Free Of All The Ways He Loves Me by Suzanne D. Williams

feet shuffled across the well-scuffed floor to the counter.
    The counter displayed its age in the worn places in the finish, dark spots where arms had laid, abrasions in places equipment was slid across, and the stain and press of many a pencil or pen. In three stacks on the left was a mishmash of paper. Mr. Evers slapped his hand down on top and gathered a handful.
    “All of these need doing. Probably take you ‘til lunch.” He set the papers in front of Paterson. “Lunch is at twelve. You get thirty minutes.”
    “And don’t dare be late,” said a female voice from behind.
    Paterson glanced back.
    Mrs. Evers was a petite woman with fluffy white hair and a kind, wrinkly face. The broad smile on her lips betrayed her statement as anything harsh.
    Her eyes sparkled as she stepped forward. “Arnold, dear, don’t give the boy a hard time today. I know you hate alphabetizing, but honestly, you hired him for his hands, not his eyes.” She pursed her lips.
    Approaching Paterson, she patted his arm. “I know your father. Good man,” she said. “Very stalwart and faithful, unlike this old coot.” She prodded her husband in the shoe with her toe.
    He narrowed his gaze at her, but a smile crawled on his lips. “See how she treats me, Son? I slave away here to keep her wearin’ all them purdy clothes and get abused for it.”
    Paterson pulled in a grin at their banter.
    “She snagged me that way, too,” Mr. Evers said.
    “Wasn’t no snaggin’ . You were too busy staring.”
    “Yeah, ‘cause you had on them fancy clothes. Hoowhee,” he said. “She was a piece of work. Now, here we are sixty-two years later, and I’m just as blown away as I ever was.”
    Mrs. Evers cheeks pinked. “And as smooth of a talker. Could talk a minister out of his pocket change, that one,” she said.
    She squeezed Paterson’s arm. “You got a girlfriend?” she asked.
    Paterson swallowed hard. “No, ma’am.”
    She studied him, her soft gray eyes framed on his face. “Ah, trouble in paradise? It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, but you care for her. Yes, I see that.”
    “How?” he asked. “I mean … you don’t know me.”
    Her lips curved up. “Because I’ve lived my life already, that’s how, and I know what it’s like to love someone.” Mr. Evers wandered by and kissed her on the cheek.
    “And I also know how to keep it going. It’s all the little things that count,” she said. “Big words and fancy moves are fine. Arnie used to take me dancin’” She did a twirl.
    “We cut the rug, too,” he called out.
    She laughed. “But in the end, it’s that he can stand me when I wake up in the morning and my hair’s a mess, that I overlook his inability to pick up the towels in the bathroom, that I fix him breakfast, not forgetting he likes toast, and he doesn’t expect me to eat cantaloupe … ever. Things like that are what makes it all tick. He loves me for me, and I love him for him; and we both look past all the everyday things into the heart of each other.”
    She patted his hand. “I’m thinking you need to tell her that.”
    The chime of the bell turned their gazes. Paterson gulped again. Nadia’s dad stood in front of the counter, a large mixer in his hands.
    “Good morning, Arnold,” he said. He nodded to Mrs. Evers. “Betty.”
    “Morning, Robert.”
    “Wanted to have this looked at. The powers that be say it’s wobbling.”
    Mrs. Evers grasped an invoice and slipped it from the stack. Sitting it in front of Paterson, she glanced at him. “I think our new employee here can fill this out for you. Arnold has his hands full, and I have to be on my way. Havin’ brunch with the ladies today,” she chirped. She disappeared out the back door, and Paterson looked ahead.
    Mr. Asbury’s face told him a world of things, and he was partially glad the counter was between them. He took the mixer and set it on a small table to the side then searched for a pen.
    “Wanted to talk with you,” Mr.