Free The Widows of Eden by George Shaffner

add some grated coconut, too. It doesn’t do anything special; it just tastes good.
    Loretta gave me a hug with one arm and filched a banana slice with the other. “Where’s Vern?” she asked.
    â€œI sent him over to Beryl Williams’s place with an apple pie. He should have been back two hours ago.”
    â€œYou sent him to see Flathead?”
    â€œBeryl asked. I didn’t see how it could do any harm. Do you?”
    â€œI’m not so sure. I worry that Vernon won’t be able to cope with all the attention he’s going to get this week.”
    â€œI have the same concern, but it’s not like we have a choice in the matter. Speaking of attention, how is Calvin dealing with Mr. Moore’s return?”
    Lo pushed a chair aside and plopped her enviable bottom on my kitchen table. “He says he’s okay, but he’s conflicted about it.”
    â€œBecause Laverne is Mr. Moore’s daughter?”
    â€œAnd Vern is my former lover. That man has spent a whopping twelve days in Ebb in the last four years, but Cal sees him everywhere he turns: at home, at the store, at the bank, in the eyes of his wife and daughter. It must be hard for him.”
    â€œI see him everywhere, too,” I whimpered.
    Loretta didn’t bother to agree but I knew she did. Instead, she said, “Do you suppose Vern needs a rescue? Should I give Beryl a call?”
    â€œLet her keep him a little longer,” I suggested. “You can set the table and we can figure out what we’re going to say over dinner.”
    â€œThat’s a good idea, Wilma. We need a plan, a devious plan.”
    Mr. Moore returned about an hour before dinner, but he went straight upstairs without saying hello. It seemed unfriendly to me at the time, but I didn’t find out until later that he had gone to see Clara, my permanent third-floor boarder. They couldn’t have said much to each other, but it must have been an amiable reunion. He was in a cordial, almost conversational mood bythe time he came down for dinner, which I served buffet-style on the sideboard.
    After we had gotten our food and seated ourselves, Loretta asked, “How was Beryl?”
    â€œWe had a lovely chat,” Mr. Moore answered. “You two have something in common; did you know that? She’s a voracious reader.”
    â€œI didn’t. What does she like to read?”
    â€œMysteries, history, travel books. Beryl has never been farther from Ebb than Denver, Colorado. Her dream is to see an ocean before she passes on.”
    â€œI’d like to see one myself,” I whined. “Clem and I have talked about his time in Europe so often, but the closest I’ve ever come is the Venetian in Las Vegas. He’s been too wrapped up in his business and so have I. Now …”
    Loretta touched my arm without ever taking her eyes off of Mr. Moore. “Did you meet Beryl’s son?”
    â€œJimmy? I did. He sat on the couch while we talked.” Jimmy is Flathead’s real name, but Beryl is the only person in town who uses it anymore. He even has fire-retardant overalls from the fire department with the name “Flathead” stitched in orange on the chest.
    â€œDid he talk?”
    â€œNo, but we shared a box of Cheerios. It was very sweet.”
    â€œDid Beryl ask you to help him?”
    â€œIt wasn’t necessary.”
    â€œIs there anything you can do for the poor boy?” Loretta asked. I would never have brought that up myself, but she has always had more brass than a Marine band.
    With his usual clarity Mr. Moore replied, “I’m not sure. Why?”
    â€œThe last we heard, you were going to ask for rain or forClem’s life. I was just wondering if you had to make one of three choices now.”
    â€œI don’t think so, Lo. I’ll let you know if I change my mind, though.”
    â€œCan we discuss it now, Vern? Beryl is only the beginning. Wilma and I