Daisies in the Canyon(34)

Fifteen minutes later the salad was tossed in a chilled bowl. The whole house smelled like baking bread and the table was set.

The phone rang. She located it by following the sound into her bedroom and there it was, an old black rotary shoved under the edge of her bed. Thank God that thing had never rung before or she’d have gone into instant cardiac arrest. She sat down on the floor and answered it cautiously.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Abby, this is Cooper.” As if she needed him to tell her his name. “I didn’t want to ask in front of the whole family, but could I please have your cell phone number? You have mine and I figured yours would be in my phone in the recent calls area, but it has disappeared. I’d like to call you sometime,” he said.

The phone smelled like cigarette smoke and there was a dirty ashtray under the bed, along with several cardboard boxes. Why hadn’t she noticed those boxes before now?

Because you haven’t vacuumed your room or dropped anything close to the bed that you’d have to pick up, that sassy voice in her head said.

“You still there, Abby?” Cooper asked.

“I’m sorry. Yes, I’m here.” She rattled off the number.

“Thank you. Are you talkin’ on the phone in Ezra’s old bedroom?”

“I found it under the bed.”

“I shoved it up under there when we took out the hospital bed. He kept the phone on the bed with him until he died. There is also a phone outlet in the living room if you want to move it in there. And you might want to know that he did not have a long-distance plan,” Cooper said. “I’m leaving the office now. Be there at noon for my chili pie and ice cream.”

She left the three boxes alone, but carried the ashtray and the phone with her to the living room. It wasn’t hard to find the outlet for the phone because there was a light spot on the wooden table beside the rocking chair that testified the phone had sat right there for many years. The ashtray went into the trash can—butts, ashes, and all.

At five after twelve, Bonnie came through the back door into the utility room right off the kitchen with her nose in the air. “That is not chili. I was dreading coming home for dinner because the smell of that stuff gives me the dry heaves worse than drinkin’ too much.”

“Why?”

“Mama likes chili and Mama likes to drink. The morning after isn’t too pleasant,” Bonnie said.

A cold blast of air preceded Cooper from living room to kitchen. “That’s Italian. I know oregano and basil when I smell it.”

“And fresh-baked garlic bread,” Rusty said.

Shiloh pushed Abby out of the way so she could wash her hands at the kitchen sink. “You lied. You can make more than chili pie.”

“Disappointed?” Abby asked.

“I’ll wash up in the bathroom since no one is using it today,” Cooper said.

Abby’s heart did a flip when she realized that he hadn’t gone to the kitchen sink to wash his hands with Shiloh.

Shiloh shook her head. “I’m not a bit disappointed to have Italian for dinner today. I can get a chili pie at a fast food place or make it in five minutes anytime I want it.”

“You can pop frozen lasagna in the oven anytime, too,” Abby said.

“Darlin’, Mama’s people are Italian. You can’t fool me. That’s the good stuff, and that bread is not store-bought either.”

“So that’s where you got the black hair,” Abby said.

“Yes, it is and half of my temper.” She smiled.

“I haven’t seen much of that yet.”

Cooper returned from the bathroom. “Can I help put anything on the table?”

“We’ve got it, Cooper. And Abby, you haven’t pushed me into a corner. If you ever do, you might get a taste of that temper,” Shiloh answered.

After the funeral, they’d sat down randomly, but now they had their appointed places around the table—Rusty on one end, Shiloh on the other. Bonnie across from Cooper and Abby.

Why does she get to sit at the head of the table? I’m the oldest, Abby wondered as she settled in next to Cooper, the sparks flitting around the room like butterflies in the spring.

“You are left-handed,” she spit out without thinking.

“Been that way my whole life,” Shiloh said. “That is why I always sit where my elbows don’t create a problem for the person sitting next to me.”

“So was Ezra. Guess that’s another thing you inherited from him. This is amazing, Abby. If Ezra had realized that hiring three women would make meals appear on the table like this, he might have parted with a few dollars to run the place,” Rusty said.

“Damn fine food. Olive Garden can’t hold a candle to this,” Cooper said. “You can make this anytime you want, Abby. Oh, before I forget. The poker game is off for this weekend, Rusty. I’ve got to transport a prisoner down to San Antonio. Want to do a ride along to keep me company?”

“Stayin’ the night?” Rusty asked.

Cooper nodded. “Leavin’ at six o’clock Saturday morning. We need to get him to the station there by five o’clock and processed in. Then we’ll stay the night and come back Sunday. We’ll be home by bedtime.”

“You women able to run this place for the weekend without me?” Rusty said.