I took a bag of mesquite-barbecued chips from the pantry, put them on the bar, and fixed two glasses of sweet tea. By that time he had the sandwiches finished.

He dragged a bar stool around and sat down across from me. "We ready? You saying grace or me?"

"Go ahead."

His prayer was very brief. He thanked God for good friends and the health to enjoy them. Then he thanked Him for the food and a beautiful day. When he said "Amen," I looked up to find him with his sandwich headed toward his mouth. I did the same and was amazed. Pickles and mustard were meant to go together.

"Where'd you learn to make a sandwich like this?" I asked.

"Gert always made them with mustard. Mayonnaise was for ham and cheese. Mustard for bologna."

"Wise old coot, wasn't she?"

"That she was." He nodded and kept after the sandwich until it was gone. Then he made himself two more.

On occasion I've let myself have two sandwiches-like when I'm upset enough to chew up railroad ties and spit out Tinker Toys-but not too often. Not with my propensity to pack weight onto my hips and thighs.

He took in the whole house with a sweep of one hand. "You still want to strip all this wood?"

I nodded and swallowed. "Did Gert really leave you enough money to work that long? I can pay you, Billy Lee. She left me well-fixed for life. I can pay whatever you charge. Just give me a bill once a week, and I'll write you a check"

High color crept up his neck and around his angular jawline to his cheeks, which were blazing in a matter of seconds. "There's enough to take care of whatever you want done. I can work for you for a whole year and not lose a dime."

"Good! Then, yes, I want all the paint taken off and the wood stained and shining."

"High gloss?" he asked.

The color in his cheeks began to fade. Maybe the mustard took it away. Hmm, maybe it would work like that on cellulite. If I ate mustard and pickles every day, would the fat disappear off my thighs? Or if I rubbed mustard on my thighs and let it set until it was dried up like an old creek bed, would I wash away all the pesky little cellulite critters?

"What?" I belatedly asked.

"Varnish comes in flat finish, semigloss, and high gloss," he answered.

"I guess high gloss is the shiniest?"

He nodded.

"Then that's what I want. Does it look like a basketball court when they've just waxed it?"

He grinned. "That's about right."

When I finished chewing and swallowed the last bite of the sandwich, I brought out the cheesecake.

He groaned. "I forgot we had dessert. I shouldn't have eaten the third sandwich."

"Want to save it until midafternoon for our coffee break?"

"Yes, I do. But you go ahead. You only ate one sandwich."

"I think I'll wait too. It'll taste good with a cup of coffee in a couple of hours."

The window guys returned, and we all went back to work.

Put on stripper. Take off blistered paint. Do it again and again.

"Do you remember Mrs. Dorry in the first grade?" I asked. He'd remembered that I colored hair purple and the sky green. What else was hiding in that brilliant mind of his?

He nodded.

"I was terrified of her," I said.

"I know. When she called on you, I always wanted to answer for you. You looked so scared that I felt sorry for you"

"You were shy too."

"More like bored. My grandmother taught me to read before I went to school. I was reading the newspaper when I was five. And Grandpa taught me to do math and figure. They believed in living simply. Grandpa grew a garden, and Grandma canned food for the winter. They taught me to work and to love to learn new things. I wasn't really afraid or shy. I was just bored and different."

Suddenly it mattered to me very much that Billy Lee was my friend. He'd said I looked nice on Sunday; that he liked my hair; that I wasn't a whiner. He'd brought supper the day after Gert died. Not one of my old friends or acquaintances had even called or come by my house to see how I was faring with the loss and the divorce, much less brought barbecued ribs.

I tried to remember if I'd said anything nice to him since the funeral. Other than standing up for him with Drew-and I'd have done that for the real village idiot out of anger-I hadn't. Some friend I was!

That night I ran a warm bath and only whimpered a few times when I sank down into the water. The old claw-foot tub had a nice, sloped back made to lean against. I promptly fell asleep and awoke an hour later sitting in a tub of cold water.

After I'd toweled off and slipped into underpants and a comfortable old cotton gown, I stepped into the bedroom and actually shivered. God bless the woman who'd invented airconditioning. Okay, it might have been a man, but I'll bet you dollars to earthworms that a woman nagged him into it.

I held the bottom of the nightgown over the front of the air conditioner for a few minutes, not caring if it produced chill bumps. Then I crossed the hallway to the room that would eventually be my bedroom and switched on the light to look at the progress one more time.

My bedroom. Mine. Not mine and Drew's but mine. I was as possessive as a little girl on Christmas with a brand-new doll. I turned the light off and noticed a yellow glow coming from across the yard, so I ventured to the window and looked out toward Billy Lee's place. His small house was dark, but light flowed from big open garage doors at both ends of his enormous shop building out in the backyard. Did the man ever sleep? As I watched, the lights went out, and the doors rolled down. Billy Lee made his way across the yard and into the house.

Alone isn't a bad place to be, especially when it's the alternative to distrust and unhappiness, but alone brought loneliness as the darkness surrounded me. I wished for the nerve to go downstairs and call Billy Lee. Just to hear his voice. Just to talk about the day. Just to be a nosy neighbor and find out what he was doing every evening in that big shop building.

awoke in a royal pout.

Life was not fair.

It could have given me what I'd thought I had all along, but, oh, no! It had to wait until forty was bearing down on me to play show-and-tell with the truth of what had happened in my life.

Before the day in the ladies' room, the worst thing in my life was facing my fortieth birthday in July. I had a lovely home, a healthy, grown daughter, a loving husband, and friends by the dozens. That was BTF: before the funeral. Now I had an old house filled Aunt Gert's past, a daughter who was married to a boy I'd never met and who hadn't talked to me since the funeral, and an ex-husband who'd evidently never loved me. And the only person who'd come to my rescue was Billy Lee Tucker.

In the middle of the stripping job, I took a moment to really look at him. He was talking with the crew of men who'd arrived to put in my new central air-conditioning unit. The window men would finish their job by noon, the electricians were out of the attic and working their way through the bedrooms upstairs, and the plumbers would arrive Monday morning.

By the end of the next week the people crawling all over my house would be gone, and it would be up to me and Billy Lee to do the finish work. We wouldn't even have to work in the backyard once the air-conditioning was installed. But that morning the house was so hot, it sucked the air out of my lungs, so we were outside. Billy Lee had taken the doors off the bedroom and laid them across sawhorses under a shade tree. My job was to strip all the paint off one closet door. Billy Lee worked on another one when he wasn't supervising any workers. He kept everything going smoothly, and I was glad. I couldn't have done it even with a day planner at my fingertips.