Page 63 of A Boy Called Lovesong

“It’s hard to pinpoint just one example. But it’s probably got a lot to do with pouring kitty litter into an urn before giving it to my Bible-bashing bitch of a sister-in-law.”

Maybelle laughed. “Oh, you wicked boy.”

“I think there was probably some Chet poo in there too.”

Maybelle laughed even harder.

Together we mixed.

Together we cut the biscuit dough and set it on a baking tray and pushed it into the oven.

I went to wipe the sweat from my brow with my forearm, but Maybelle stopped me. “Son, your sweaty skin ain’t gonna dry your sweaty skin. That’s how you get a heat rash down here.” She took a clean tea towel, ran it under cold water, then used it to pat my brow before slinging it around the back of my neck and tucking it into the collar of my shirt. “That’ll help cool your blood down.”

A rumble of thunder traveled through the sky.

Maybelle looked toward the open window. “It’s just gonna tease us today. Give a growl every now and then. But this one won’t break.”

“How do you know?”

“When you live down here all your life, you get to know. The air ain’t still enough right now. If you can still breathe it in and out your lungs, it ain’t nearly still enough to storm. The air needs to stop moving completely, like time itself just stood still, so hot it stuck to somethin’ none of us can see. That’s when the sky tears itself open. That’s when the rain comes down so hard, you think the whole land’s gonna flood, far and wide.”

Outside, the sky grumbled.

“This,” Maybelle said. “This ain’t a storm. It’s just a warning of one to come sometime soon.” She untied her apron, hung it on a kitchen hook and picked up her cane. “Well, it’s time I set the dinner table. My cotton-picking little ones will be back soon. Can I leave you in charge of the kitchen, Noah?”

“Oh. Um. I think so. Any urgent instructions?”

“Don’t burn the goddamn place down. I’m sure it’s already on the reverend’s to-do list. Y’all don’t wanna be the one to spoil his fun now, do you?”

With that she hobbled away.

No sooner had she gone, Lovesong appeared in the back door of the kitchen, panting like he’d just run a marathon. “Maybelle? You here?”

The very sight of him unexpectedly set my heart aflutter. I couldn’t quite explain it. Perhaps the appearance of the intruder on the balcony and the scare with Cybil on the road had left me more rattled than I realized. Perhaps the sight of his strong arms, the sheer presence of him, was something I needed in this strange and unsettling town.

“Maybelle?”

“She’s not here,” I answered. “She’s setting the table for supper. It’s just me.”

His head turned in my direction. “Noah?”

I nodded. Then realized I needed to speak. “Yeah. It’s me.”

Lovesong felt his way along the counter to my voice and stopped short of me. He smelled of sweat and sap from the cotton plants. There were smudges on his forehead and cheeks from where the dirt on his hands met the perspiration on his skin.

“Why are you panting?” I asked.

“Because I ran all the way here.”

“Why?”

“George said he saw you driving Cybil’s pickup. I knew something was wrong. Is Cybil okay?”

I nodded. And again I realized I had to speak. “Yes. I think so.”

“Did she have another one of her spells?”

“I guess you could call it that. I think she really needs to see a doctor.”

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