The smile faded as he nodded, holding several bags in each hand, trying to reach for the keys in his pocket. “Come on inside,” he said. “Is there something I can do for y’all?”

*   *   *

Caddy had been waiting for more than an hour for Bentley at a Huddle House down in West Point. West Point was about halfway for them both, Bentley saying he couldn’t make it all the way to Jericho today but they needed to talk. He said he’d heard about the trouble at The River. The shelves were bare and the freezers cleared out, running damn-near empty, and they’d be flat-ass broke by Christmas. Caddy tried to argue the point, not wanting to take another dime, but Bentley said keeping The River going was in all their best interests, especially for the folks who really needed them.

That was this morning. She’d driven straight south to the little glass-box diner off Highway 45, drinking coffee with a little cream and a lot of sugar and watching the cars pass by. A jukebox in the corner pumped out some classic George Jones and Tammy Wynette, “Golden Ring.” Caddy wondering just what Bentley had in mind for The River. He knew a little bit about the operating expenses but not everything. If they could just keep their doors open until Christmas, they could make it. Christmas was the best time for donations, and most of their grants would kick in at the beginning of next year. The last thing Caddy wanted was for Bentley to think she was using him or had been impressed with his family and money down in Pocahontas. If this deal, whatever it was, was to work out between them, they needed to have their own lives. The whole point for Caddy and for those she served was to never be dependent on anyone. That’s a sure-fire recipe for screwing up a person’s self-worth.

She spotted Bentley’s SUV pulling into the empty lot and watched him walk toward the diner. Caddy liked watching him move. He was a tallish, goofy guy with shaggy hair and nice blue eyes. The kind of a man who had good manners, said “yes, ma’am” and “yes, sir,” and held the door for her when they went out. Although that didn’t happen often in Jericho, Caddy not quite ready to step all the way into public.

“Is that Tammy Wynette?” he asked.

Caddy nodded as Bentley sat down at the booth.

“Did you know she was from Mississippi?” he asked.

“Tremont,” Caddy said. “Right up the road from Jericho. Some real country music royalty around here.”

“My mother said her music always made her cry,” Bentley said. “And your dad used to tell her she’d been a dear friend of his. He said her manager had been a real son of a bitch.”