The chicken was crispy on the exterior — nearly burned, in fact — and moist on the inside.
“Best chicken I ever had,” proclaimed Archer with all honesty.
“Eat what you want, I have plenty.”
The okra and tomatoes had been coated in crumbles and fried in lard. After two helpings of everything, Archer finally had to push himself back from the table. “Okay, no more room left and that’s a fact.”
They had both tried the wine and didn’t cotton to it, but when they tried it again later, it tasted different.
“How’d that happen?” Archer wanted to know.
“Hank told me something about it breathing.”
“Okay.”
“He went over there a couple years ago. Took Marjorie with him. They toured some of the wine country in France and Italy.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “Didn’t think there’d be any left after the war.”
“He did say there was damage, for sure. But they managed to bring back a few bottles.”
They finished the wine, and Archer rose and put on his hat.
“Sure you don’t want to stay?”
“I’ve made other arrangements.”
“Really? Well, excuse me.”
“Don’t be like that. I already explained why I can’t stay here. Shaw would hang me for sure. Thanks for the dinner. It was really nice of you, Jackie.”
“Don’t start being kind to me when I’m mad at you.”
“You ever gonna tell me what happened to your mother?”
Her eyes blazed. “Why? Did my father mention her? Tell me the truth, Archer. I made you dinner after all.”
“Okay, Jackie, okay.” He leaned against the sideboard and chose his words carefully. “He said she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, well, something like that. Anyway, he also said that, well, that she could be hot-headed. And sometimes...”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes he was afraid of her.”
“What else?”
“And that sometimes you and she didn’t get along all that well. That mother-daughter relations are complicated.”
“They are complicated. But I loved my mother.”
“I’m sure you did.” He decided to change the subject because he didn’t like the direction it was taking, and he wanted to gauge the woman’s reaction to something. “Did you know that Pittleman was running out of money?”
Jackie slowly stood. “Who told you that?”
“Shaw. He found a bucketful of past-due bills that Pittleman had tossed into the trash.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Saw it for myself.”
“But Hank was rich. Everybody knew that.”
Archer shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” She fell silent for a few moments, apparently doing that very thing while he watched her closely. “So, are you going back to the slaughterhouse tomorrow?”
“It’s my job, till I find something better. And that would be just about anything.”
She walked him to the back door. “See you around, Archer.” Despite his stench, she gave him a peck on the cheek.
He circled back around and came out on the main road. It took him about thirty minutes to walk over to Ernestine’s bungalow. The lights were on, and when he knocked at her back door, she answered it right away. She had changed into a pair of high-waisted royal-blue trousers with buttons on one side and wide cuffs at the bottom, a long-sleeved white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a light blue cardigan over that, and a pair of dark blue slip-on loafers. The woman’s blond hair was still down around her shoulders, though she had clipped part of it back.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I had my fill, thanks.” He took a whiff of himself. “You, um, you mind if I wash up a bit? The... the business today was a little, uh, smelly.”
“Of course. I can run a bath for you.”
“A bath? You have one of them?”
“Yes. I’ll get it going for you. And I have a robe you can wear.”
“Thank you, Miss Crabtree.”
She said shyly, “Look, we’re not in the office now, just call me Ernestine.”
“And I’m Archer, no ‘mister’ necessary.”
She ran the bath and told him when it was ready.
He sank into the hot water to which she’d added something that made the water bubble and feel soothing against his skin.
She knocked on the door. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s wonderful, Ernestine. I mean really swell. Best I’ve ever had.”
She laughed on the other side of the wood. “It’s only a bath, Archer.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t had a bath since around 1941.”
He finished up and put the robe on. When he came out Ernestine had lowered the wall bed and made it up for him; she was now sitting in an adjacent chair and reading a book. She got up and closed the volume. “It’s all ready for you.”
He glanced in the direction of her bedroom. “Thank you. Is your, um, bedroom door doing okay?’”
“It’s doing just fine, thank you.”
He was imagining Ernestine in all sorts of ways, hair down, skirt up, even naked like Jackie. It seemed he just damn well couldn’t help doing so. Archer cursed himself. He was no better than the man who’d wolf-whistled at her.
She followed his gaze and said, “Well, I’m sure you’re exhausted.” She held up her book and said, “I actually wanted to finish this tonight. I’ll just do so in my bed.”
“What’s that you’re reading?”
“It just came out recently. It’s entitled 1984. By an English writer, George Orwell. Well, that’s his pseudonym. His real name is Eric Blair.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a dystopian novel set in 1984, hence the name.”
“Long time from here.” He added in a puzzled fashion, “Dystopian?”
“It’s about life in 1984 as the writer sees it. The people are oppressed, the government knows all. People spy on each other. No one has any free thought.”
“I think we just fought a war to stop that from happening.”
“I think we did, too. Let’s hope it was enough.”
“Guess you’re right about that.” He stared at her for a long moment, his initial lustful desire dying away. Not because he didn’t find her attractive, because he did. It was because Archer wasn’t sure he deserved anybody as intelligent as she obviously was. And yet he had become perhaps even more intrigued by who she was than by what her beauty inspired in him physically.
“Look, Archer, you don’t have to check in this week. I obviously know what you’re up to... and where you’re staying. I’ll mark it down as your having reported in and all.”
“I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Good night, Ernestine. Hope you enjoy your book.”
“Good night, Archer.”
Chapter 26
The next morning Archer found hot coffee in the percolator waiting for him in the kitchen, a paper bag with an apple, a soft roll, some beef jerky, and a hard chunk of cheese inside, and a note from Ernestine wishing him a good day. He looked around for the woman but didn’t see her. She might have already left for work. He wanted to call out to her or go knock on her bedroom door and thank her, but he decided against that. He sat at the table, drank his coffee, and put the note in his pocket.
He took a moment to look around the small space. Then he closed his eyes and, in his mind, allowed himself the fiction of believing that this was his tidy little home and his dear, loving wife had made him this strong cup of coffee and packed him a nice lunch, before he set out to work to earn the daily bread to support him and her and a passel of kids with sensible names and fascinating futures awaiting them all.