Page 117 of Doctorshipped
“Matter of fact,” Cooter says. “If you’uns have a squirrel problem, I’m glad to come ‘n hunt right here in yer yard. You wouldn’t even have to pay me on account of how yuh helped me in my time uh need. ’Course, I’d prolly need a suppressor so as to be sure no one gets their panties in a bunch over my rifle goin’ off in a proper neighborhood. Wouldn’t want them callin’ Jesse in over nothin’.”
Fiona’s “pet” squirrel comes to mind.
“I think we’re good on squirrel containment for now.”
I extend my hand and Cooter passes me the casserole pan of stew.
“Thank you, Cooter. And there’s no need to thank me in the future. I was just doing my job.”
“Awww, well, yuh know, yuh may not be used to the way things is done around here. But we thank people who help us, Doc. It’s just the Bordeaux way. When someone helps yuh out, yuh bring ’em a casserole at the least.”
“Well, this is plenty. Consider me well-thanked.”
“Okay then,” Cooter says.
He shuffles his boots a little and stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“Was there something else?”
“Just wanted to say you two look awful good together. And I wish yuh the best.”
“Thanks, Cooter!” Jayme shouts from behind me, popping her head around to look him in the eye.
“You didn’t have to hide on my account, Jayme. The whole town knows about the two of yuh bein’ together.”
“The whole town?” Jayme and I both say simultaneously.
“Far as I reckon, yes. Maybe a few still need to hear ’bout it, but most of us know. And you’uns have our blessin’.”
Cooter tips an invisible hat and turns to walk down the steps. “You’uns have a good night now.”
“You too, Cooter.” I say, shutting the door with the hand not holding the casserole.
Jayme falls into a full-blown fit of laughter. I take her in, smiling one of the most overpowering smiles of my life. She struggles to catch her breath, bracing herself with one hand on the wall and holding her belly with the other hand. She keeps starting to say something, and then another fit of laughter takes over.
When she seems to start to regain control, I ask, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
I hold the casserole pan at arm’s length as if a squirrel is going to jump out at me.
“How should I know?” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, still smiling and looking like she could burst into laughter again any moment.
“You’ve lived here way longer than I have, don’t you know what people do with squirrel stew?”
She shakes her head, good naturedly, obviously still amused.
“I’m sure some would eat it. But, I never did anything to warrant Cooter’s specialty, so I can’t really say.”
She busts out laughing again and I chuckle. What did I ever do to deserve her? Something cracks open and warmth spreads across my chest at the thought of it—of her and me, together, making something lasting work between us.
Fiona comes in through the back door and into the entryway. “What’s so funny, Miss Jayme?”
Jayme’s still laughing and trying to catch her breath, so I answer. “Cooter brought a casserole that has some interesting ingredients.”
“Another interesting casserole,” Fiona says.
She has no idea this one isn’t some variation on tater tots with five kinds of canned soup and a crumbled Fritos topping.
I glance at Jayme from behind Fiona’s back and shake my head. My daughter does not need to hear the wordssquirrelandstewin the same sentence. Jayme nods with understanding and takes a few more calming breaths.
