Free Sweet Return by Anna Jeffrey

eggs?”
    “I’ll walk a little piece with you.”
    Joanna ambled toward the egg-washing room with Clova close behind, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans.
    “Up to the hospital,” Clova said, “I had to meet with a woman in the bookkeepin’ department. When I told her Lane didn’t have no insurance, she got testy with me about payin’ the bill, and I said, ‘What’re you gonna do, kick him out on the sidewalk?’” Clova gave a humorless chuckle. “You’d think bill collectors would take Sunday off.”
    “How did you resolve it?” Joanna asked, knowing the last thing the Lazy P could afford was an expensive hospital bill.
    “I told her I’d pay ’em when we sell the yearlin’s.”
    Joanna’s brow arched and she blinked. Depending on how much Lane’s bill was, that could leave Clova without funds to get through the winter.
    The older woman went into a coughing spasm but soon regained her voice. “Hon, I ain’t got nothin’ cooked today.”
    Joanna smiled at her. “I didn’t come to eat, Clova. I came to gather the eggs, do my chores and see how things are. If there’s Sunday dinner when I come out, it’s a bonus.”
    “They told me they’d take my credit card.” Clova laughed. This time, she did find something genuinely humorous in the statement. “Can you believe that?”
    Sometimes talking to Clova wrenched at Joanna’s heart. The woman wasn’t so old in years, but she was a throwback to another time. In Clova’s world, if you needed to borrow money, you went to the local bank and did business with someone you knew and who knew you. You didn’t charge a debt owed on an account with an obscure financier, the whereabouts of which you didn’t know. Joanna found a laugh, too, though the circumstances weren’t funny. “We live in a credit card world,” she said, opening the door to her egg-washing room.
    Clova remained outside. With the space used by the three-tub stainless-steel sink, the egg-washing equipment, the large commercial refrigerator and the utility shelving, the area left was barely large enough for two people.
    “Well, I ain’t got a credit card,” Clova said defiantly. “And I ain’t never had one. And I don’t want one. Lane used to have some. The bastards charged him twenty-five percent interest. Lord God. I liked to never got ’em all paid for. Now he don’t have none. And I say that’s just fine. Whoever heard of a bank chargin’ poor people twenty-five percent interest?”
    Joanna zipped up the coveralls she had lifted from the tiny closet beside the refrigerator. “I know it’s an outrageous fee, but no one forced Lane to run up his credit card bills, Clova. He did that on his own. Why would you pay his debts like that?”
    “’Cause I pay all the bills that come to this ranch. Lane lives here, and he’s part o’ the operation. He don’t get much in the way o’ wages. Besides that, I’ve always felt a little bit sorry for him ’cause he ain’t got no judgment about him. He ain’t like Dalton always was. Dalton knew the right thing even when he was a boy.”
    Pulling on a pair of clean cotton gloves, Joanna stepped outside. “Ready?”
    Side by side, they sauntered toward the chicken yard, with Clova continuing to talk. “Lane’s more like his daddy. He gets to drinkin’ and thinkin’ he’s a big shot, and the next thing you know, he’s spent money he ain’t got. When I found out about them cards, I cut ’em up. If I hadn’t o’ stopped him, he could o’ got the ranch in trouble. His credit’s so bad now, he couldn’t get a card if he wanted to. It’s a relief.”
    Hearing of Clova’s proactive approach to Lane’s irresponsible spending was a surprise. Joanna had rarely seen her oppose her youngest son. “I’ve got an idea,” she said. “When I get these eggs gathered up and washed, why don’t we go to town and eat at Sylvia’s? I’ll buy you supper.”
    Clova chuckled, bringing deep creases to the corners of her