“They can all go fishing in hell, is what I think,” Joyce added, and a spew of tears flowed from her eyes. “Lord, Jesus, I miss that boy, Eleanor, just like he came out of me rather than Sarah.”

“I know you must,” Eleanor told her.

“Every time I was with him, I could feel Sarah right there, watching over us,” Joyce whispered. “I swear to Jesus, there were times I could hear her talking, just like she was in the next room, and once in a while, Matthew would kind of turn his head toward a door or a window and listen and then he’d smile, and I’d know Sarah had said something to him. I miss both of them so much it feels like there’s a fire in my chest. Only thing that keeps it from burning me alive is knowing they’re back together again.”

“It helps knowing that,” Eleanor replied.

The two women sat on the porch of the Reynolds home and gazed at the day, and the day seemed as quiet and as calm as the cloud-puffs that made lazy crawls across the blue of sky, doing slow somersaults on cushions of air.

“I’m glad you came by,” Joyce said after a long silence. “I guess they got you lined up to help with the cooking.”

“They do.”

“I’m so tired of that fishing, it makes me want to scream,” Joyce said. “Bunch of men acting like boys, having the time of their life and the women waiting on them hand and foot. You won’t catch me doing it.”

“At least the school makes a little money from it,” Eleanor said.

“I know it,” Joyce replied irritably. And then she gave a sigh.

“And that’s the part about it I can’t stand. Can’t even complain too much, and I guess you know I hate being in that predica-ment.” She let a smile come to her face. “But I’m still working on it,” she added.

“Boyd used to like it,” Eleanor said. “He never caught very much, but he liked being with the men all day.”

“I saw that man everybody’s talking about yesterday-that fish seller,” Joyce said. “Is he down there?”

“No,” Eleanor told her. “Not when I was there.”

“Good,” Joyce said. “Nobody’s blaming him for what happened, but if he hadn’t come along, Matthew would still be alive.” She turned to Eleanor. “I believe that, Eleanor. I do. I hope he’s moved on someplace else. Men like that, trouble puts them on the road in the first place and follows them every step they make. I took one look at him and knew that’s the kind of man he was.”

Eleanor could feel a stir of resentment rising in her. “Oh, I don’t believe that at all, Joyce. I’ve been around him. He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. Taylor was talking about him this morning, what a good worker he was.”

“Still, you can’t change what happened,” Joyce said stubbornly.

“And you can’t just say he brought trouble in here with him,” Eleanor replied.