“Then we both get some.” He giggled, and I saw the shadow of his dimple in the moonlight, in the same spot as my own.
“Deal,” I said, unscrewing the lid of my jar. “Just watch out for that little dip in the ground by the bench. Looks like your mother has been digging a hole.”
He turned around to acknowledge the spot before facing me again. I waited for him to take the lid from his jar. “Ready?”
He nodded, positioning himself in a runner’s pose, with one leg in front of the other.
“Set.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Go!” I shouted. He took off so fast that I was afraid he’d run into something or trip. But he was as sure-footed as a cat, quickly disappearing around the other side of the large oak tree dominating that part of the garden.
“Got one!” he shouted.
Feeling a little silly, I began stalking the garden, waiting for a firefly to alert me to its presence. They were everywhere, busy in their mating ritual of blinking hindquarters. I felt almost guilty interrupting them, but hoped maybe they’d make a romantic connection while held captive in my jar.
“I think I have about a hundred,” Owen called out.
I looked down at my own jar, where I had nowhere near that amount. “I think I have about twice that!” I shouted back. I smiled to myself. It was something my father would have done. My mother said he was prone to gross exaggeration, which was probably why she was so exacting in her praise and encouragement. I had sometimes found it deflating as a child, so much different from Loralee’s constant building up of Owen’s fragile ego.
“I’m not done yet,” he called, a definite challenge in his voice.
A hand touched me on the arm, and it seemed as if somebody had suddenly turned off all the light in the garden, and I was alone in the dark with just the feel of hand on my skin. “No!” I shouted, twisting around and raising my arms to protect my face. The jar fell from my hand, hitting the soft dirt by the side of the path with a dull thud.
“Merritt, it’s me. It’s Gibbes.”
I lowered my arms and looked into his familiar face. I was breathing heavily, a thin sheen of perspiration covering my body. I bent down to retrieve my jar, trying to hide my embarrassment.
When I straightened, he hadn’t moved. “You need to sit down.”
Hesitating only a moment, I allowed him to lead me to the bench, both of us walking around the dip in the ground. I clutched the jar in my lap, wishing I could somehow hide inside.
“How is Loralee?” I asked, steering the conversation to where it needed to be.
There was a short pause before he answered. “She’s resting now. She usually takes prescribed pills throughout the day, but today she couldn’t, because she forgot her purse. That sort of messed her up, but she should feel much better when she wakes up.”
“So it wasn’t food poisoning?”
He looked down to where his hands were resting on his thighs. “No. It’s not food poisoning.”
“Is she going to be all right? I saw her collection of pill bottles. I can’t imagine those are all for ulcers.”
He continued to stare at his hands. “Although I’m not officially her doctor, I can’t discuss her health with you. You’ll have to ask her yourself. Just wait until she’s feeling a little better, all right?”
“Now you have me worried.”
“Loralee is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. She can handle this, and would definitely not want you to be worried on her behalf. She promised she’ll be up making breakfast tomorrow morning.”
I let out a breath, feeling inordinately relieved that it wasn’t as bad as my imagination had led me to believe. “She’s awfully thin,” I said, remembering what she’d looked like while I’d put the bathrobe on her.
I heard the grin in his voice. “She’ll probably take that as a compliment, but, yes, she’s definitely too thin. See what you can do to get food in her.”
“Well, I know she likes fried foods. Maybe I could learn how to fry chicken.”
“That’s pretty ambitious, coming from somebody who was raised in Maine. Call Mrs. Williams. She’d be happy to show you how it’s done.”
I nodded as I desperately sought for something else to say so he wouldn’t fill the silence with questions I didn’t want to answer. “Who knows?” I said quickly. “Maybe I will be saying ‘y’all’ before the end of the year. And not thinking it’s really so hot when it hits the nineties with ninety percent humidity in the middle of May.”
“Do you miss Maine?” His voice was deep but soft and even, perfect, I thought, for a pediatrician. Calming to children yet authoritative to their parents.
“You should ask me that in January. You know what we call our four seasons? Early winter, midwinter, late winter, and next winter.”