“That mean I have to put my shirt back on?”

“If you plan to eat, you do.”

The minute he smelled the food, he dusted off and dressed. It took her three trips to bring out the meal. Chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, fresh carrots, peas, and biscuits.

He just stared as she poured tea.

“You made all this in two hours?”

“No,” she said. “The pie is still in the oven.”

Ketch pulled out her chair and for a moment felt like he was on a date. He could never remember a woman cooking a Sunday meal just for him.

Laughing, she watched him taste everything as he put a serving on his china plate, then took another spoonful. When they began eating, his plate was piled high and hers looked like a kid’s meal.

While he ate, she picked at her food and told him about coming to live with her Grannie Eva when she was half grown. Tuesday swore she was Chicago tough when she arrived, raised by a mother who never had time for her. She was afraid of the country and angry at the world. Grannie Eva had treated her as if she were a great gift and, to her surprise, nothing she said shocked the old lady.

“She was shorter than me but four feet nine inches of pure love. I couldn’t hate her even if I tried.”

Tuesday talked about how everyone at school made fun of her accent and the way she dressed, but she loved coming home to this house. Her grannie had traveled the world as a kid, then the war came and, at fifteen, she’d married just to get away. Her husband, Frank, was older, a friend of Eva’s father. He treated Eva like extra baggage and that’s all she ever was to him.

Tuesday smiled as she remembered. “We might not have owned a TV, but we always seemed busy with just living. Grannie could cook all kinds of food.

“I don’t think she ever worked, other than to help Frank sell a few sculptures. She said she had a small trust fund. After Grannie passed, my mother’s lawyer took what was left in the bank when he visited after the funeral. He told me my mother needed the trust money, but he said the deed to the house had been made out to me. He also told me that my mother thought I’d never go anywhere, so she wouldn’t fight me for this worthless spot. She claimed she would rather die than live in Nowhere, Texas, again. Except for the lawyer, I haven’t heard a word from my mother since.”

Tuesday leaned back in her chair, and Ketch mentally filled in the story. “It must be hard keeping this place up.”

“I’m managing.” She looked over at the work he’d done. “Well, I’ve tried. Thanks for fixing the steps.”