When he looked out his window, he saw a shape sitting on a bench. He knew who it was even though her hair was over her face and her face was in her hands. He had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

He opened the screen door on the back porch, careful not to let it slap shut. “Judy,” he whispered. “Judy, is that you?”

The quiet sobbing coming from the silhouette stopped.

“Judy, what’s wrong?” He could see his own breath when he said it.

No answer.

He walked near her, barefoot in the ice-hardened grass.

“Go away,” she said.

“Are you outta your mind? It’s freezing out here.”

“Go away, I said.”

It crushed him. He almost turned around and left, but he thought better of it. He sat beside her on the bench. He could sense that she wished he hadn’t. This made him hurt. She was good at hurting him. He loved this girl, even though she usually made him feel like a bumbling fool.

She was freezing, shivering from the cold. He scooted close to her and held her near him to warm her.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She sighed at him. “You wouldn’t understand, Coot.”

There was vinegar in her voice. He felt like a child beside her, even though she was three years younger than he was. She sat staring into the coldness. Her posture told him she wanted him gone, but she was too cold to do anything about it. So they listened to the sounds of the earth.

“Maybe I would understand,” Coot said.

“You ever been in love?” she asked.

Coot was so grateful for a sincere question from her, he almost sang a hymn. “Sure I have.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lotsa times,” he lied.

And in that moment, Judy seemed to take Coot a little more seriously. She scooted away from him and turned to face him. “You have?”

“Oh sure.”

“With who?”

Coot thought to himself about what his next words would be. He rubbed his hands together and thought very hard. It was important not to look like a complete toadstool before a girl like Judy Bronson. He wanted to appear to be a man of the world, a man who knew things.

“Her name was Evelyn,” he said.

“Evelyn. That’s a pretty name.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, mustering up the most casual-sounding voice he could. “Old Evelyn, she was a heartbreaker.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” said Coot. “She was a . . . a . . .” And Coot’s mind went blank for a moment. He was caught between his own words without a safety net. He was sinking fast. “A schoolteacher,” Coot blurted out. “She was a schoolteacher, and I was in a traveling western show.”

Judy frowned. “A western show? You?”

He was laying it on pretty thick.

“What’d you do in the show?”