The Last Days of Summer by Vanessa Ronan Page A

She rises quickly, and a burst of blood shoots up into her head, dizzying her. She blinks to steady herself. To regain vision. Crosses the room and reaches across the counter and grabs the dish towel and comes back to the table and wipes up the coffee the reverend spilled. Coffee stains right through the fabric as it soaks it up.
    Jasper pushes his chair back from the table so he can stretch his legs out long. Leans his weight back so that the chair’s two front legs rise up off the floor. Just a little bit. He crosses his arms behind his head, the fabric of his flannel shirt pulling up a bit to partially expose his stomach. Dark hairs twist and curl out of the gap between it and his jeans. Mama would have been ashamed seeing him sit in front of the reverend like that. And, for Mama’s
sake, Lizzie feels her own blood begin to simmer, even as another part of her can’t help but share in Jasper’s amusement at the reverend’s open trout-mouthed stare. As she walks back to the sink and wrings out the towel, Lizzie imagines smacking Jasper, like Mama would have. Imagines the sound the chair would make as the wooden legs hit the linoleum. Wordlessly, she rinses, then twists the towel dry. Shakes it.
    ‘Yessir,’ Jasper says cheerfully, at the table behind her. ‘Sure has been an awful long time since I heard a proper sermon. Can’t exactly say the services inside were inspired.’ And he chuckles softly, almost to himself. ‘What’s Sunday’s topic, Reverend?’
    The reverend’s mouth closes sharply. Reopens. He looks down at the table where the coffee had spilled. Blinks as though expecting it still to be there. Glances around quickly, uncertainly, as he struggles to regain his composure. No joy in the false cheer of his voice when he answers, but then again, Lizzie thinks, for once no falseness either.
    ‘Forgiveness.’
    A fly brushes past Lizzie’s cheek, buzzing loudly in her ear, and she fumbles and almost drops the dish towel mid-fold. She lays it down flat on the counter and irons it with her hands till the wrinkles spread and dissolve smooth. Shakes it once and hangs it back up on the rack, then turns, walks back to the table and sits down. Back straight.
    ‘Forgiveness.’ Jasper rolls the word off his tongue slowly, as though trying it, tasting it, for the first time. ‘Forgiveness.’ He nods slowly, looking down towards his
feet. Unhooks his hands from behind his head and leans forward in his chair, elbows on knees, head down, hands entwined before him in a single clasped fist. Almost like praying. Almost.
    Lizzie takes a sip of her coffee. Holds the mug to feel the heat of the brew relax into her palms. Glances at the reverend. His face still unnaturally pale. Tries to force her own voice sweet. ‘More coffee, Reverend?’
    He looks at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. ‘Oh …’ Looks back down into his mug. Still half full. ‘Uh, no, Elizabeth, uh, thank you, no …’ and his words fade as his eyes drift back to focus on the man beside him.
    ‘Forgiveness,’ Jasper says again. And then he nods. A solid, definitive nod. He sits up straight and meets the reverend’s eyes. ‘That’s a mighty fine topic for a sermon, Reverend.’
    ‘Why … uh … thank you, Jasper.’ The reverend looks awkward there in the kitchen sitting in that chair. Too stiff. Straight-backed when his frame seems more accustomed to slouching. Oversized. Uncomfortable. Somehow it never seemed so strange to see him sitting there back when Mama was alive. But that was a long time ago now, over cups of coffee long since rinsed and dried.
    ‘ ’N’ what was your sermon on last week, Reverend?’
    Lizzie can guess how much it costs him, can see the stress slowly etching into the reverend’s sweaty brow, but he meets Jasper’s stare, his own gaze steady, firm. Despite herself, Lizzie respects him for that. Just a little.
    ‘Being kind unto one’s neighbour.’ His voice does not
crack. Does not falter. It’s