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We're neither of us really ... churchy people."Well, that seemed to leave the ball firmly in my court. I was, you might say, painfully aware of the woman in my arms. I reminded myself she'd just been bereaved, there was no significance to her embrace beyond her need for comfort. It didn't help much."Have you eaten?" I doubted that she'd thought of it."Oh... ! I'm sorry, you must be hungry!" I'm ... okay. I had quite a large lunch, partly to warm up after a really cold ride. I was asking about you." I suppose I ought to eat ... There's only soup I made last night for Dad, but there's plenty of it. You'll have some too, won't you." Of course I will if you're offering." I'm offering." She gently released herself from my arms and went to start heating the soup. "I could make dumplings..." she mused, thoughtfully.Perhaps the activity was the distraction she needed as she seemed to be transformed back into the efficient housekeeper I'd met before. I sat at the kitchen table and watched her. Not really,’ I said. ‘she just… wanted to talk.’ Suddenly feeling awkward, I closed my notebook and stood up. ‘I need a drink. Ya’ll want anything?’ ‘Uh, yeah,’ Billy said. ‘There are some sodas in the fridge.’ ‘Okay,’ I said and left the garage. Dalton’s song was still playing in my mind as I entered the kitchen. I began to sing the chorus to myself as I got the drinks out of the refrigerator. Bad idea. When I turned around, Billy was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his mouth in an O shape. ‘I thought you said you couldn’t sing.’ ‘No. I never said that I couldn’t,’ I told him. ‘I just never said that I could.’ He raised his arms in protest. ‘Why? That sounded amazing.’ ‘I’m a writer, Billy. Not a singer,’ I reminded him. ‘Bullshit,’ he said, grabbing my arm. I flinched. My flesh was still a bit tender from my last slice. Thankfully, he didn’t notice. He pulled me back into the garage, where he shoved his microphone at me. ‘What’s going on?’ Dalton asked. ‘Did you guys.
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