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bs from my hands.
“There we go,” Evie repeats. She takes one bite of her biscuit and hands it to me. “I’m full.” I finish it in one bite, and she says, “You’re so gross, Grady Parker.”
I lean close and nudge her with my shoulder. “You love me anyway.”
Her cheeks immediately turn pink, and she looks everywhere but at me. I see Barbara-Claire nudge Junior and he nudges Barbara-Claire back. “I know,” I see him mouth at her, and then they both grin at one another.
I lean close to Evie and whisper, “Why are they being weird?” Goose bumps ripple down her arms. She lifts her hands and rubs at them.
Then she snorts out a laugh. “Well, Junior was born weird. And I’d assume that some of it has rubbed off on Barbara-Claire. They have been together a really long time.”
“Why do you think she puts up with him?” I ask her in a normal voice, knowing they can hear me.
Barbara-Claire says very loudly, “Because he’s really good at going downtown. That’s why I keep him around.”
Evie snorts and covers her mouth trying to keep her laughter in. A man in the row in front of them turns around and holds up his hand for Junior to high-five.
“Man’s got to have some talents,” Junior crows.
“Well, when it’s your only one…” Barbara-Claire counters.
Junior looks offended. “It’s not my only one. Remember that thing I did last Tuesday?” he whispers vehemently at her.
“You liked that more than I did, Junior,” she says as she rolls her eyes at him. The woman in front of her offers Barbara-Claire the high-five this time.
“I want to be like them when I grow up,” Evie says quietly. She looks at them and shakes her head, but I see it. I see the longing in her eyes. I know she doesn’t want anyone to see it, and she probably thinks that no one did. But I saw it. I saw it all.
16
Evie
I spend most of the morning at the paint store getting what I need for painting tonight. Dicky Johnson at the paint store assured me I needed tape to keep my edges clean, drop cloths, and some other stuff I don’t know what to do with. I got three different colors of paint, one for each bedroom, and a simple color for the living area and kitchen so they’ll match, and a whole lot of rollers, brushes, and trays. I load it all in my trunk and go over to the house around four o’clock, because Grady and everybody else is supposed to get there at six. Barbara-Claire and Junior are bringing dinner, and Grady is supposed to be bringing beer.
But when I drive up to the house, I stop short half-way down the driveway because the front of the house doesn’t look like my house anymore. Gone are the clinging vines that used to cling to the railings and the windows. Gone are the scraggly weeds in the flower beds. Gone are the overgrown, spindly-looking bushes that were next to the steps. The grass has been cut neatly, and the yard has been tidied. But what strikes me the most is that he did it all in a day. Every dream I ever had for cleaning up the outside of this house has been completed.
Grady comes walking around the corner of the house, carrying a weed eater, and he stumbles to a halt when he sees me. He looks down at his watch. “You weren’t supposed to be here until six,” he accuses. His brow furrows as he looks from me to the work he did and back. “Why are you here so early?” He leans the weed eater against the side of the house.
“What the hell did you do, Grady?” I stare at the results. He has added beautiful full boxwood bushes, interspersed with pink and white azaleas. He also planted mums and some fall flowers. I fling my arms, indicating everything. “Did you do all this?”
He swipes his cap from his head and plays with the brim of it, looking everywhere but at me. “Well, it wasn’t the yard fairies,” he mutters. He puts his cap back on and pulls it low over his eyes.
“You got rid of the creeping vines,” I say as I walk up onto the porch. “Did you pressure wash the house?” I turn to stare at him when I see how clean the windows and doors look, as well as the railings and the porch.
“Just the front,” he says. “I need to do the rest. It’s a bigger job than I thought it would be.”
“Grady…” I shake my head.
“You don’t like it,” he replies warily.
“Are you kidding?” My jaw falls open as he stares at me. “I love it.”
He finally grins, and his cheeks turn a little pink. He nods. “I’m glad you like it,” he says quietly.
“I don’t like it, Grady. I love it.” I stare in wonder. “How long have you been here?”
He shrugs. “Since about six this morning.”
“Didn’t you have to work today?”
