She leaned away from him. Howard rested his hands on the counter edge behind her, still keeping her within his arms.

“I do wonder, Howard,” she said quietly. “But I won’t pry. Young folks need to work things out on their own. They just don’t seem to appreciate all our hard-earned wisdom.” The joke fell a little flat. “Does Mary Beth confide in you?”

“Sometimes. Not recently. Maybe I shouldn’t ask.” He straightened, letting her step away from the sink area. “I do have an interest in the outcome. It’s a tricky situation, with them being engaged and all, now that you and I have decided to keep company.”

“Mm-hm. It sure is. But Bobby Joe doesn’t seem inclined to confide in me.” Alma moved to the table, wiping the already clean surface with a dish towel until it shone.

“That’s his prerogative,” Howard said. “And I hope that everything is, as he says, basically fine.”

“Unless he’s lying to me,” Alma said with characteristic bluntness.

“Would he do that?”

“All children lie to their mothers.” She took the trouble to neaten up the paper napkins in the holder until all the corners came to the same point.

Howard took one of the vinyl-upholstered seats around the dinette, resting his hand on the table. “He’s not a child, Alma. Bobby Joe’s a grown man. You have to let go.”

Alma flicked the dish towel in his direction, which Howard dodged. “Did I ask for your advice?”

“No. But you know I meant well.” He pulled her down into his lap.

“Oh, Howard.” She ruffled his salt-and-pepper hair. “I don’t worry about him lying to me. I wouldn’t be much of a mom if I couldn’t figure that out for myself in a hot minute.”

“So what are you worried about?”

“That he’s lying to himself. Pretending everything’s fine when he knows it isn’t.”

The older couple stopped their gentle teasing and contemplated that possibility.

“I suppose Mary Beth might do the same thing,” Howard said resignedly. “Wouldn’t want her to spare me the knowledge out of respect for my feelings. But I’ll know, same as you. Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Deal. Shake on it.”

Howard gave her a reassuring hug instead and Alma settled her head against his shoulder. He took hold of one of her apron ties and pulled out the bow, holding the apron up for a second before he gave it to her.

“Did this come from a yard sale?”

“Of course. My entire collection does.”

“And how many do you have?”

She pondered the question as if the answer were extremely important. “Seventeen so far. If I spot a vintage apron with two pockets and lots of rickrack, I just have to have it.”

“I guess I know what to get you for Christmas.”