She took a seat at the kitchen table, recalling the day Hatty had made Booker varnish it. “The varnish seems to be holding up.”
Booker looked at her. “The what?”
“The varnish. We tried to tell Hatty that this set was mostly plastic. But she wouldn’t listen, remember? She wanted you to varnish it, anyway.”
A ghost of a smile curved Booker’s lips. “I remember. She had me wash the walls before I could paint them, too, and she made me restarch her doilies. I must be the only guy my age who’s ever starched a doily.”
Katie couldn’t help chuckling. Toward the end of Hatty’s life, Booker did almost anything she asked of him. Some people thought she’d bullied him like everyone else. Others claimed he was afraid of losing his inheritance. Katie had seen Booker and Hatty together often enough to know Booker indulged Hatty for only one reason—he loved her. “The place looks great,” she said.
“Gran had it in top shape before she died.”
But she’d been gone more than two years, and while the house hardly seemed different, Booker did. He’d always been a survivor, a man who could take care of himself. But he suddenly seemed so much more…domestic. Maybe it came with owning his own home. “I’ll bet you miss her.”
He dug through a drawer until he found a spatula. “What’s Andy doing these days?” he asked, changing the subject.
Andy was partying. But she wasn’t about to tell Booker that. “I’m not sure.”
He studied her in that way he had of looking right through people. “How long ago did you leave him?”
“It’s been three days.”
“And you’ve lost track of him already?”
Most of the time she hadn’t known what he was doing even when he was in the next room. Because she hadn’t wanted to know. It was rarely something of which she could approve. “I don’t want to talk about Andy.”
He went to the fridge. “One egg or two?”
“Two.”
“When did you eat last?” he asked, setting the egg carton on the counter next to the stove.
“Today.”
He paused. “Today?”
“Yeah, you know, earlier.” She tried to avoid a more specific answer by drawing his attention back to the food. “Anyway, it smells good.”
He broke the eggs into a frying pan, and Katie listened to them sizzle. As awkward as it was between her and Booker, she was beginning to get warm—and to appreciate the fact that she hadn’t been forced to knock on someone else’s door in the middle of the night.
When the silence grew to the point of discomfort, however, she asked, “What have you been doing since I left?”
“Working,” he said simply.
“Doing what?”
“He owns Lionel & Sons Auto Repair,” a third voice proudly announced.
Katie looked up to see Delbert Dibbs standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A rottweiler the size of a small horse sat at his heels.
“You’re back,” he said, recognizing her immediately. Delbert was wearing a pair of Buzz Lightyear pajamas that weren’t buttoned quite right. Where he’d found such a large size, Katie couldn’t even guess. He was her age. At least five foot eleven, he had to weigh a good hundred and seventy pounds—only about thirty pounds shy of what Booker probably weighed. “I’m so glad,” he added. “I missed you, Katie. I missed you cutting my hair.”
Katie didn’t have a chance to stand up before Delbert hurried across the kitchen and gathered her tightly in his arms. They’d never been close, but she’d cut his hair every once in a while. They’d also gone to the same elementary school for kindergarten and first grade. By second grade, it had become apparent that he wasn’t developing normally, and he was put in a special school. But she’d still seen him around town. Especially after he dropped out of school altogether and took to rambling up and down Main Street, hanging out at the Arctic Flyer or loitering near the auto repair shop.
Katie frowned at Booker while Delbert squeezed her with all the exuberance of a child and the dog sniffed her curiously. But Booker neither came to her rescue nor offered any explanation.
“What—what are you doing here?” Katie asked Delbert when he finally released her and she could draw enough breath.
“I live here now,” he said, showing crooked teeth in a wide smile. “I live with Bruiser and Booker.”
Bruiser was obviously the dog, but Katie didn’t get the connection between Booker and Delbert. How did such an unlikely pair wind up as roommates?
“Since when?” she asked.
His face clouded as he slumped into the chair next to her. Bruiser went over to Booker and wagged his tail in greeting. “My dad died. Did you know that, Katie? I came home one day, and he was just staring at me. Wouldn’t say a thing.”
“How awful,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”
His sadness lifted as quickly as it had descended. “Want me to show you what I made?”
“Uh…okay.”
He got up and raced from the kitchen, and Katie slanted a questioning glance at Booker. “Delbert lives with you? How did that come about?”
“I met him at the shop once I took over.”
“And?”
“You heard him. His dad died.”
“So you took him in?”
“He works for me,” he said. “I’ve actually been able to teach him quite a bit about cars.”
Teaching Delbert anything had to be a slow, frustrating process. That Booker would have the patience and go to the trouble when almost everyone else in town—including the local minister—barely acknowledged Delbert impressed Katie. “There must be more to the story than that.”
“Not really,” he said. “Delbert’s dad was all he had. Once he died, there wasn’t anyone left to care for him.”
Katie shook her head as she toyed with the salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table. Somehow Booker never failed to surprise her. “That’s really nice,” she said. “What would’ve happened to him if you hadn’t stepped in?”
“He would’ve gone to a special home in Boise.”
“Most people would’ve let him go,” she said.
He set her eggs on the table and went to the counter to butter the toast that had just popped up. “Maybe, but it didn’t make any sense to me. He grew up around here. Dundee is comfortable and familiar to him. And they wouldn’t let him have a dog or work on cars. Delbert lives for those two things.”