Free T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel by Kay Layton Sisk

him.
    “Sure. Now stick him right here.” He held hook, line, and minnow up and demonstrated. Fletch watched and then carefully stuck the minnow and brandished a well-baited hook for his teacher. “You’re a fast learner. Bet you could just catch your supper from now on.” He took the minnow and hook away from Fletch. “Let me show you about all our different rods and reels.” He stood up. “They’re in the utility room. Come on.”
    Fletch wiped his hands on his pants and dutifully followed. Just before he opened the front door, Harrison turned to him. “Instead of me bringing you the tape, why don’t you just come hear Mama play tomorrow? It’s the Methodist mission in Jinks. We start at eleven. Someday, we’re going to be a real church.” His invitation offered, he beamed at Fletch. “Want me to wait outside for you?”
    Fletch hesitated. “Go on in, just in case we’re late. We’ll find you.”
    What had he gotten into now?
     
    *  *  *
     
    “Something wrong? You’re watching like a hawk.” T didn’t keep the accusatory tone from his voice as he scraped the last dirty plate into the empty fruit bowl.
    Lyla turned from the front window. “Nothing’s wrong. Harrison has set up class on the steps. I was just seeing how he was going about this lesson.”
    “And?”
    She joined him at the table, shook the napkins onto the cloth Fletch had found in the kitchen linen drawer and gathered the fabric together as T carried the dishes to the sink.
    “He seems in instructor-mode.”
    T set the dishes down and turned to her as she set the linen on the top of the washer. He placed a hand on his hip. “More power to him if he can teach Fletch anything.”
    She stood on the other side of the dishwasher and opened it. “You want to load or make the coffee?”
    T considered his options. He doubted his ability at either task. “Why don’t I provide music for you to work by?”
    “Clever, but no dice. Why don’t I teach you about the dishwasher? It’s not as subtle as coffee.”
    “Anytime you’re ready.” He managed a smile. His first thoughts were on how he was going to make Fletch pay for this insolence. Then she bent to the cabinet below the sink and he caught a whiff of her perfume, the slightest sight of her breasts, the barest touch of her arm on his pants leg. His mind wandered. Maybe the dishes should be hand-washed. She’d have to stand close. He could enjoy this for quite a while. But she pulled back, the box of dish detergent in her hand, and he tried to look uninterested.
    “First rule, rinse everything. Our water pressure leaves something to be desired.”
    “I noticed in the shower.” He pushed the faucet on and started rinsing, handing her the plates and cups and utensils. She showed him how they loaded best. “What about the leftovers?” He indicated the half-full bowl of macaroni and cheese.
    “Cover it and put in the fridge.”
    “Cover with what?”
    “The plastic wrap—” she pointed around him to the set of drawers to the left of the sink. “Honestly, surely, you are not as helpless as you pretend to be.” She moved around him to the drawer, opened it, and handed him the roll of plastic wrap. “You do it, be good practice. You may not always have someone like Mr. Fletcher to take care of you.”
    He glared at her as he whipped off a length of wrap and deftly covered the bowl, sliding it across the small expanse of counter top to where it sat beside the fridge. He put up the wrap and determinedly finished loading the dishwasher, put too much detergent in the cups, almost slammed it shut, and with a vengeance, punched buttons to start it.
    Lyla measured the coffee into the gold filter, filled the pot with bottled water and flicked on the brew cycle. “I’m glad you don’t play drums. My appliances would never hold up.”
    He turned to her, a lurid, ill-timed remark on his lips. But she was smirking, then shaking her head, a silent apology for her previous sarcasm. It