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football season ended, there was basketball. Sometimes Deke joined us, decked out in his school
sweater with Brian the Fightin’ Denton Lion on the front.
Miz Ellie, never.
Her disapproval did not stop us from going to the Candlewood Bungalows after the Friday games. I
usually stayed there alone on Saturday nights, and on Sundays I’d join Sadie for services at Jodie’s First
Methodist Church. We shared a hymnal and sang many verses of “Bringing in the Sheaves.” Sowing in
the morning, sowing seeds of kindness . . . the melody and those well-meant sentiments still linger in my
head.
After church we’d have the noon meal at her place, and after that I’d drive back to Dallas. Every
time I made that drive, it seemed longer and I liked it less. Finally, on a chilly day in mid-December,
my Ford threw a rod, as if expressing its own opinion that we were driving in the wrong direction. I
wanted to get it fixed—that Sunliner convertible was the only car I ever truly loved—but the guy at
Kileen Auto Repair told me it would take a whole new engine, and he just didn’t know where he could
lay his paws on one.
I dug into my still-sturdy (well . . . relatively sturdy) cash reserve and bought a 1959 Chevy, the
kind with the bodacious gull-wing tailfins. It was a good car, and Sadie said she absolutely adored it,
but for me it was never quite the same.
We spent Christmas night together at the Candlewood. I put a sprig of holly on the dresser and
gave her a cardigan. She gave me a pair of loafers that are on my feet now. Some things are meant to
keep.
We had dinner at her house on Boxing Day, and while I was setting the table, Deke’s Ranch Wagon
pulled into the driveway. That surprised me, because Sadie had said nothing about company. I was
more surprised to see Miz Ellie on the passenger side. The way she stood with her arms folded,
looking at my new car, told me I wasn’t the only one who’d been kept in the dark about the guest list.
But—credit where credit is due—she greeted me with a fair imitation of warmth and kissed me on
the cheek. She was wearing a knitted ski cap that made her look like an elderly child, and offered me a
tight smile of thanks when I whisked it off her head.
“I didn’t get the memo, either,” I said.
Deke pumped my hand. “Merry Christmas, George. Glad to see you. Gosh, something smells
good.”
He wandered off to the kitchen. A few moments later I heard Sadie laugh and say, “Get your
fingers out of that, Deke, didn’t your mama raise you right?”
Ellie was slowly undoing the keg buttons of her coat, never taking her eyes from my face. “Is it
wise, George?” she asked. “What you and Sadie are doing—is it wise?”
Before I could answer, Sadie swept in with the turkey she’d been fussing over ever since we’d gotten
back from the Candlewood Bungalows. We sat down and linked hands. “Dear Lord, please bless this
food to our bodies,” Sadie said, “and please bless our fellowship, one with the other, to our minds and
our spirits.”
I started to let go, but she was still gripping my hand with her left and Ellie’s with her right. “And
please bless George and Ellie with friendship. Help George remember her kindness, and help Ellie to
remember that without George, there would be a girl from this town with a terribly scarred face. I
love them both, and it’s sad to see mistrust in their eyes. For Jesus’s sake, amen.”
“Amen!” Deke said heartily. “Good prayer!” He winked at Ellie.
I think part of Ellie wanted to get up and leave. It might have been the reference to Bobbi Jill that
stopped her. Or maybe it was how much she’d come to respect her new school librarian. Maybe it even
had a little to do with me. I like to think so.
Sadie was looking at Miz Ellie with all her old anxiety.