“Oh. Well maybe another time.”
“Yes,” she said. “Why don’t you ask another time? But do you want anything else? Any dessert?”
“I guess not.”
She put the bill on the table and carried the dishes back to the kitchen. I finished my coffee. Well that was foolish, I thought. She doesn’t need you bothering her. I got up and walked over to the register to pay. Jessie was clearing another table. I waited for her, then she came back and rang up the bill and made change and I started to leave.
“But, Pat,” she said. “Wait. Would you like to come to the house? I could make some fresh coffee.”
“I would, if it’s all right.”
“I’ll be here another hour or so.”
“Okay.”
“Say about seven-thirty?”
“Okay.”
She laughed. “Sure that’s okay?”
I grinned back at her. “I’m real quick. I guess I’m out of practice.”
“I know you are,” she said.
I walked on outside. I thought of taking something to her, some cake or cookies to go with the coffee, but the bakery was closed and only the bars and liquor stores and the 7–11 were open now at this time in the evening. So I went back to the office and worked for an hour and then waited half an hour longer; then I locked up again and drove over to her apartment on Hawthorne Street.
TJ and Bobby were watching television in the front room when I walked up onto the front porch. I could see them through the window. I rang the doorbell and Jessie came to let me in. “This is Mr. Arbuckle,” she said. “He owns the newspaper.” Her sons looked at me. “Can’t you say hello?”
“Hello,” they said. Then they turned back to the television.
Jessie led me out to the kitchen. It was clean and bright, with space enough for a large table and four chairs. “Do you want to sit down?” she said. “I’ll get the coffee started.”
“You have a nice place here,” I said.
“It’s all right. Anyway, it’s not too expensive.”
I watched her making the coffee. She had changed clothes since coming home from the cafe; she was wearing a long-sleeved blue pullover now and faded Levi’s and her hair looked freshly combed. When the coffee began to perk she sat down across from me at the kitchen table.
I don’t know what we talked about that first evening—well yes, I do know. We talked about ourselves, about her childhood in Tulsa, her crippled mother and about her brothers and her father, and I told her a little of growing up in Holt. It was awkward at first. We drank several cups of coffee and at nine-thirty Jessie said, “Excuse me a minute,” and went into the front room. She told the boys they had to go to bed now. They turned the television off and came through the kitchen to enter the bathroom. I was still sitting at the table and as they passed through the room they looked suspiciously at me. When the bathroom door was shut I could hear them brushing their teeth and whispering to one another. Then they came out and stood beside the table while Jessie kissed them. “Go to bed now. And no funny stuff. Okay?”
They looked at me once more. “Good night,” I said.
“Good night,” TJ said. He poked at Bobby.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to tell him good night.”
“I don’t even know who he is.”
“Tell him good night anyway.”
“Good night,” Bobby said. Then he walked out of the kitchen and TJ followed him.
“Oh my,” Jessie said. She laughed and made a face. “Such manners.”
“It’s all right. You’ve done a terrific job raising them. They’re good kids.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. You have a right to be proud of them.”
She reached across the table and touched my hand. “Thank you. You’re a nice man. Did you know that?”
“I’m not so nice.”