Today's Reading
Miss Mamie with her messy mouse-colored bun and twinkling black eyes lived and breathed her faith.
Hopping out of the truck, he did a quick boot check. Shiny brown Ariats. Clean as a whistle.
Miss Mamie said you could tell a lot about a person by their footwear.
Smiling at the memory, he stepped up on the wooden porch with a hollow thud. The weathered boards needed a coat of paint.
Another memory of long ago flashed through his head. A Saturday afternoon when he and Rio had covered the porch and each other with pale blue paint, a mismatch donation from the local hardware store.
"Rio," he murmured.
Over the years and miles, they'd lost touch, this man he'd once considered an almost-brother. He'd looked for Rio, now a man his age, a few times. Nothing. Not even social media. John-Parker prayed that the pretty-boy delinquent hadn't gotten himself killed or sent to prison. Considering Rio's tendency for misbehavior, a tragic end was a definite possibility.
He wondered if Miss Mamie would know where Rio had ended up.
Raising his knuckles, he tapped. Butterflies swirled in his stomach. He refused to believe he was nervous. Excited, yes. Nervous, never. Lives depended on his steel nerves.
Any moment now, he'd see the woman who'd dedicated her life to boys like him. Any moment now, he could begin to right the wrongs he'd done.
He listened, his ear close to the door. Nothing. No sound. Not even the blast of the old-time Southern gospel radio station Mamie favored.
Wasn't she home?
He rapped again and, after another long, disappointing moment, turned to leave. The old door creaked open behind him.
He pivoted, grinning, eager for this moment he'd dreamed of for fifteen years.
"Miss Mamie..." The words died away. This was definitely not Miss Mamie.
The young woman standing in the doorway was five and half feet of brunette beneath a straw sunhat tied with yellow ribbons. Her face was...interesting. Not beautiful, but intriguing. Rounded chin, apple cheeks, warmly tanned skin.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," she said in a soft tone that sounded sincere. "I was in the garden."
Mamie's vegetable garden. When money was tight or the house too full of kids, she'd planted more and kept them healthy and fed with canned goods from her garden. He'd helped can a quart or two himself in Mamie's kitchen.
"Does Mamie Bezek still live here? Is she home?"
The woman's eyes widened. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. "No. She's—not here anymore."
The woman untied the ribbons and slid the floppy straw from her head, lowering it to her side. The ribbons trailed against the threshold, sunshine yellow on dark damaged wood. Brown wisps of hair caught the light behind her and danced with static.
"Not here? Did she retire?" That made no sense. This was Mamie's home. If she retired, she'd still be here on Wedgewood Lane. "Can you tell me where to find her?"
The woman's bow lips flat-lined. Two tidy brown eyebrows pulled together in a frown.
"Were you one of her boys?" A pair of onyx eyes pinned to his face.
"Yes, ma'am. I was. I'm John-Parker Wisdom."
The interesting woman turned her head to one side, licked full lips, avoided his gaze.
"John-Parker Wisdom," she repeated softly as if she knew the name. Turning back, barely meeting his eyes, she added, "I'm Zoey Chavez, Mamie's niece."
She didn't invite him in. Rather, she stood there, blocking the doorway with her slender frame, as if he wasn't welcome.
...
