She could feel the old man breathing. She worked past his breathing and into feeling the rhythm of his heart. She felt the pulse of the man. She felt his eyes flutter. She heard a light sobbing sound he made, but she knew this sound was not coming from his mouth, only inside him.

“I miss her,” he said. But it was not his voice that said it.

“Sshhh,” she said aloud.

She felt a gentle warmth radiate from her palms. It was different from the heat she normally felt. His sadness seemed to scab over, and the feelings of loneliness began to die down inside him. She felt color and elasticity come back into his face.

It made her smile. When she opened her eyes, she saw him smiling too.

“She got your message,” said Marigold.

“She did?”

She removed her hands from his chest. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“How do you know?” he said.

“Because I can see it on your face.”

The old man was still smiling. “I feel better knowing she sees me.”

“Me too.”

Then the sound of whistling came from behind the screen door. It was not a steady melody, but a sound that could crack glass.

“Hey, that’s pretty good, boy,” said the old man, replacing his hat. “You keep that up and you’ll be a professional whistler one day.” He stood, bid them good evening, climbed into his car, and drove away.

The shirtless young man asked, “What’d you do to that fella?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I just listened.”

“Looked like you did a lot more than that,” he said.

“I think we all just want someone to listen to us.”

“Yeah?” the man said. “So who listens to you?”

Sixty-Three
Takers

Coot listened to E. P. preach. Once he got past the eerie feeling it gave him, it felt like being at home again. After all these years. Home. A very disturbing and blood-chilling home. But you can’t choose home. It chooses you.

Tents like this had been home for an entire childhood. White tents filled with sinners who wanted to get rid of their money in exchange for a miracle.

Excitement, that’s what revival preachers sold. Temporary excitement. And even though it was a big farce, Coot had never realized how much he’d missed this excitement.

When E. P. preached it made him feel like he was right back in the warm place he’d always been. Only his own warm memories were a lie, and he knew that. Time had a way of softening harsh things.