guess that means it’s time to go.”
“Aw right now,” Arthur said as he rose. “I’ll see y’all next month.” Halfway down the walkway, he spun around. “I think I need to use your facilities before I head off.”
Cole’s father pointed toward the side of the house. “It’s just ’round back.”
Cole waited until Arthur was out of sight before he announced that he was going to introduce himself to Arthur Thompson’s impolite daughter.
Barbara giggled. “Yes, you should. Be nice though.”
At the truck, Cole stuck his face through the open driver’s-side window. Melinda had her head buried in a book, and so when he yelped, “Hey, how you doing?” it startled her, and the book fell from her hands and tumbled down to the floor. “I’m Cole Payne,” he announced thrusting his hand at her.
The flustered Melinda said nothing. Her eyes searched frantically for her father.
“And you’re Melinda, right?”
The young woman shook her head no and then yes.
Cole’s hand hung in the air between them. “This is where we shake and you say something back,” he laughed.
“Yes, of course.” Melinda hesitantly extended her hand. “I’m Melinda Thompson. Pleased to meet you.”
Cole grabbed hold of her hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Nice to meet-cha, Melinda Thompson!” He noticed that she had her father’s brilliant blue eyes and curly blond hair. The square chin and thin-as-a-line nose, Cole assumed she’d inherited from her mother.
“Oh, uhm … yes … you too. I mean, me too … I mean …”
Cole released her hand and sniffed the air. “It smells nice in here. Is that you?”
Melinda blushed. “It’s the perfumed talc I’m wearing.”
Cole made a face. “Talc? What’s that?”
Melinda leaned over, retrieved her book from the floor, and placed it in her lap. “Powder.”
“Powder?” Cole scratched his chin. “What kinda powder? Like gunpowder?”
Melinda stammered. “No-n—”
Cole waved his hand at her. “I’m just pulling your leg, Melinda,” he laughed.
She cautiously joined in on his laughter. “Oh, of course.”
“Well, it was nice to finally meet you and see you.” He fashioned his thumb and index finger into a gun, aimed at her, winked, and clucked his tongue. “I thought you were just a pair of pretty feet.”
Melinda’s cheeks glowed.
“See ya.” And with that, Cole thumped the top of the truck and trotted off.
Melinda watched him until her father’s bloated belly floated into view.
“What you staring at so hard?” Arthur asked as he climbed into the truck.
“Nothing.”
Arthur turned the ignition and popped the clutch. The truck jerked forward and then settled into an easy roll.
Back at home, Cole’s smiling face swam circles in Melinda’s mind. She looked down at her hand and could swear she saw the imprints of his fingers on her skin. When she knelt to say her prayers before bed, she asked the Lord to keep Cole Payne safe.
The next month, Melinda once again accompanied her father on his collection rounds. Same as always, she rode with her feet dangling out of the truck window. But now those pretty toes were adorned with pink nail polish.
Arthur parked the truck on the road, in the shade. He turned off the ignition and before he could reach for the door handle, Melinda was out of the truck.
A look of astonishment perched on his face. “What are you doing?”
“Coming along.”
Barbara Payne met them at the door.
“Afternoon,” she said, and then directly to Melinda: “Hello, so nice to finally see you … err … meet you. Please come in.”
They followed her into the house. Melinda looked around at the modest surroundings. The sitting room wasn’t much bigger than her own bedroom and everything— couch, chair, woven throw rug—seemed to be a variation of the color brown.
“Please, have a seat,” Mrs. Payne said as she hurried to the couch and fluffed the one limp pillow that graced it. “John is out back fiddling with something.” Her speech was hurried. “We weren’t expecting you this early. I’ll go out and get him.”
Father and daughter sat down. Melinda wondered if she was in the very spot where Cole sat. She closed her eyes and conjured up the vision.
“Melinda?” Arthur’s voice was cold. “What in the world are you doing?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Nothing.”
Barbara reappeared. “He’s coming now. Can I get you all something to drink?”
Arthur shook his head. “No thanks, I gotta get back home soon. Got family coming in from Miami.”
“Miami,” Barbara repeated in a dreamy voice, as if Arthur had said, I got family coming in from the moon.
Melinda said, “I’d like something to drink, Mrs. Payne.”
“You do?” Arthur uttered.
“Yeah.”
Barbara scurried off. When she returned with a tall glass of lemonade, her husband was handing over the rent money.
Arthur counted the money, swiped it across the leg of his trousers, folded it, and stuffed it into his pocket.
Melinda’s eyes darted from one corner to the next. Where was Cole? She attempted to stretch the time by taking small sips of lemonade. If she did it right, she could make that drink last for more than half an hour.
Barbara noticed how little Melinda was drinking. “Is it too tart, dear?”
“No, ma’am,” Melinda muttered without looking at her.
Arthur scratched his large belly. “Come on, Melinda, we gotta go.”
The daughter rolled her eyes and handed Barbara the glass. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I do hope we’ll see you again.”
Melinda offered Barbara a small, disappointed smile. She’d painted her toes, dusted her body with an extra layer of the perfumed talc, and even washed her hair with her mother’s special—off-limits to her—shampoo. So much work and risk and not even a Cole sighting. Melinda
