“Jarrett’s trucks,” he said. “The bank called the note in August. Hundred and eighty-six thousand. I cosigned it, Paulie. I put up our house to do it, and I never told you. I didn’t have it, and I wasn’t going to have it. Mama’s ground was clear, not a dime owed on it. I was going to borrow against it, pay off the bank, and put it back in all our names the day the note was paid. I swear before God it was a loan.”
“Son,” Hobart said quietly, “a loan from a woman who doesn’t know she’s lending is called something else.”
Nobody said anything. A grackle landed on the dessert table, and nobody shooed it.
Hershel turned to me, and for the first time since August he looked at me like his sister. “You had six years of her,” he said. “I had a phone call on Sundays. I told myself I was owed something. I have told myself that every day since.”
Get a new story in your inbox every morning.
Facebook doesn’t show you every story we post. Our free newsletter does. Join 2,500+ readers.
That was the thing I had not seen coming. I had braced for a hard man, and what I got was a lonely one.
“Hershel,” I said, “I would have lent you the money. You never asked me.”
“I know.” His voice cracked on the second word. “That’s the part I can’t get over.”
Pauletta picked up her purse. She did not shout, and she did not cry in front of the church. “We’ll talk at home, or we won’t,” she said. “I haven’t decided.” She walked across the lawn to Hester’s daughter’s car and sat in the front seat with her hands in her lap.
Brother Ellis, our preacher, set his hand on Hershel’s shoulder. He is a gentle man and did not say a word about the Book. He did not have to. Hershel reached up and unpinned the deacon’s pin from his lapel and laid it on the table beside the banana pudding.
Lucian Atwood cleared his throat. “I’ll go to the bank with you Monday,” he said. “Not for your sake, Hershel. For Jarrett’s, and for Paulie’s. I’ll tell them what I know of you, which was nothing but good for sixty-two years, until about August.”
Then Brother Ellis asked Hobart Lasley to bless the food, since the deacon was otherwise engaged. Hobart bowed his head and prayed the shortest grace I have ever heard in that church. “Lord, we have said enough today. Bless this food. Amen.”
People ate. That is the thing nobody tells you, that after the worst moment of your life a hundred and forty people will pass you the green beans and look at the table. Neal put his big hand over mine under the tablecloth and held on.