“Roy Potts don’t know the difference between a hammer and his colon.”
“Roy is the best damn handyman in these parts.”
“Did you bring me my new Harry Connick, Jr. CD? Now that’s what I really want, not some fool handyman nibbin’ into my business.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I brought it. It’s out in the car.”
“Well, go on and get it for me.” She waved him toward the door. “And move that speaker when you get back. It’s too close to my TV.”
As soon as he disappeared, she speared Jane with her blue eyes. Jane felt a curious desire to throw herself on her knees and confess her sins, but she suspected the cantankerous woman would simply smack her in the head.
“How old are you, gal?”
“I’m thirty-four.”
She thought that one over. “How old does he think you are?”
“Twenty-eight. But I didn’t tell him that.”
“You never told him different, either, did you?”
“No.” Although she hadn’t been invited to sit, she fo
und a place at the end of an old velvet couch. “He wants me to tell everyone I’m twenty-five.”
Annie rocked for a while. “You gonna do it?”
Jane shook her head.
“Cal told me you’re a college professor. That must mean you’re a real smart lady.”
“Smart about some things. Dumb about others, I guess.”
She nodded. “Calvin, he don’t put up with much foolishness.”
“I know.”
“He needs a little foolishness in his life.”
“I’m afraid I’m not too good at that sort of thing. I used to be when I was a child, but not much anymore.”
Annie looked up at Cal as he came in the door. “When I heard how fast you two got married, I thought she might have done you bad like your mama done your daddy.”
“The situations aren’t the same at all,” he said tonelessly.
Annie tilted her head toward Jane. “My daughter Amber wasn’t nothin’ more than a little white-trash gal spendin’ all her time runnin’ after boys. Laid her a trap for the richest one in town.” Annie cackled. “She caught him, too. Cal here was the bait.”
Jane felt sick. So Cal was the second generation of Bonner male trapped into marriage by a pregnant female.
“My Amber Lynn likes to forget she growed up dirtpoor. Isn’t that so, Calvin?”
“I don’t know why you’re always giving her such a hard time.” He walked over to the CD player, and a few moments later, the sounds of Harry Connick, Jr. singing “Stardust” filled the cabin.
Jane realized Connick was the man in the photograph on the mantel. What a strange old woman.
Annie leaned back in the chair. “That Connick boy has got him one beautiful voice. I always wished you could sing, Calvin, but you never could manage it.”
“No, ma’am. Can’t do much but throw a football.” He sat down on the couch next to Jane but not touching her.