Harley, so often included as family, would have Christmas dinner with his landlady, who was roasting a goose.

‘First he buys dentures,’ he said. ‘Then there’s the cologne business. And now roast goose. Do you think . . . ?’

‘Wouldn’t that be grand?’ said his wife.

‘I can’t imagine it. She’s an educated woman.’

‘He’s an educated man, remember? He majored in American history under Lace Harper, who also taught him to conjugate a verb.’

He shook his head. ‘No way.’ Harley at one of Miss Pringle’s piano recitals at Mitford School? ‘Just no way.’

‘I have never conjugated a verb,’ she said, gazing into the middle distance, ‘and never will.’

•   •   •

ON THE WAY HOME from a frigid run on Monday, he stopped by Sweet Stuff.

He was eyeing the jelly donuts when she came through the curtains that divided customers from the kitchen.

‘Merry Christmas, Father!’

‘Winnie?’

‘I look that different?’

‘Well, yes. But . . .’

‘You should see Thomas, he’s a bronze god. He would step out an’ prove it, but he’s icin’ cakes for th’ Rotary tonight, an’ believe me, he does not like to be bothered when he’s icin’ cakes. He looks exactly like he did when we met in th’ ship’s galley—I was admirin’ his napoleons.’ She gave him the once-over. ‘You should use your gift certificate. They told me they gave you a gift certificate.’

‘Don’t start,’ he said.

‘Be careful whose hand you shake. Th’ Mitford Crud is goin’ around. People come in here sneezin’, coughin’, eyes waterin’ . . . Why don’t people stay home when they’re sick? People used to stay home out of respect for others. But that’s th’ trouble with people today, nobody has any respect for others. Lord knows, I’d like to get sick just so I could stay home for five minutes, but no way can I get sick ’til January. Have you heard about Vanita?’

‘What?’

‘Ended up in ER last night. Dehydrated. Mitford Crud, for sure. I think it’s that little microphone she carries around, all those people breathin’ in it.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s fine, just down for a week or two, her husband said. He came in for three brownies. I said she probably shouldn’t have brownies right now; he said they were all for him, he was stressed.’

‘I’ll have two baguettes,’ he said.

‘What will you do with two?’

‘Winnie, Winnie, what would anybody do with two baguettes? We’ll have one this evening and use the other for crostini.’

‘They say people in France used to eat two baguettes every single day. Fourteen a week! Can you believe it? Now everybody’s down to half a baguette a day an’ th’ government’s worried.’

‘What are they worried about?’

‘Well, because not eatin’ baguettes is terrible for their cultural image.’

That would be his international news for the day.

•   •   •

‘HESSIE, COULD YOU POSSIBLY meet me at Happy Endings? I’m subbing for Hélène Pringle. Noon to one, if that would work. You won’t be disappointed.’

Noon to one could be busy with customers shopping on their lunch hour. Or the store could be empty as a gourd. The deepest truth he had learned about retail was that it’s all about surprise. Right up there with farming.

‘You want an apple?’ Hessie said. ‘I’ll bring you an apple.’

•   •   •

HE SAT WITH HER in the Poetry section and told her everything he was approved to tell. If she closed her mouth during the entire scenario, he didn’t see it. ‘And we’ll have all the facts for you this afternoon. In black-and-white.’

‘Lord help. And Vanita down with th’ flu. I hate to admit this is th’ chance I’ve waited for—an’ now I’m scared to death. Th’ turnaround . . .’

‘You can do it,’ he said.

‘I guess you’re wonderin’ if I’ve forgiven her.’

‘I haven’t actually wondered that, but since you mention it . . .’

‘She’s a terrier, that one, but let her have her bone. Let her ruin her back in those spike heels if that’s what she wants to do. I’ll take my Social Security check an’ fifteen bucks an hour, an’ same time next year I’ll be sittin’ on a bench in St. Augustine. But yes, I forgive her, bless ’er heart.’

‘Are you running this by J.C. before you write it?’

‘No way. I’m just goin’ to write it and hand it to him in person. It will never have contact with the Desk Dumpster.’

‘How soon can we see it?’

‘If I get your info by three and work half th’ night, I can have it to him in th’ mornin’. He’ll have to tear up his whole front page, but he’ll do it for this story. Definitely. He’ll still be able to get the paper out on Thursday, just later than usual. What about pictures?’

‘We’ll give them to you with the facts.’ His adrenaline was pumping like an oil derrick, and there came three customers through the door. ‘Hessie, Hessie, thanks a million. Isn’t life wonderful?’

‘Stressful,’ she snapped.

After selling four books and ordering two, he called Cynthia. ‘Did you get what we need?’

‘I think so. Maybe. I hope.’

‘Hessie would like to have it by three at the latest.’

‘I used your computer and will never do it again. Everything printed out triple-spaced, in red.’

‘Seasonal!’

She was not amused.

‘How old is your computer?’ she said.

‘Maybe ten years?’

‘Ugh. Is Hessie home?’

‘She was headed that way ten minutes ago.’

‘I’ll take it over after I mail the packages to New Jersey and Mississippi. We’re out of wrapping paper, and Truman threw up on the pool room carpet.’

‘So how’s everything else at your end?’

‘Stressful!’ she said.

•   •   •

THE FEEL GOOD WAS DECKED OUT.

A life-sized bobblehead Santa greeted him at the door. On the wall behind the cash register, action reindeer circled the globe, hauling a sleigh with Santa waving at incoming customers. Bing Crosby was cranked up pretty loud, or was it Elvis?

‘Merry Christmas, Padre,’ said Wanda, who was wearing a Santa hat and western boots. ‘New menu today.’

‘I liked the old one.’ Right there in one whining remark was living proof that he was old.

‘This menu is lite, Father. L-I-T-E. As in healthy. As in good for you.’

He slunk to their table, where Mule was in discussion with a server wearing a Santa hat.

‘It’s not calories I’m worried about,’ said Mule. ‘It’s cholesterol. My wife is watchin’ my cholesterol.’

‘We only know about calories,’ said the server. ‘We don’t have th’ expertise to advise people about cholesterol.’

‘Are you okay?’ he asked Mule.

‘Why?’

‘You’re pale.’

‘Fancy’s got me off about everything but air an’ water. Plus my tan ran out and I don’t have time to strip down and get a refresher, I’ve got to find Fancy a present. What are you givin’ Cynthia?’

‘A cat door.’

‘Is that supposed to be romantic?’

‘She thinks so.’

‘Fancy said give her somethin’ romantic.’

‘Like?’

‘She didn’t say, that’s th’ problem. What would I find in this town that’s romantic?’

‘Go online.’

‘I don’t go online. A cell phone is my limit when it comes to modern livin’. Help me out here.’

‘I’ll think about it. How’s the new menu?’

‘They took th’ barbecue off, if that tells you anything. Turkey this, turkey that. Turkey is eatin’ th’ lunch of th’ beef industry. I’m not goin’ for anything turkey.’

‘Have the vegetable plate.’

‘Too many choices with a vegetable plate. You order for me.’

‘Where’s J.C.?’

‘Out shoppin’ for Adele, last I heard. Did you know he got a tan?’

Shirlene had said he’d be surprised. ‘Living proof that hell has frozen over, or possibly that pigs do fly.’

‘Said it made him feel like when he got out of th’ Army and used to drive all night to Orlando.’

‘Aha.’

‘With th’ top down.’

‘So,’ he told Mule, ‘you’re having the collard greens, the baby limas, and the sweet potato soufflé with homemade cornbread. Bon appetit.’