The porch light had been left on for us when we got to the homeplace, but I didn’t see Daddy’s truck.

Maidie had heard us, though, and came to the door to peer out past the light and make sure it was us. “Mr. Kezzie’s gone over to Cotton Grove. Y’all eat yet?” she called.

I looked at Dwight and he shook his head.

“Thanks, Maidie,” I said, walking up on the porch, “but I’ve got something at the house and—”

“I’m not inviting you to eat here. I saved something from lunch and I made some fresh cheese biscuits just in case y’all get hungry later—for food, that is,” she added with such a sly smile that I knew she’d guessed.

I could never slip anything past her.

Plastic boxes stood neatly stacked on the kitchen table and Dwight carried them out to the truck. Maidie had been my rock Mother’s last summer, and as I kissed her warm brown cheek goodnight, I said, “What do you think Mother would say?”

“Well, honey, I reckon she’d say it’s way past time you quit messing around and did something sensible for a change. And then I expect she’d say for you to go on along now and fix your man his supper.”

We drove in tandem through the lanes over to my house and when we got there, we discovered that we were hungrier than we realized. I kicked off those shoes and dumped them in the Goodwill box I keep by the garage door and slid out of my dress and into a light robe while Dwight hung his jacket and tie over one of the chairs and started opening the boxes. I brought plates and utensils. We had our choice of practically everything that had been on the table at lunchtime, and Maidie’s hot cheese biscuits were just the right accompaniment to supper.

While we ate, I pulled out scissors and the stack of photos Dwight had dropped in my car.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

“You did say these aren’t needed anymore, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a glue stick in that drawer behind you,” I said. “Can you reach it without getting up?”

He could.

In none of the pictures was there enough of the woman’s face to form an image. I snipped the chin and mouth from one, the cheek and ear from another, hair and brow from still others. As I cut, I glued each piece to a sheet of paper as if putting together a jigsaw puzzle. In the end, one eye was still missing and the image looked like an abstract Picasso portrait. Nevertheless, it was enough.

“I’ll be damned!” said Dwight, reaching for a third biscuit. “Brad Needham’s a cross-dresser?” Then he laughed. “Bradley Needham, Lee Hamden. Of course.”

“Different strokes for different folks,” I said, staring at what I’d created and suddenly wishing I hadn’t.