“Well, you can stay here as long as you like. But if anyone asks, I get to say my undeniable womanliness turned you straight.”

“I make terrific Belgian waffles, with a wonderful peach compote. Just tell me what you want me to cook and I’ll cook it.”

She patted his cheek. “Not that anyone will believe me.”

She showed him to the guest bedroom down the hall. There were a few boxes of first-aid kits and three kerosene heaters in the room, but she’d been keeping this room mostly clear and the bed made with fresh sheets every week for over thirty years. There was a void—which still existed, just better concealed these days—left in her home after Evanelle’s husband died. During those sad days following his death, Lorelei would spend the night with Evanelle, but she stopped as she got older and wilder. Then Claire would stay the night sometimes when she was young, but she liked to stay at home mostly. Evanelle never imagined Fred would be staying here one day. But surprises were nothing new to her. Like opening a can of mushroom soup and finding tomato instead; be grateful and eat it anyway.

Fred put his suitcase on the bed and looked around.

“I was going to make some popcorn and watch the news. Want to join me?”

“Sure,” Fred said, following her, as if glad to be told what to do. “Thank you.”

Well, isn’t this nice, Evanelle thought as they sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. They watched the eleven o’clock news together, and then Fred washed the popcorn bowl.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Evanelle said as she took a can of Coke from the refrigerator. She liked to open it and leave it on her bedside table and then drink it flat first thing in the morning. “The bathroom’s down the hall.”

“Wait.”

Evanelle turned around.

“Is it true that you once gave my father a spoon when you were kids? And that he used it to dig a quarter out of the dirt when he saw something shiny? And he used the quarter to go to the movies? And that’s where he met my mother?”

“It’s true that I gave him a spoon. I don’t have the power to make things all better, Fred.”

“Oh, I understand,” he said quickly, looking down and folding the dish towel in his hands. “I was just asking.”

Evanelle suddenly realized the real reason he was there.

Most people tried to avoid her because she gave them things.

Fred wanted to move in to be closer, on the off chance she was going to produce something that would make sense out of everything happening with James, that spoon that was going to help him dig out of this.

Sydney, Bay, and Claire sat on the porch that Sunday, eating extra cinnamon buns that Claire had made from her regular Sunday order to the Coffee House. It was hot and things were out of whack. Doorknobs that everyone swore were on the right side of the doors were actually on the left. Butter melted in the refrigerator. Things weren’t being said and were left to stew in the air.