My Dad's Best Friend Moved Into My Spare Room After His Divorce, and the Promise He Made My Father Lasted Four Days novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Rice

"I found the tag Wednesday," Ed said. "April second. Then I found the date on that board."

"April ninth."

"I thought, she got here first."

"April second," I said. "I beat you by a week."

He looked at me sideways on the pallet bed.

"I don't need the why tonight," he said. "I need one thing. Are you doing this because you feel sorry for me?"

"I don't do anything because I'm sorry. I do things because I decided."

"When?"

"A while ago."

He stared at the rafters, and then he laughed, deep and helpless, until the mattress shook.

"Your father thinks he's the smartest man in Omaha," he said.

"He's second."

On the drive home he held my hand on the gearshift, and he did not let go of it at a single red light.

On Friday I got home at ten after six from a day of hail claims.

There was a shingle sample in my purse for no reason I could explain.

The kitchen smelled like onions.

Ed stood at the stove in jeans and nothing else, with a dish towel over his shoulder, turning pork chops in my mother's cast-iron pan.

Walter lay on the linoleum with his chin on the edge of Ed's boot.

"I made rice," Ed said.

"You made rice."

"It's from a bag."

"It's a gesture."

I put my purse down and looked at his back.

I'd looked at it a lot that week.

I knew exactly how the muscle moved when he reached for the salt.

I took off my work shoes and put them by the door.

I unbuttoned my blouse.

I let it fall over a chair.

Ed said, without turning around, "Lori."

"Yes?"

"What's happening behind me?"

"I'm changing."

"You change upstairs."

"I live in this kitchen."

He turned the burner off.

I took off my skirt and folded it, because I'm not an animal, and I put it on top of the blouse.

Then the bra.

Then, last, with him watching, the underwear.

I stood in the yellow light of my mother's kitchen in nothing at all.

His gaze took a slow walk down me and came back up.

Walter lifted his head, took one look and went politely back to sleep.

"Dinner's ready," Ed said hoarsely.

"I know."

"It's going to get cold."

"I know."

I walked over and hopped onto the counter beside the stove.

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