“I’ll paint the coop tomorrow, Martha, then start on the porch roof the day after that. The chickens can move into a nice new house. I’ll show it to you in a few minutes.”

Martha smiled. A new house for the chickens.

“Leon?”

“Huh?”

“Pris? What . . . happened?”

“Oh, Priscilla. She thinks I’m out here after your money. She thinks we’re sleeping together. It’s just that she’s got an eye on your money and is afraid somebody’s going to undermine her action, that’s all. Don’t worry about Priscilla. We’re not doing anything wrong. I’ll have to talk to Ned, though. That girl is trouble.”

All Martha heard was “She thinks we’re sleeping together.” “Us sleeping together?”

Leon looked at her fondly. “Yes, us. You and me.”

Martha stood up to stir the soup. Sleeping together. Her mother and father used to sleep together in the big bed. Sometimes she’d look in there and they’d both be on Daddy’s side, with him facing the window, and Mother up close next to his back. It always looked warm and cozy. Sleep together with Leon? Sounded nice.

He drank another beer while she dished up the soup. As they ate, Leon talked on and on about how he was going to repair the porch, and Martha thought only of sleeping with Leon, his smooth warm body next to her in the soft bed. Then she had a new thought. She interrupted Leon’s discussion of tar paper and shingles.

“Leon?”

“Huh? What?”

“Why Pris mad?”

“I told you, because she thought we were sleeping together.”

“So?”

“So . . . so, I don’t know.” He waved his spoon around while he looked for an answer. He didn’t find one. “Maybe she wants to sleep with you.” That was a stupid answer, he thought. “Hell, Martha, I don’t know.”

Sleep with Pris. Pris didn’t seem warm, like Leon.

Leon finished his soup, ate the last piece of bread, popped another beer, and turned on the television while Martha cleaned up.

She joined him on the couch, watched him as he watched the television, tried to laugh when he did. Nice lines in his cheeks and around his eyes appeared when he smiled at the silliness on the screen. He drank beer after beer until his eyelids started to flutter down. Martha turned off the TV with the little box on the coffee table, and listened to the quiet. Not quite quiet. The crunch of tires outside in the driveway. Just someone turning around.

She nudged Leon, and he woke up partially, his eyes not focusing on her face.

“C’mon, Leon. Bedtime.” She took his arm and led him to the bedroom, where he undressed and slid beneath the covers. She put on her nightie and got in on her side of the bed, then slid over to cuddle him.