want to hear your mouth. There was nothing in Max’s will about not trying to make things a little exciting around here. Give me a few minutes and we’ll head into town and find something to clean the house with.”
Quinn looked down at her spotless white dress then back at Charlie. “I’m going to get really dirty today, aren’t I?”
Charlie ignored Quinn and looked down at her nightgown. She needed to shower, brush her teeth and get dressed, but then there was her refusal to share the shower with the fungus growing at the bottom.
“You’re right, Quinn. We’re going to get really dirty, so there’s hardly any use changing clothes,” Charlie said, with a relieved sigh.
She had been saved once more.
It was one of those perfect summer days that only exist in Smalltown, U.S.A. Cloudless blue skies, birds chirping in the distance, children running down the sidewalks and young men standing at the town water fountain watching young women walk past. If Graham wasn’t dead-set on leaving all of it as soon as possible, he would be appreciating this scene right now.
Instead, Graham ignored the scene around him and steered his truck to a stop in front of the town’s all-purpose store. One thing that Graham could admit to feeling grateful about was that there was always convenient parking downtown. He got out of the truck then slapped on a pair of headphones. The soothing sound of a cultured voice speaking Japanese filled his ears.
His Japanese had gotten rusty in the six months he had spent in Sibleyville. He had never been that good to begin with, but if there was one thing Graham could say about Sibleyville, the small-town afforded him plenty of time to practice, when he wasn’t working.
“Afternoon, Graham,” Velma called out from the entrance of her clothing boutique.
“Konnichiwa,” Graham greeted in return, with a slight bow.
“Ogenki-desu-ka?” Velma returned.
Graham stopped in mid-stride, took off the headphones and gaped at the older woman. Velma speaking Japanese was about as likely as…as Graham speaking Japanese.
Velma winked at him then turned back into her boutique. Graham laughed to himself and shook his head.
“Don’t you have anything better to do, besides stand in the middle of the street, grinning like a fool?”
Graham grinned at the sound of Wyatt Granger’s voice. Graham had known Wyatt almost as long as he had known himself. Their families had been the only black people in Sibleyville, when the two had been growing up. And it had remained that way until the arrival of the Sibley sisters, who had increased the African-American population in town by a full thirty percent.
“What are you doing out and about? Business slow as usual at the funeral home?” Graham asked then winced when he noticed Wyatt’s honey-brown skin turn a light shade of gray at the mention of anything related to his family’s funeral parlor.
The Grangers had been Sibleyville’s only morticians for the last three generations, and Graham had a feeling that Wyatt would have put an end to the family business if he could have. But Wyatt’s father had died five years ago, and his mother had never recovered from her husband’s death, which had left Wyatt to continue the family business.
“No one has died in Sibleyville since Ted Gravis. Business is slow,” Wyatt replied.
“I hear Ron Walker had a severe case of heartburn last night,” Charlie said then winced again when Wyatt narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m just trying to help you out.”
“That’s real funny, Graham,” Wyatt responded dryly.
“I just don’t want you to pass out again when someone asks you about the embalming process.”
Wyatt’s jaw twitched before he protested through clenched teeth, “I did not pass out. I told you, I just hadn’t had a lot to eat that night and my blood sugar was low and then the heat—”
Graham patted Wyatt on the shoulder and said, somberly, “Your secret is safe with me, Wyatt.”
“What secret?”
Graham hid his smile and changed the subject, “Do you want to grab some lunch? I’m supposed to be getting wood to fix a fence on the east end, but a man has to eat, right?”
Wyatt smiled instantly and said, “It’s Thursday, and you know what that means, right?”
“No.”
“Pot roast at Annie’s.” Wyatt’s wide grin made Graham shake his head with regret.
He didn’t know which was more pathetic: the fact that he was probably just as excited as Wyatt was at the idea of forking down some of the delicious pot roast at the diner in town, or that this time last year, he had been eating in some of the best restaurants in Tokyo, ordering caviar, champagne and other delicacies.
“Pot roast, it is,” Graham said, with a resigned sigh.
The two men started the short walk towards the diner on the other end of Main Street.
Graham nodded in greeting at other residents they passed on the sidewalk, while Wyatt was glad to shake everyone’s hand and have boring conversations about the weather and the predictions for the fall harvest. A few minutes later, the two men settled in their regular corner booth at Annie’s, where the eponymous Annie was taking orders from another table. Annie’s husband stood over the grill visible through the open window behind the counter.
“I heard you met the Sibley sisters,” Wyatt said, while passing Graham one of the plastic menus on the table. “What are they like? No one around here has seen them yet.”
“I just met them. Did a carrier pigeon spread the word?” Wyatt shrugged, noncommitally. “Hey, what do you expect? This is Sibleyville. So, tell me about them. Please let one—at least one—be somewhat decent-looking. The pickings around here have gotten pretty slim since the Hodgkin girls moved back to Oregon.”
“The Hodgkin girls are forty-three and forty-four years old, respectively,” Graham deadpanned.
Wyatt shrugged again. “I take what I can get.”
Graham rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Why do you stay, Wyatt?”
“It’s my home.” Graham stared speechlessly at Wyatt: to him it was really that simple. To Graham, nothing was that simple. “So, you haven’t told me about the Sibley sisters, which must mean they’re as ugly as a pimple on a horse’s butt.”
“Not quite,” Graham said, smiling.
In fact, there was nothing remotely ugly about any of the sisters. Quinn had marvelous breasts that would make a grown man weep, Kendra had a body that could make a grown man beg and then… Well, and then there was the third sister. Whatever her name was—he couldn’t even remember now. She had… Graham couldn’t really remember what she had because he had been so transfixed by Quinn’s breasts and Kendra’s rock-hard body.
“You’re smiling,” Wyatt noted. “That’s a good thing. Please tell me that’s a good thing.”
“Let’s just
