“I don’t expect there would be many women who would disagree with you,” Nessa giggled, “but something is wrong with him for sure. Losing his mother and then having to live with Uncle Matthew, who’s always been a womanizer, kind of ruined him. There’s something going on with him, and I’m just as nosy as I am bossy, so I intend to figure it out.”

“Good luck with that. Underneath all the good looks and charm is a pretty stubborn guy,” April said. “Some people are blessed, some of us aren’t.”

“It’s not a blessing if he’s dying of some weird disease that he got from a one-night stand,” Nessa argued as they moved on to the produce aisle.

“What would we do if . . .” April couldn’t make herself say the words.

“If he gets really sick, we’ll take care of him. He’s our cousin, and we’ll bury him beside Nanny Lucy. That reminds me”—Nessa put a bag of potatoes in the cart—“we should go to the cemetery and clean up her grave sometime this week, maybe even put some flowers out there.”

“I don’t want Flynn to die,” April said.

“Me either, and he’s probably not really going to die, but he’s got something wrong with him that he doesn’t want to talk about,” Nessa said. “Maybe he’s got something that Viagra won’t cure, and his days of chasing women are over.”

“Good God!” April gasped. “He’s not old enough to need the little blue pills.”

“Honey, he’s that age by the calendar, but he’s used up sixty years’ worth of his stuff with probably dozens upon dozens of women. Nanny Lucy always said that he was just like his father, and my dad used to pray out loud that I wouldn’t turn out to be a fornicator—his words, not mine—like my cousin,” Nessa whispered.

“How many sex years do you figure you have used up?” April asked.

“Not nearly enough,” Nessa answered. “I was so protected and sheltered as a teenager that I’m probably only twenty-one right now in sex years. It’s like dog years. How about you?”

“I’m pretty close to my real age.” April shrugged. “I’m not an angel, and I made bad choices, but FYI, I never turned tricks or worked the streets. We need to go down the next aisle. That’s where the detergent and cleansers are.”

“Are we going to make Flynn clean house?” Nessa asked.

“Hell, yes, we are.” April nodded. “Unless he’s working in the flower beds, or maybe painting the house. He can pull his share of all the work. Did you notice that the paint is peeling and the porch is down to bare wood?”