“Boxes, hell,” she said with a toss of the head and a skeptical tone in her voice. “I think you’ve been spying on me. That’s what I think you’re really up to. I think you’re out here looking for love letters I might have thrown away or maybe pictures of some of my old beaus.” She lifted a hand and flounced her flaming red hair. “That’s what I think you’re really doing. I’ve seen how you look at me when you think I’m not aware of it.”

I hung my head in a gesture of guilt. “You’ve caught me, Dolores. I may as well declare myself.” I lifted my head, threw the stick I held to one side, and reached out my arms. “Come here, you fabulous stack of woman, you. Just let me get my hands on you!”

Dolores squealed a peal of laughter, leaped backward a good two feet, and pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You wash those dirty hands of yours first, and then we’ll see about that.”

I stopped and looked at my hands. They had gotten pretty filthy at that.

“If you really cared, you’d invite me up for a shower,” I bantered.

She gave me a saucy grin. “Keep it up, big boy, and I’ll make you show those cards one day.”

“Now that will be a hand to remember,” I replied before changing to a serious tone. “I understand you were just up in Atlanta, something about your son. Is he okay?”

The smile left Dolores’s face as she looked at the ground and shook her head in consternation. “That dumb-ass boy of mine,” she said, almost to herself, before looking at me again. “Lets his little head do all his thinking for him. I swear, those kids of mine are gonna put me in either the madhouse or the poorhouse. It’s just a matter of which one comes first.”

“I’m sorry, Dolores. Anything I can do?”

She brightened again. “No, sweetheart, not about that. But come by this evening and have dinner with me after happy hour. I’ll tell you all my troubles, and you can tell me yours.”

“Can I take a rain check on that? I’m already booked for this evening.”

“Got a hot date?” she teased.

“No, just something I have to take care of is all.”

“Well, yeah. First chance you get, come on by. I’ve got something I want to talk over with you,” she replied.

“I’ll do that, Dolores.”

“Good, now get your boxes and get out of here,” she ordered with a dismissive gesture. “I don’t want you trashing up the place. What will people think? Besides, it’s bad for business.”

“See you, Dolores,” I said as I bent to pick up the flattened boxes.

“You better,” she responded as she turned to walk away.