Page 58 of The Dating Charade

“He swallows half of it. In two bites. At one point he rubs jalapeño sauce in his eye and starts to cry, and I’m thinking, ‘Oh, good, I’ll get it back now.’ But you know what happens then?” He looks at Jett. “Do you?”

Jett sighed. “No, Sunny. Please. Tell me. What happens next?”

“He keeps on crying, tears running down his face, and stuffs the rest of it in his mouth. It was like tears were the fuel that kept him going. I can’t put it into words, man, but it was creepy. Inspiring, but also creepy. Like a rabid squirrel.”

“So now your godson is a rabid squirrel.”

“You admit it!” Sunny pointed and exclaimed, his spoon knocking chili to the floor.

“I admit nothing,” Jett replied, turning the wheel.

Airbrakes squealed as Kevin parked the engine at the turn for Skyline Drive. Jett turned, the trip ending with the well-known chassis-trembling, move-at-a-snail’s-pace drive up the rocky gravel.

As Jett turned off the ignition, sauce dribbled down Sunny’s chin and shirt and dashboard.

Jett opened the door with an I-told-you-so grin.

Snow crunched underfoot as they followed the small, female footprints—and one long streak of cane—to the porch. Jett tried knocking the snow off his boots on the thin welcome mat reading Animals Welcome People Tolerated, but with no luck, he kicked lightly against the burgundy frame of the front door. As snow reluctantly gave in and dropped to the ground, he heard Donna Gene call to him. “Well, c’mon in, boys. We haven’t got all day.”

Sunny and Jett exchanged looks before Jett grabbed the screen handle.

There, hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room, was a suit. Edie took one long, squinty look at Jett, then took a pin out of her mouth and slid it into the waist of the jacket.

Donna Gene hobbled a step to the table, leaning on the chair for support. “What’d’ya think, Jetty boy? We’ve been working on it all day.”

He lingered at the unwelcome mat. Sunny gave him a firm elbow in the back, and Jett stumbled forward.

“It’s . . . very nice.” In addition to not wanting to be there, he also didn’t want to ask. Whatever reply came out of their mouths he wasn’t going to like. But there it was, the question a mosquito in front of his face, a sting on his neck, then forehead, then arm. He had no choice but to give in and swat it. “What’s it . . . for?”

“For you, of course. Don’t think we don’t know about Ms. Everson.”

“Or your little rendezvous on Sunday.” Edie lifted her cane and hit the burgundy jacket. Dust exploded as though the cane had wacked a cupful of dust. “That’s right. We saw you all cozied up in the church parlor.”

Jett stepped lightly around the coffee table—littered for once in things besides empty cans and chip bags. An open sewing kit, scissors lying on a pile of bridal magazines. A roll of lace, partly unwound until a foot or so dipped onto the matted carpet.

He lifted his head, sensing the silence. He turned his head to the television, where it stared blankly back.

The TV was off. Repeat, the TV was off.

“Well, ladies, I appreciate any . . . designs . . . you might have in all of this. But if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon focus on the emergency you called us in for.” He hesitated, finding it wrong to hope yet hoping all the same. “There is an emergency?”

“Just missed it.” Edie wrapped a tape measure around his waist. “Donna Gene had one of her dizzy spells.”

“Is that so?”

Donna began fanning herself with a magazine, her chest rising beneath the pink bathrobe. “I’d say it was a miracle. Edie pulled me back up with brute strength. What’s his waist, Edie?”

“Thirty-four inches.” Edie moved the tape measure across his shoulders, which Jett, as politely as he could, started swatting off.

“Well, in that case, we ought to be going. Lots of work today. Isn’t that right, Sunny?” Jett took a step back, then bumped against Sunny.

“Oh, I think we have enough time to sit a spell,” Sunny replied with a wicked grin.

“What about the suit, Jetty boy?” Donna asked.

“What about it?”

“It’s the perfect shade for you, isn’t it?” Donna leaned the pant leg toward his side. “Matches your skin tone and everything, I’d say.”