I shrugged, pocketing the petal. “I had anenviefor a biscuit,” I ventured, thickening my accent on the French Cajun equivalent of “hankering” before continuing, “With Ari’s closed, I thought I’d come looking for one here. But apparently the owners are on holiday, leisurely tending their gardens. I fear I’ll never get a biscuit now.”
Holding his gaze and my breath, I sent up a silent prayer to the universe that I hadn’t taken the wrong bet.
But then Monny snorted in amusement before turning onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “All right, kid. And remember, it’s Monny. Help me up, and we can get something going.”
“Sounds good, Monny,” I said through a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound too relieved. “Tell me what to do.”
“Monroe Lott!” a voice called, startling us both.
“Ah, shit,” Monny cursed under his breath, exactly as I had. “Any chance you can bury me under these bushes real quick like?”
I grimaced at him before whispering back, “I don’t think there’s time.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Lott said in surprise, stopping a few feet from us. “Hello, Cody.”
I sent her a little wave from my crouched position, but for some reason, I didn’t stand up. “Hi, Mrs. Lott.” Why did I suddenly feel like a co-conspirator?
She smiled tightly at me and then turned her stern gaze to her husband. “Monroe,” she started, taking a few steps closer. “What did I tell you about doing yard work without someone here?”
“Carebear,” he responded. “How was brunch?”
She narrowed her eyes, and I felt that same wheel spinning again, so I made another bet.
“Mrs. Lott, I was just going to take Monny inside. He agreed to help me learn how to make biscuits today.”
She turned her gaze to me, her expression so fierce that I almost regretted speaking. But then Monny patted my shoe as if in silent thanks, and I stood up from my crouched position, knees popping as I went.
Mrs. Lott took us both in for a moment. “Very well, but remember your promise, Monroe.” She eyed him dubiously, butI thought I detected the slightest hint of amusement beneath it. Very far beneath it. “No more special biscuits until Easter.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.
“And no more yard work alone.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to me. “You’ve got him?”
“Yes ma’am,” I parroted, a good soldier right alongside Monny.
With a nod and a brief smile for me, she left us to it.
I glanced at Monny. “We better hurry. I’m getting peckish. Tell me what to do.”
And he did. With minimal fuss and a half dozen attempts at thanking me—each of which I ruthlessly cut down with idle chatter—we got him back into his wheelchair and inside. He took off his prosthetic once he was situated, and then I wheeled him to his bathroom, leaving him to clean up.
I shot a quick text to Vinh and then to my dad on the way outside to clean up the abandoned tools, letting them know all was well. On my way back in, I kicked off my shoes by the back door and then went to the kitchen to wash my hands.
Mrs. Lott came into the room then, her subtle perfume somehow comforting despite how intimidating she was. She squeezed my shoulder as she passed by. “Thank you, Cody.”
I stood frozen for a moment as the suds on my hands were washed away, and then I turned off the tap. Mrs. Lott pulled out several bowls from the cabinets beside and below me as I answered, “Any time.”
She placed the bowls on the counter, then leaned against it. “You don’t need to feel obligated to stay. I’m sure you have things to do today.”
My heart sank to the linoleum. Lowering my gaze as I dried my hands on the towel hung over the oven’s handle, I grappledfor a response, unsure if she meant it as a dismissal or a blunt courtesy.
Or both.
The wheel spun for a third time as I scrunched my socked feet against the slippery floor before landing on honesty. This was Liem’s mother. Surely the person who made him was good. “I’d like to learn how to make the biscuits,” I said quietly, then raised my head. “If that’s okay?”
