The Lost Husband by Katherine Center Page B

in Texas. It’s just not possible.”
    “Actually,” O’Connor said, “there are mountain lions in Texas. Mostly up near Big Bend, though.” He gave Sunshine a nod. “It’s possible, at least.”
    “I like the idea,” Jean said. “Who were we to run every majestic living thing out of the state? I don’t think I’d want to live in a world stripped of every wild creature but squirrels and cockroaches.”
    “You won’t like the idea so much if he gets one of your goats,” Russ said.
    I sat very still. An image of my two sweet children tending the garden as an enormous black beast sprinted out toward them from the forest took over my brain. Never mind the question of why they would be gardening at night.
    I stood up, pushing my chair back with a honk, and announced in a non sequitur, “Time for bed!”
    The kids, who were not yet aware that their lives were in peril, emerged from under the table and asked to go swing on the tires.
    “Not a chance!” I said, as if they’d just asked to go play with shotguns.
    “Five more minutes?” Abby, the expert bargainer, asked.
    “Nope!”
    I herded them both up the stairs, ignoring their protests—criesof injustice that didn’t fade until they’d submerged their little bodies in the steaming bath, where they remembered that even though the underside of the table was pretty good, a hot bathtub was even better.
    Six weeks of farm life had worked at least one miracle for me: My children ran themselves so ragged during the day that they had begun, for the first time in their lives, to actually fall asleep at bedtime. Which was lucky for me, because I was tuckered out myself. Usually I tiptoed back down, helped Jean with the last of the kitchen cleanup, and staggered off to my own bed. Some nights I even fell asleep in my overalls and woke up the next day with buckle prints across my collarbone.
    Even so, it was satisfying to end the day completely spent. I got up when Dubbie announced it was morning, and I, like the kids, went to sleep as soon as I was horizontal in my bed. Or possibly even, some nights, several seconds before.
    Jean had promised that my body would adjust and that pretty soon I’d be staying up to play Scrabble with her. But I couldn’t imagine it. It was easy now to see how she lived without a TV. She didn’t need one.
    The kids were asleep before I’d even closed their door, and as I shuffled back down the stairs I felt the familiar tiredness in my thighs and shoulders and back that kicked in at about this time. I figured I’d just give Jean a hug good night, but when I saw the group all still sitting around the kitchen table, twinkle lights from the porch shining through the window glass, I felt what I wanted start to shift. The scene was as appealing as a campfire, and even though my body wanted to go to bed, my soul wanted to stay right there.
    I eased back into my place at the table. Sunshine was doing palm readings.
    “Great news,” Jean said when she saw me. “I’m headed for a long life of great wealth.” After many kebabs and about the same number of beers, everybody was relaxed, and Jean’s announcement brought a gust of laughter.
    “My turn,” Russ said, laying down his big paws.
    Sunshine took his right hand and studied it.
    “Well,” she said after a good look, “you’re never going to have much money.”
    “Money’s for people who lack imagination,” he said.
    “And you’ll never be famous,” Sunshine went on, “or even respected by your peers.” I could see her stifling a smile. “But,” she went on, “the love in your life will outmatch the sorrow.”
    “That’s just about the best fortune I could hope for,” Russ said.
    Then he pulled Jean over and gave her a kiss right on the lips, one that lasted a little longer than anyone expected. We all politely looked around, and that’s when, for the first time since dinner started, my gaze fluttered toward O’Connor. Our eyes met and then flicked away—but in