‘I hear you. How’s business?’

‘Pickin’ up a teensy bit!’

‘Great! Glad to hear it.’

‘I’ve decided to give ten percent of all spray tan sales to th’ Children’s Hospital in Wesley. They say you’re a real good customer—or whatever you call it.’

‘We’ll be donors together. That’s wonderful, Shirlene. Thank you.’

‘Plus—I’ve decided to do it whether business is good or not.’

‘That’s the ticket! You’ll be richly blessed.’ He seldom encountered this especially insightful style of philanthropy.

‘An’ since y’all won’t give me any help to meet a nice man, I have taken on th’ job myself.’

‘It’s come to that!’

‘I went online.’

He put a gentle squeeze on an avocado.

‘They give you five free samples to lure you in, but listen to this—they all looked like my granpaw! Th’ first one could have been on th’ ground at Iwo Jima, but still very jaunty according to his bio, which I think his great-great-granddaughter wrote. I could pay respects for his service to our country, but as far as—’

The price of lemons these days . . . unbelievable. ‘How were the other four?’

‘You should have seen th’ next one, he was from Memphis. His guitar was in the shape of a crocodile plus all his fingers were tattooed and he had more wrinkles than a Georgia road map. Then one had this huge dog—in the picture he was bundled up with that thing, it was big as a house. His bio said it was th’ light of his life.’ She shivered. ‘Think about that.’

Oh, for a homegrown tomato, but their prime had come and gone. He squinted at the offering of beets.

‘Then there was one with facial hair, I cannot stand facial hair. For one thing, way too much upkeep.’

He passed on to the limes. ‘What about the other fellow?’

‘They wouldn’t give me a picture of him.’

‘Not a good sign.’

‘Delete, delete, delete, that’s today’s courtin’ for you. So they gave me this bonus offer to keep me on th’ hook. One last chance to make up my mind and put thirty-four ninety-five on my card. This one had a motorcycle with a sidecar—they showed his picture and he wasn’t too bad. But—and here’s th’ kicker—eighty-five years old! What do you think is goin’ on?

‘When I was fillin’ in th’ application, I clearly remember typin’ in fifty-eight as th’ max age.’ She paused, startled, smacked her forehead. ‘Oh, please! I just realized—I’m dyslexic! I prob’ly typed in eighty-five!’

‘That’ll do it.’

‘All this is happenin’ ’cause y’all won’t give me any help.’

‘Shirlene, Shirlene, there is no help to give. This is Mitford.’ He liked nothing better than offering help to one and all, but the Cupid business was totally out of his precinct. He felt mildly guilty. ‘Thanks again for what you’re doing for Children’s Hospital. Ride over sometime with my wife and me and see your generosity at work.’

‘Great. Okay. Will do. So I better get out of here. I’m playin’ Scrabble tonight online, an’ whippin’ up a few Brussels sprouts. Do y’all ever do that?’

‘Not terribly often,’ he said.

•   •   •

AS HE HEADED SOUTH toward home, J.C. was hoofing north.

‘I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. Nobody answers the phone at your place, nobody comes to the door. What’s th’ deal?’

The bag of groceries was heavier than he intended. ‘Have to keep moving. Perishables.’

‘I hear you saved Henry Talbot’s life.’

‘I have nothing to say.’ He walked on.

‘There’s a rumor you checked him into ER Saturday night.’

He took the Fifth.

‘I’ll talk to Wilson.’

‘Wilson will have nothing to say.’

‘Adele and I just got back in town; I’ve got to put this thing to bed for Thursday. You may as well cooperate—I’m headed to the MPD.’

‘There was no police report, so the MPD will have nothing to say.’

‘The night shift at the hospital, they’ll tell me plenty.’

‘As you know, hospital staff can’t speak on private health matters, except anonymously. Which reduces any possible story to hearsay, gossip, and rumor.’

‘You could help me out here, dadgummit—did Talbot try to kill himself?’

‘What he did or didn’t do is nobody’s business but the Talbots’. The only news here is that he left Lord’s Chapel under whatever circumstances the vestry cares to disclose.’

‘People love to talk in this town. One way or th’ other, I can get a story.’

He stopped for a moment, shifted the bag to the other arm. ‘I read a line in the Muse recently. It stated, with some pride: We print good news. Enough damage has been done, J.C. Leave it alone.’

He walked on.

Debris hurtling into the air and falling, falling.

•   •   •

‘MELITA, DOMI ADSUM!’ he shouted as he came in the side door. Cynthia waved from the kitchen.

‘Or, to translate: Honey, I’m home.’

‘How was it on the job site?’ she said.

He set the bag on the counter, gave his good dog a scratch on the head. ‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘Good. What’s this?’

‘Among other things, fresh pasta. Free sample. Avis says let him know how we like it. He’s setting up a pasta station on Wednesdays and Fridays. Homemade on the spot.’

‘Proof that Mitford takes care of its own.’

‘Cook five to six minutes, toss with olive oil, grate a little parmesan, and we’re done.’

‘I’ll cook, toss, grate, serve, and try to make interesting conversation.’

‘And I’ll wash up,’ he said.

She gave him a hug. ‘How does it look so far?’

‘It’ll be beautiful, I think, though more work than I had in mind. If nobody else enjoys it, you and I will. We can walk down there on summer evenings—sit on a bench, make out . . .’

‘My favorite.’

‘How did your work go?’

‘Still hard.’ She rubbed her eyes in that way grown too familiar. ‘I would love this book to be more than a book, somehow. Flaps and pop-ups and sounds, things going on. But maybe just being a book is enough. You look exhausted.’

‘Mostly mental.’ He climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island. ‘I’m trying not to censure or chastise, just walk out something he needs, just stand with him as best I can. I don’t want to go the tough-love route or any of the other stuff that probably makes more sense.’

‘Drink some water,’ she said, handing him a glass.

‘In the end, grace may not be something the fallible human can extend. We can make each other happy for a minute or two, but I don’t know about grace, maybe all we can deliver is mock grace.’

‘I would take mock grace over no grace at all,’ she said. ‘Consider mock turtle soup. Not half bad, really. Then there’s mock apple pie.’

‘How can you mock an apple?’

‘With Ritz crackers.’

‘Surely not.’

‘It’s true. You can Google it. We had a call from Lace. She says don’t do anything fancy. No picnic in Baxter Park, just my grilled pimiento cheese for lunch in the kitchen. She says she wants nothing more than to be with us. She misses us.’

‘We miss her.’

‘She and Olivia are staying put in the evenings and Skyping Hoppy.’

‘A good plan,’ he said, heading upstairs.

•   •   •

WEDNESDAY MORNING was one for the books. He was so stiff and sore he could hardly get out of bed and sincerely wished he didn’t have to. He borrowed her keys and drove to the church.

When Harley went to pick up lunch at noon, the stiffness had improved, and the project lay before them in its own astonishing improvement.

Wearing bandannas, he and Sammy leaned on their shovels, eyed their work.

‘What’s it going to need, Sam?’

‘Red maple. About four yards to th’ right so it d-don’t grow onto th’ roof.’

‘Excellent. I agree. What else?’

‘Bench.’

‘Two, maybe?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What about topiaries in urns, either side of the door? What do you think?’

‘S-seem like more climbers would work. I’d run ’em on a trellis.’

More spraying and pruning. Nobody could ever again call him retired.