Page 109 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

Meme pointed the serving spoon at me. “Language at my table.”

“Sorry.”

Carson’s mouth twitched. “You got in trouble.”

“I noticed.”

Meme spooned more potatoes onto my plate. “Walter used to have a mouth like that too.”

“Used to?”

“Margaret trained him.”

“I don’t think anyone trained Dad.”

“Oh, honey.” Meme settled back into her chair. “Margaret Jones could make that man sit, stay, and roll over if she wanted.”

Carson laughed. Not the quiet laugh I’d heard from her before. A real, belly laugh. Head tipped slightly back. Eyes closing for half a second. The sound filled the kitchen.

Lunch stretched longer than I’d expected. Not because we talked constantly. Mostly because nobody seemed in a hurry. The kitchen windows were open, allowing warm air and ranch sounds to drift through the screens. A clock ticked somewhere behind me. Every few minutes, the old refrigerator hummed to life.

Meme made sure nobody’s plate remained empty for more than thirty seconds.

Jax ate enough fried chicken to embarrass our family.

Carson ate slowly, occasionally glancing toward the stack of mail on the counter, like part of her brain was still working.

I noticed when she reached over without thinking and cut a piece of chicken smaller on Meme’s plate.

Meme didn’t acknowledge it.

Carson didn’t seem to realize she’d done it. A tiny thing. Probably repeated a hundred times.

I found myself noticing those things with her. The quiet ways she cared for people. She didn’t ask Meme whether she needed more tea. She knew when the glass was low. When Meme dropped her napkin, Carson retrieved another before the older woman could bend down. When the sun shifted through the window and landed directly across Meme’s face, Carson stood and lowered the shade halfway without interrupting the conversation.

None of it was dramatic. Maybe that was why it stayed with me.

Carson had spent so much time insisting she could handle herself that I hadn’t considered how much of her life was spent handling things for someone else.

“Oh!” Meme and Jax had been talking about the festival in excitement. “I found my old cider recipe.”

Carson stopped eating. “No.”

“I didn’t ask you anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was making conversation.”

“You found that recipe because you’re planning.”

Meme looked toward Jax. “She’s suspicious.”

“Usually means you’re guilty,” he said.

“Traitor.”

“I’ve known her for an hour. She feeds me.”