She believed him, even though she didn’t want to. She wandered into her cell, sat on the cot, and buried her head in her hands. The pure emotion hit her without warning. It swelled within her, and it made her feel so alone.

The young man sat beside her. He held her tight. It was as though he sensed no boundary between them.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m the Great Cooter-tastic.”

Seventy-Eight
Bearer of News

Miss Warner’s small kitchen was lit by the single bulb hanging over the breakfast table. The wood planks in the room looked aged and splintery. A lot like Miss Warner could be if you caught her in the wrong mood. Once, long ago, she had thrown a dictionary at Paul’s head during an argument. Not a metaphorical one, a real, unabridged dictionary.

Ruth watched Pete tell her and Vern the news. She watched him without really paying attention to his words. Pete’s face was lit by the yellow light with deep shadows on it. He was handsome, yes. But he was more than that. He was the rest of her life.

She could tell Pete was using as much internal strength as he had in him. Ruth could tell it was hard for him by the way he kept swallowing.

He told Miss Warner that he loved Ruth. And beneath the hard glare of Miss Warner, his explanation seemed juvenile. She had that effect on people. He tried to use bigger words. But even so, no matter how he said it, it came out sounding juvenile.

Miss Warner’s first words were, “You’re practically brother and sister. What will people say? This is an abomination, a humiliating tragedy, and I won’t have it, not in my house. I never expected this of you, Pete.”

So far, so good.

Vern only looked into his lap when Pete delivered the news. And Ruth kept her mouth closed, just the way Pete had begged her to. It was difficult. Ruth had more spirit than anyone at the table. She would’ve let the old woman have it. But the last thing Pete said he wanted was for a brawl to erupt between two women whom Paul had cared for.

Finally Miss Warner stood and left the room. She left without giving her blessing. Then she shut the door to her bedroom. She didn’t slam it, but she shut it hard enough to make the lightbulb above the table swing back and forth. Ruth knew Pete must feel like a fool. She knew he was embarrassed.

Vern rested his paw on Pete’s shoulder. “She be alright, Pete. She be just fine. You leave her to me.”

“She hates me,” said Pete.