And then he told himself all over again, Jimmy Joe Starr, she’s not your concern.
He got the doors unlocked, then went around to help her into the passenger side, trying not to let out most of the warmth in the process. He had to almost lift her up the two high steps and into the cab, and once inside it seemed a natural thing to leave his arms where they were and just go on holding her. She didn’t seem to mind, which surprised him some. Then again, he thought, maybe she was so cold she would have been willing to hug a grizzly bear for the heat. Shoot, that coat she was wearing was so thin it wasn’t worth a nickel in weather like this. But then, what could he expect from somebody from California?
And again he told himself, Jimmy Joe, she’s not your concern.
It was warm and close in the cab, and after a minute or two she pulled away from him, giving herself a little shake, like someone throwing off a blanket. Neither of them said anything, although Jimmy Joe did sort of cough and mutter, “’Scuse me,” as he moved past her to turn on the light in the steeper.
The light wasn’t kind to her. He thought about what she’d told him, about how she’d been in junior high when he was still in diapers, and he still didn’t believe it. He still thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on in his life, but now for some reason it made his throat ache to look at her. Seeing her like this, so pale and drawn, and the glassy look of pain in her eyes, all he wanted to do was make her feel better.
And he told himself, Jimmy Joe, she’s still none of your concern.
But this time from another part of his being a whole new voice answered back, Yeah, she is.
Although his overriding urge was to put his arms back around her and hug her some more, he didn’t give in to it, limiting himself to a guiding touch on her elbow while he held back the partitioning curtain. “There you go,” he said gruffly. “Climb right on up there, now. Pull back the covers if you want to. Be warmer that way.”
“Thanks.” She sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him, and he could see she was beginning to feel uneasy about him being there. “I’ll be fine.”
He knew she was waiting for him to go. He knew he ought to. But that new voice inside him had other ideas, and he wasn’t all that surprised to hear himself say, with a firm, no-nonsense shake of his head, “I’m gonna just stay and make sure you’re settled before I go.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Her voice sounded breathy. “I’ll be all right now. Honest.”
Honest… She sounded just like a little girl when she said that, which made him smile. “Ma‘am,” he said as he put his hands on her shoulders, “I don’t intend on goin’ anywhere until I know you’re resting, y’hear? Just lie right on down there, now.” And as gently as he knew how, he eased her over so she was lying on her side with her knees pulled up against her belly and her head resting on her folded-up arm. “That’s the way. There you go. How’s that?”
She flashed him one bright, angry look that cheered him considerably, then closed her eyes without answering. He could tell by the way she was breathing through her nose-in slow, deep breaths-that she was hurting.
It came to him suddenly, gleaned from memories of suffering through two pregnancies with J.J.’s mama, what her problem might be. “Your back achin’?” he asked, sitting beside her on the very edge of the bed. She nodded, just too plain miserable to talk. “Yeah…” he said softly. “That’s what I thought.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, overcoming a powerful urge to reach beyond it, just to smooth the hair back from her face. With that tenderness simmering inside him, he said, “Ma‘am, why don’t you turn over on your other side? What I’m gon’ do is rub your back a little. Make you feel a whole lot better, help you relax. Okay? Come on, now… Roll on over.”
Instead of doing what he’d told her, she suddenly squinched up her face without opening her eyes, as if she’d felt a sharp pain, and said in a sulky voice, “Do you have to keep calling me ma’am?”
That made him grin, but her eyes were closed so he didn’t have to worry about her seeing it, and thanks to all those phone conversations with J.J. he knew how to keep it from showing up in his voice. “Sorry about that,” he said, solemn as a judge. “I don’t mean anythin’ personal by it. It’s just a habit-shoot, it’s probably in my genes.”
“Well, it makes me feel really old.”
Now he did chuckle, resisting again the urge to touch her face, just to run his fingertips lightly across the ivory curve of her forehead, which, as far as he could see, in spite of her concern, was completely unmarred by any wrinkles. “You have to understand, it’s got nothin’ to do with how old you are, just the fact that you’re female.”
Opening her eyes about halfway, she studied him from under her lashes. “You call your mom ma’am?”
“Oh, you bet.”
“Uh-hmm. Your sister?”
“Well, now…”
“Girlfriend?”
He wanted to laugh, now that he thought he knew where she was headed. “No, don’t believe I would-if I had one.”
She chewed on that for a moment or two, then said slowly, “The waitress in there-you called her ma’am. Would you have done that if she was nineteen?”
“Sure would. Yes, ma’am.”
“So…it’s a matter of respect.” She said it like, “Aha!”
“That’s right.” But he was beginning to feel just a little uneasy, wondering if he knew after all what she was getting at.
“So…you don’t respect your sister or your girlfriend?”
Well, she had him there. He rubbed the back of his neck while he thought about it, then said, “It’s kind of hard to explain-especially since I don’t believe I was ever called upon to try to before. You grow up in the South, it’s just somethin’ you take for granted, like grits for breakfast. But I guess what it is, it’s respect. But it’s more like-it’s formal, you know? You don’t use it when it’s personal, like with your friends, or your close kin-” he paused to smile before he said it “-unless they’re older.”
“Let me get this straight.” A little pleat of concentration puckered the skin between her eyebrows, but her voice had grown drowsy and he could see that the warmth in the truck, the lateness of the hour and her tiredness were beginning to have their way with her. “You can’t stop calling me ma’am because you don’t know me well enough.”
“Yeah, I guess that’d be about right.”
“But you know me well enough to rub my back?”
So that was it. Again that tenderness wafted through him like a warm breeze over damp skin, stirring shivers of laughter that felt like goose bumps inside. Keeping it soft so as not to rile her he murmured, “Okay, Marybell, I’ll make you a deat-you quit arguin’ and roll on over there, and I’ll quit callin’ you ma’am. How’s that? Deal?”
“Deal,” she whispered.
It was only after he’d helped her through the ponderous process of rolling over and she was once more settled on her side, this time facing away from him, that a tiny echo in her head said incredulously, Marybell?
But then she felt the warm weight of his hand on her lower back, on the exact spot that ached so awfully, and a firm, circling pressure that felt so wonderful she forgot everything else; so wonderful she almost wept with the sheer relief it brought her.
“Oh…God,” she groaned, “how did you know?”
Jimmy Joe’s voice was soft and oddly muffled, as if she were hearing him through a layer of fur. “Oh, I’ve done this for J.J.’s mama a time or two. It’s been awhile, but I guess you don’t forget how.”