The Millionaire and the Mum. Patricia Kay

in now, too,” Mr. Temple said. “It’s been kinda borin’ out here tonight.” He got up slowly and opened the door to Unit Five.

      “You live here?” Jack said.

      “Yep. Ever since my wife, God rest her soul, died, I been livin’ right here on the property. When Alma, that’s my sister, two years older ’n me and thinks she’s my keeper, asked why was I sellin’ the house, I told her ’cause I wanted to, that’s why, and I didn’t need no other reason. That shut her up. First time in memory!” He laughed, delighted with his own wit. Then, maybe feeling guilty about bad-mouthing his sister, he added, “Alma, she’s okay. She’s got a big mouth, but she’s also got a big heart.”

      Later, as Jack lay in the unfamiliar, faintly uncomfortable bed and listened to the chorus of cicadas outside his window, he thought about Beth and her kids and wondered about what old man Temple had told him. Could he have exaggerated? Maybe Eben Johnson hadn’t been as bad as Mr. Temple had painted him, because Beth sure didn’t seem like the type of woman who would put up with that kind of behavior for very long. And she’d obviously been married to Eben awhile if Matthew was seven years old and Eben had only been dead a little over a year. Usually, if a woman stayed with a man like that, she did so because she was scared to be on her own. Weak, in other words.

      Beth was not weak. Just the opposite, in fact. She was strong—a fighter, just like Jack. But fighter or not, right now she needed help. Suddenly he was very glad circumstances had sent him her way, because he was going to enjoy helping her.