Page 54 of Backtrack

“Woman of the house!” he said, like the old days, before the cancer took root. He couldn’t remember the last time Lucy felt well enough to cook a fancy meal—and this one smelled awfully fancy.

Lucy peeked around the corner from the kitchen. His breathcaught in his throat when he saw she’d put on eye makeup and lipstick to match her bright red blouse. He didn’t care about such things, but she did, and the fact that she’d taken the time made him hopeful she was having a better than average day.

“The hospital called,” she said. “Your armored car guard passed away about an hour ago.”

Cutter stopped cold, bracing at the news. “Did they give any details?”

“Sounds like he had some internal bleeding they missed. They got him into surgery and opened him back up, but it was too late. He died on the operating table.”

“Good to hear.”

Lucy frowned. “What?”

“I don’t mean it’s good that he died,” Cutter said. “I mean it’s good that there wasn’t any more foul play.”

Cutter left his boots and war bag by the front door, hung his hat on the peg, and stepped across the living room to give his wife a kiss. It was a small house, and he didn’t have far to go.

“True enough,” Lucy said. “Were you shoeing horses or hunting bad guys?”

“Shoeing horses,” he said.

She kissed him back, then scrunched up her nose. “I gathered that.”

“I’ll grab a quick shower,” Cutter said.

She didn’t mention it, but Cutter knew the chemotherapy drugs turned her normal sense of smell into a superpower.

He lingered at the kitchen door, watching her putter back and forth from the stove to the chipped Formica counter. She deserved a new kitchen. Lucy deserved a lot of things she would never get.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “I can finish up in here after my shower if you need to take a load off.”

She threw a cup towel over her shoulder and smiled. “I’m having a good day,” she said.

Good to Lucy meant not quite as bad as the others.

“I’ll hurry,” he said.

Gone were the days when Wayne Cutter could spend idle time letting the hot water bash away his aches and pains. He showeredquickly, taking care to scrub the smell of horse feet off his hands. He resolved to shave in the morning, and then threw on an old T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Both fit much looser than they used to.

“What can I do to help?” he asked before he even made it down the hall.

He came around the corner to find the overhead lights turned off and the table lit by two tall white candles Cutter didn’t even know they had.

Lucy reached up when she saw him and ran a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower. The glint in her eye should have made him happy. Instead, it filled him with sorrow. How many more times would he get to see those eyes?

“Seriously,” he said. “What can I do?”

“You can sit your butt down and eat dinner with your sweetheart,” Lucy said. She rested both hands on the back of her chair, breathing hard. She wasn’t coughing. That was a good sign.

She held out her hand like she always did when he sat down across their little table.

“You want to say the blessing?”

He prayed, but only because she asked him to. The words surely went no further than her ears. If God was in the business of hearing prayers, He surely would have done something to fix this mess Lucy was in.

Cutter said, “Amen,” and pushed the rebellious thoughts out of his mind before his wife caught sight of them in his eyes.

“Shrimp and grits,” he whispered, clearing his throat to hide the catch. “You know this is my favorite.”