The Last Days of Summer by Vanessa Ronan

saw them.’
    ‘Come on in, Reverend.’ No welcome in her tone.
    They sit across from each other at the kitchen table. Coffee’s already been poured and now sits before them cooling. At length, the reverend breaks the silence. ‘How are you, Elizabeth? And the girls. Y’all doing OK out here?’ She watches him survey the room, glance out to the hallway. She can guess what he’s looking for.
    ‘We’re just fine, Reverend. Good as ever.’
    ‘I’m glad to hear that. I truly am. I know you’ve kept yourself scarce from church since your mother died – no, don’t argue, Elizabeth, you know it’s true, and that’s not for me to question. I reckon that’s between you and God. I ain’t here to lecture you today.’ He chuckles. ‘I just want you to know that we haven’t forgotten about y’all. We still remember your mother in our prayers each Sunday.’
    ‘That’s mighty kind of you.’ Voice hard, unrelenting.
    ‘Well …’ He regards her a moment and shifts his weight. ‘It ain’t really a matter of kindness, Elizabeth, it’s just the Christian thing to do. And, as I said, we worry about you and the girls all alone out here.’
    ‘Reverend, I don’t hold much on ceremony so I’ll cut straight to the point. As I see it, small-talk wastes breath. Mama’s been gone a long time now, and it’s only the last few days that y’all found it in your hearts to remember my girls ’n’ me. We both know why you’re really here.’
    He doesn’t try to deny her statement. Sips his coffee
instead. Looks at her long and hard over his cup as he chooses his words with care, thinking each over in his head. At length, he says only, ‘Is he here?’
    ‘Yes.’
    The reverend smiles. Nervous. A quick smile that does not reach his eyes. ‘Is he … well?’
    ‘Depends what you mean by that, Reverend. Something makes me guess you aren’t enquiring about his health.’
    A nervous laugh. In the silence that follows, a drop from the faucet can be heard falling. A stair creaks under the pressure of a footstep. Laughter drifts in from outside where Joanne is chasing chickens as she does their feed. A bobwhite calls its name, falls silent and calls again. A fly buzzes in the window and rests and is still.
    ‘Morning, Reverend.’ His voice still husky with sleep, hair a tangled mess, one of their daddy’s old flannel shirts unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He fills the doorframe and leans just inside it. Not overpowering. Not aggressive. And yet there is a menace to his presence that makes Lizzie miss a breath and wonder once again whom she has let into her home. The reverend tenses. He places his coffee cup down quickly, too quickly, and coffee sloshes over, spilling onto the table. Milky white in the brown as it pools.
    ‘Morning, Jasper.’ He struggles to regain his composure. ‘I – I – I was just, ah, asking about you there.’ His smile twitches where the lip turns up. Freezes there and sticks.
    Jasper moves with ease into the room. As though he belongs there. As though he has always belonged there.
He crosses it in four easy strides, takes a mug from the press and pours himself some coffee. The kettle is still hot. Carefully he adds milk. Stirs in sugar. Then he smiles at the reverend. An easy Sunday-morning smile like he’s no care in the world. ‘I’ve been meaning to call in to you, Reverend. Was thinking I might stop by on Sunday morning. It’s been far too long since I heard a proper sermon.’
    The reverend pales. He opens his mouth to speak, but words fail him and he sits, mouth gaping wide, as though his jaw, long overworked, has finally broken down. Jasper’s eyes sparkle as he watches the other man’s discomfort. He pulls a chair out from the table, letting its legs screech as they scrape across the floor, and seats himself beside the reverend. Sips his coffee, smiles, blows once on the brew, then places the mug on the table to cool. To her surprise, Lizzie finds words have left her, too.