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“Coming,” she yelled. She opened the door a few seconds later, and it was obvious that she was nowhere near ready to go to dinner. She wore a pair of jeans with a white paint smear up the left thigh, a T-shirt with actual holes along the collar, and her hair in a high ponytail.
She looked like she’d just come in off the ranch.
She still had her palm wrapped, though the bandage was much smaller now. The first layer of stitches had been removed, and the doctors were pleased with her healing. She’d thought that meant she could start to do more, but she’d found out the painful way that she couldn’t.
“What’s goin’ on now?” Trey asked, trying to peer around her.
“TJ thought he could try making his own scrambled eggs,” she said, her expression frazzled. “He set the egg carton on fire. We’re fine. It’s all fine.” She turned and walked away from him, those narrow hips swaying and her dark hair doing the same.
“So I’ll come in,” Trey muttered to himself, entering the farmhouse and closing the door behind him. The kitchen sat at the back of the large space, and he followed Beth there. TJ sat on a barstool near the sliding glass door, and smoke rose in thin wisps from the kitchen sink.
“I can get this cleaned up,” he said. “If you want to go finish getting ready.”
“I’m fine,” she said, picking up the frying pan from the sink and dumping the contents of it into the trashcan.
Trey looked at TJ, who watched him with wide, remorseful eyes. Trey wanted to wrap the little boy in a blanket straight from the dryer, give him a box of candy, and hold him until he ate it all and fell asleep in a sugar coma.
That was exactly what his mother had used to do for him, and Trey needed to get over to his parents’ house and make peace with them. Sometimes they could just be so pushy, and he didn’t want to go to church.
His mother worried about the salvation of his eternal soul, but he’d told her it was his decision to make.
“Beth,” he said. “Let’s just reschedule.”
He expected her to argue, so when she said, “Okay,” and braced herself against the countertop with her one good palm, Trey was equal parts disappointed and surprised.
“Okay,” he said.
“My dad’s not here anyway,” Beth said. “I’ll go call him right now.”
Trey wondered if a date with her would ever happen. Right now, it wasn’t looking good for him. She left him in the kitchen with TJ, who hadn’t moved or made a sound.
“Are you in time out or something?” Trey asked.
TJ nodded. “Mom was mad about the eggs.”
“You probably shouldn’t be using the stove.” Trey wasn’t even sure how the little boy had gotten the burners lit. He’d have to stand on a chair to twist the knobs at the back of the stove.
“Yeah, probably not,” TJ said. “Can I get down now?”
“I have no idea,” Trey said. “I’m not in charge here.”
TJ balanced on the barstool and brought his knees up to his chest. Trey wasn’t sure if he should stick around and wait for Beth to get off the phone, or just go. He hated the awkwardness between them tonight, though there’d been a little these past few weeks as he’d come to help her every two or three days.
He’d come every afternoon and evening if she’d let him, but Beth was a particularly stubborn woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Trey had felt more like a nuisance than a benefit every time he came to help her.
Trey finally wandered over to the couch and sat down. Several minutes later, Beth breezed back into the kitchen. “I changed my mind,” she said. “I want to go to dinner.” She wore a pair of short shorts and a blue, green, white, and brown striped shirt.
Trey’s mouth turned dry, and he stood. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she said, barely meeting his eye. “My dad will be here in five minutes.” She looked at TJ. “Come on down.”
The little boy practically jumped from the barstool and flew into his mother’s arms. Trey smiled at the familial gesture, and he listened as Beth told him he couldn’t use the stove without permission.
“Tell me what permission is, baby,” she said, stroking his hair off his forehead.
“It means you tellin’ me yes,” TJ said. “If you tell me yes, I can do something, I have your permission.”
“Good boy,” she said. “You have toaskto do things, TJ. Grandpa is bringing pizza. There was no reason for you to be making eggs.”
