Promise of Yesterday by S. Dionne Moore

indicate his heart.
    Cooper shook his head. “Don’t start all that. Talk.”
    He worked up the courage to say what he’d been about to mime, and the words flew out of his mouth, rough and awkward. “You love Marylu.”
    The old man blinked and stared. His eyes sharpened and flashed, then he dropped his gaze to his hands, gnarled together in his lap. “She’s a good woman. Always been the kind I’d wished I’d settled down with, but she’d never have a man like me. Too old for her anyway. I’ve always known that.”
    “She care for you.” Chester formed the words with some difficulty.
    Cooper paused, obviously taking the time to figure out what Chester had said. He reached behind him and punched the pillow. “It don’t matter now anyway. I’m too old.” Cooper’s gaze went sharp and clear and pierced Chester through. “But not you. She could love you.”
    Chester opened his mouth to form a protest.
    “You need a woman like her.”
    The statement hung between them. Chester shifted his weight and held up the tin as an excuse to leave.
    As he dipped water from the dipping box outside Jenny’s kitchen, he warred with himself on what to say to Cooper. On how to act. While he had been picking up on Cooper’s affection for Marylu, it seemed Cooper had recognized Chester’s feelings for her as well. Yet he knew he could never be worthy of her. He had nothing to offer.
    But Cooper’s words bolstered him, too. If anyone knew Marylu, it would be him. Perhaps the old man thought Marylu might welcome Chester’s love, else why would he suggest such a thing?
    The whole exchange gnawed at Chester. Long past his visit with Cooper and into the night when he sat next to Marylu and worked on his words and speech, the conversation drummed a positive beat against the negatives. Every time their hands brushed, his senses sparked. He wondered if she felt it, too, and explored her features, her eyes, for any sign of what she felt.
    She demonstrated how her tongue formed the letter L, and he concentrated harder. He found the letter particularly frustrating and worked his tongue over and over to get the flow of it. When the sound rumbled up from his chest, his tongue seemed too weak to carry off the rolling sound and it became the letter W. He tried again and again.
    Marylu finally shook her head. “Let’s let it rest for now. It’s coming out better, but we’ve got other things to work on.”
    He picked up the slate and began writing words. When he finished cramming the entire surface with most of what he’d learned, he held it up. The pleased expression on her face brought a wave of satisfaction. And when she didn’t look away, something changed. Her gaze became searching. Questioning. Fear etched a mark between her brows.
    Chester’s heart seemed to slow its rhythm then speed up. He felt a million things in a matter of seconds. And he felt nothing at all. Her eyes reminded him of the dark grain of the walnut wood he used to build his master’s bookcases down in the South. He lifted his hand to grab the rag and erase the slate but stopped.
    Her hand rested on the table, and he lowered his to hers, slowly, afraid his intentions would bleed through her mind and she would snatch away. Her skin was soft, and she glanced down at their hands with an expression of wonder. He inhaled and could smell the freshness of lye soap mixed with the chicken she’d fried for their meal.
    In the hotel room, all those weeks ago, she had seemed panicked by his touch. Even through their evenings together, as his own feelings had built, he had wondered about that moment and what it was that held her aloof from him.
    But now, here, this moment, she seemed soft, her eyes showing a gentleness way down deep. For him. He squeezed her hand and smiled.
    She always seemed so brave and strong. Sure of herself in a way he’d never been. Her strength drew him, and he wondered if what he felt with her could possibly be the elusive thing he’d longed