ain’t instantly cured, either. I’m going to try to keep my job, work remotely. I might not be down here full-time, but I’ll be down here enough you’ll start to get sick of me.”
“Never happen.”
“Welp,” Dormer stood. “There’s things need doing.” He kissed me on the head. “Glad you’re staying, Bug, but I knew you’d stay all along.”
“Oh, you did?”
He held open the screen door. “Yep. And, I know it ain’t because of Emmadean or Sophie, either. You love them chickens too much to leave them.” The screen door slapped shut behind him.
“No, I don’t!” I called. “I hate the little fuckers!”
Emmadean held out her joint, and I shook my head. “He’s right, isn’t he?”
“Yes, damn it. I love those little bastards.”
thirty-one
nora
The Comanche Springs Dance Hall was tucked in the woods off a curvy oil top road about ten miles outside of Lynchfield. Horace Clark turned his barn into a hill country speakeasy well before the area became the Hill Country with capital letters, selling moonshine from his still to farmers and doughboys back from the war. It was men-only for years until the fighting got out of hand and Horace decided having females present would keep everyone on their best behavior. Or, at least they’d stop fighting over dominoes and cards and fight over women, which happened often enough, but his customers seemed to be more passionate about dominoes. As an afterthought, he laid down some planks in the back of the barn, got his half-deaf grandfather to pull out his banjo, and the dance hall was born. Nameless for years, until some drunk came up with Comanche Springs, even though the springs were a good fifteen miles away, on the other side of town.
The barn hadn’t changed much over the years. Boards got replaced as they rotted, the new lumber resembling Band-Aids until time and rain and wind weathered them to a uniform gray. Large openings had been cut on the sides to catch the breeze, screens covered the openings to catch the flies, and shutters to close it all up when the rain came. Ceiling fans hung down from the rafters to keep the un–air-conditioned air from being stagnant, and a large, ten-foot industrial fan sat whirling and humming in the corner near the bar, keeping the dancers cool while they waited for their cold beer.
I parked Ray’s ’85 GMC in a line of pickup trucks and stared at the dance hall. It was twenty thirty, thirty minutes after the party started, and the sun was still high enough that the Christmas lights strung up inside the hall contributed little to the atmosphere. Country music drifted through the open windows, along with laughter and the hum of conversation.
Avery, Mark, and Jamie Luke manned the registration table set up at the door.
“Nora.” Jamie looked behind me. “Where’s your terrorist girlfriend?”
“My