in Eddie’s room. Tobias got himself a new baseball card. They got flashlights and they’re looking at his collection under a sheet tent. I helped them make it so they’d not use good sheets.”
“How long’s Bender been out?”
“That man’s so sedated, he’s been out two hours. I did get him to eat. He’s got his medical books all around that hospital bed. You think he’d be tired of reading nothing but medical books.”
“He’s working on the cure for brain cancer.”
“I feel sorry for him, looking so weak and helpless like that. But don’t tell him. He don’t like pity,” said Sherry.
It occurred to Saphora that Sherry was telling her things about Bender as if she knew him better than Saphora did. Had she been doing that so long that Saphora just accepted it as part of the arrangement? Had he even asked about her? “He wasn’t worried about me?”
“Asleep since nine, like I said. I told the boys to try and go to sleep by eleven. But it’s summer. I know how my son likes to stay up summer nights, so I’ve given them their space and all that.”
She was such a good soul. “I know it’s not easy being here, Sherry.”
“My mama loves keeping Malcolm. Besides, in the morning I’m taking a walk along the beach and finding me a chair where I can read my novel. You need me, you just page me.”
She cooked Saphora’s favorite guilty pleasure, egg and tomato on toasted homemade bread—egg lightly fried in olive oil, a sprinkle of sea salt, then a big slice of tomato from the farmer’s market, served as a sandwich with the bread she had baked that afternoon.
“I’ll take it upstairs,” said Saphora. Sherry followed her. She got out the breakfast tray and set it out on the deck. Then she moved the rattan rocker outside. “Your other chairs are soaked,” she said. She lit a candle and placed the sandwich plate on the tray. “The moon looks as big as Saturn,” she said.
The Neuse was churning out a ways from shore, like arms reaching to twist it like a sopping wet towel.
“I’m fine now, Sherry,” said Saphora.
“I’m down the hall if you need anything.” She hung out on the balcony for a moment, standing in the open bedroom door. “I know it’s hard leaving him downstairs and you up here. But I know men. I’m sure he’d move over, make room for his pretty woman.”
“Maybe so,” said Saphora. She told Sherry good night and then secluded herself out on the deck. The Neuse pushed the rain on past Oriental’s swelling banks toward the sound. She would take Eddie and Tobias bank fishing in the morning after pancakes.
Sherry was a good wife and mother. Her husband, Jerry, raked in a small salary repairing engines for a Nissan car dealership. Sherry invited him along every year for the Warrens’ Christmas party. He was a lanky black fellow, a little shy around the Warren men’s boisterous storytelling. Their son, Malcolm, looked like both of them.
Not living under the Warren roof gave Sherry a different perspective about them. She did not seem to notice the distance between Bender and Saphora, inserting herself into the gap between them naturally, as if it were a part of the job description. Or maybe sheknew more than she admitted. It could be that her comment about snuggling up next to Bender was her way of trying to salvage what had been dead for many years. Sherry was an expert enabler, of that she was certain.
A pinging sound caught Saphora’s attention. She thought it was the clanging of a bait pail down on the river. She finished the first quarter sandwich, dripping with yellow yolk. The sound continued and was too curious to ignore. She got up and leaned over the balcony. It was coming from the next-door neighbor’s yard again—that shoveling sound. It had to be the man she had met this afternoon. Luke, wasn’t it?
Eddie and Tobias were two windows down. If she called out to Luke they would stir and possibly come running down the hall, excited by late-night
“How long’s Bender been out?”
“That man’s so sedated, he’s been out two hours. I did get him to eat. He’s got his medical books all around that hospital bed. You think he’d be tired of reading nothing but medical books.”
“He’s working on the cure for brain cancer.”
“I feel sorry for him, looking so weak and helpless like that. But don’t tell him. He don’t like pity,” said Sherry.
It occurred to Saphora that Sherry was telling her things about Bender as if she knew him better than Saphora did. Had she been doing that so long that Saphora just accepted it as part of the arrangement? Had he even asked about her? “He wasn’t worried about me?”
“Asleep since nine, like I said. I told the boys to try and go to sleep by eleven. But it’s summer. I know how my son likes to stay up summer nights, so I’ve given them their space and all that.”
She was such a good soul. “I know it’s not easy being here, Sherry.”
“My mama loves keeping Malcolm. Besides, in the morning I’m taking a walk along the beach and finding me a chair where I can read my novel. You need me, you just page me.”
She cooked Saphora’s favorite guilty pleasure, egg and tomato on toasted homemade bread—egg lightly fried in olive oil, a sprinkle of sea salt, then a big slice of tomato from the farmer’s market, served as a sandwich with the bread she had baked that afternoon.
“I’ll take it upstairs,” said Saphora. Sherry followed her. She got out the breakfast tray and set it out on the deck. Then she moved the rattan rocker outside. “Your other chairs are soaked,” she said. She lit a candle and placed the sandwich plate on the tray. “The moon looks as big as Saturn,” she said.
The Neuse was churning out a ways from shore, like arms reaching to twist it like a sopping wet towel.
“I’m fine now, Sherry,” said Saphora.
“I’m down the hall if you need anything.” She hung out on the balcony for a moment, standing in the open bedroom door. “I know it’s hard leaving him downstairs and you up here. But I know men. I’m sure he’d move over, make room for his pretty woman.”
“Maybe so,” said Saphora. She told Sherry good night and then secluded herself out on the deck. The Neuse pushed the rain on past Oriental’s swelling banks toward the sound. She would take Eddie and Tobias bank fishing in the morning after pancakes.
Sherry was a good wife and mother. Her husband, Jerry, raked in a small salary repairing engines for a Nissan car dealership. Sherry invited him along every year for the Warrens’ Christmas party. He was a lanky black fellow, a little shy around the Warren men’s boisterous storytelling. Their son, Malcolm, looked like both of them.
Not living under the Warren roof gave Sherry a different perspective about them. She did not seem to notice the distance between Bender and Saphora, inserting herself into the gap between them naturally, as if it were a part of the job description. Or maybe sheknew more than she admitted. It could be that her comment about snuggling up next to Bender was her way of trying to salvage what had been dead for many years. Sherry was an expert enabler, of that she was certain.
A pinging sound caught Saphora’s attention. She thought it was the clanging of a bait pail down on the river. She finished the first quarter sandwich, dripping with yellow yolk. The sound continued and was too curious to ignore. She got up and leaned over the balcony. It was coming from the next-door neighbor’s yard again—that shoveling sound. It had to be the man she had met this afternoon. Luke, wasn’t it?
Eddie and Tobias were two windows down. If she called out to Luke they would stir and possibly come running down the hall, excited by late-night
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