"Yeah. Someone!"

"Who?"

"His name's Woody. Woody Sams. And he's nice, Novalee. Real nice."

"Tell me."

"Monday night, I worked the late shift in emergency because one of the night aides is in jail. So Woody came in, dislocated shoulder and abrasions. Ran a motorcycle into the side of a pickup. Well, they patch him up and when he's leaving, he asks me to go out for coffee, but I tell him I have to get home to my kids and let the babysitter go.

So he asks me if he can come over the next night, Tuesday, and I say okay and he does. He brought a video, The Black Stallion, The Black Stallion, and some presents for the kids-a puzzle and some checkers. He really likes kids. Said he couldn't have any because when he was a teenager, he got the mumps and they went down on him and-" and some presents for the kids-a puzzle and some checkers. He really likes kids. Said he couldn't have any because when he was a teenager, he got the mumps and they went down on him and-"

"What does that mean? They went down on him."

"Well, you know." Lexie pooched out her cheeks, made a popping sound, then pointed to her crotch. "They went down on him."

138.

"Oh."

"Here honey," Lexie said to Baby Ruth, "you've got a piece of pickle in your hair."

"So did you and Woody-?"

"No! We didn't even kiss but once, when he left, but it was nice.

Anyway, he can't have kids, so I don't have that that to worry about. I think I like him." to worry about. I think I like him."

"You think?"

"Well, he's not perfect or anything." Lexie lowered her voice, pulled her mouth into a frown. "He chews tobacco. And he's an atheist."

"Oh, I guess no one's perfect."

"I know." Lexie shook her head. "But girls like us, Novalee . . . we don't get the pick of the litter."

"Troy!" The middle-aged man at the service counter yelled to the back of the shop. "Woman's here for the Toyota."

Troy Moffatt slid out from under the pickup, flashing Novalee a smile as he came toward her. "It's more of a problem than I bargained for," he said, wiping grease from his hands with a towel already black.

"Is it going to cost a lot?"

"Probably won't be too bad, but I won't be finished till tomorrow."

He dodged then, feinting as if she might be tempted to throw a punch.

"Well, shoot."

"You need a ride? I could run you home."

"No. That's okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

As she walked out, she heard him say something just under his breath, but she didn't turn, didn't ask him what he'd said.

139.

She had walked two blocks, was crossing the four-way stop, when a banged-up Ford pulled up behind her and honked.

"Come on," he said. He leaned across and opened the pa.s.senger door. "It's on my way home."

Novalee got in, shut the door. "You know where I live?"

"No. But wherever it is, it's on my way home." He eased the Ford across the intersection.

"Look, about this morning . . ." He cut his eyes at her and grinned.

"I'm sorry."

"That's okay."

"I just hadn't seen you around. I know most everyone who works here. By sight anyway."

"Well, I haven't been here very long."

"That's what I hear."

Novalee eyed him suspiciously, certain then he had heard about her and Americus, but he kept his eyes on the road.

"I'm really going to need that truck tomorrow," she said. "The woman I live with, it's hers, but she lets me drive it whenever I need to."

"It'll be ready by noon."

He lit a cigarette then. Novalee wondered if he chewed tobacco, too.

"I fixed a couple of things inside. Your radio and that dome light."

"Look, I don't know if I can afford all that. See, I'm going to pay for it myself. It's a surprise for the woman who owns it, but-"

"I ain't gonna charge you extra. But when I drove it, to check the brakes, I tried the radio and then I noticed the dome light, so I fixed 'em."

"Well, thanks," she said, sounding more angry than grateful.

140.

"You sell books?"

"What? Books . . . no."

"Well, you got a G.o.d's plenty of 'em in that Toyota."

"Oh, I forgot. You think they'll be okay . . . leaving them in there overnight?"

"You kidding?"

"I mean, they're library books. They don't belong to me."

"You think any of those boys workin' in automotive is gonna steal books?" He laughed then. "Now they might swipe a Willie Nelson tape or maybe a fishin' lure, but they ain't about to steal a book."

Novalee bit at her lip thinking how upset Forney would be if he knew where his books were.

"What are they? Love books?"

"No."

"I used to go with a girl that read them love books."

"Turn left here."

"She was all the time talkin' about the flames of love and . . . hearts on fire, and stuff." His voice slid into a higher range as he curled his lips around the words. "Oh, my burnin' soul of love."

When his voice broke, cracked like an adolescent boy's, Novalee laughed, and so did he.

"This is my street. I'll just get out here."

"No, I'll take you to your house. Which way?"

She motioned to the right. "It's the trailer at the end of the block."

"You want to go out sometime?" he asked.

"Go out?"

"Yeah. With me. On a date."

"Oh. Well, I don't go out. I have a baby."

"People with babies go out sometimes, you know."

141.

"I guess."

"You mean you guess you'll go out with me or you guess people with babies go out?"

He smiled and winked one of his brown sugar eyes.

"So. You want to go?"

"Go where?"

Troy shrugged. "To a movie. Dancin'. Shoot some pool. Whatever you want to do."

As they pulled up in front of Sister's, Novalee saw Forney on the porch with Americus.

"How about Sat.u.r.day?" Troy asked.

"I don't know."

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow when you pick up your truck. Maybe you'll know then."

"Thanks for the ride."

As soon as Novalee stepped out of the car, Troy backed into the driveway, then turned on his bright lights, catching her in the crossbeam. Blinded by the glare, she stopped, unsure of where she was going.

Chapter Fourteen.

M R. WHITECOTTON?" R. WHITECOTTON?"

When he turned, his eyes narrowed as he focused on hers.

"Do you remember me?" Novalee asked, suddenly afraid that he might not. "You gave me-"

"A baby book," he said, "and you took my picture." He reached out and took her hand in his. "I remember you very well," Moses Whitecotton said. "You like porch swings and Life Savers."

"I knew I was going to see you again someday," she said, surprised that her throat tightened, the way it did sometimes when she was trying not to cry.

For several moments after he released her hand, she left it hanging in midair, as if she hadn't wanted to break the connection.

"I've thought of you many times," he said.

"You have?"

"Many times."

143.

"That day," Novalee said, "all the things you talked about . . . I think about that. And I remember everything you said."

"Oh, maybe sometimes I talk too much." He turned his hands out, palms open, the self-conscious gesture of a man owning up to a weakness.