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“J en! Jen! Wake up!” A frantic voice called out to me.

I blinked my eyes open. A fuzzy image blocked my line of vision. A face. Someone had her face in front of mine.

“Ma?” I asked.

“No, it’s me, Gertie.”

I blinked again, and Gertie’s freckles became clearer. A look of relief crossed her face when I lifted my head off the table. She was kneeling next to me.

Brodie stood behind her staring down at me.

“What in the bejeesus happened to you?” she asked me.

“Thwat do you mean?” My heavy, fat tongue caused my words to slur.

Gertie snapped orders at Brodie. “Wet a cloth with cold water.” Gertie helped me sit upright, then something wet and cold smacked me across the face.

“I thook medidine,” I explained as she wiped the cold cloth over my face.

“And then what? Decided to face plant into the cheesecake?” Brodie asked.

I looked down. There was a perfect outline of my face in the center of the cheesecake. Sometime after Caiyan left, I opened the cake. Then I remembered what happened, and the tears stung my eyes.

“Caiyan thopped by.”

“He did?” Gertie asked.

“That explains the whipped cream,” Brodie chuckled.

Gertie gave him the stink eye, and he stopped laughing. Brodie thrust a glass of water at me, and after I took a long drink my tongue moved freely.

“He has to marry Mahlia,” I said, and the waterworks turned on again.

Gertie shot Brodie a concerned glance.

Brodie shrugged. “He hasn’t been communicating with me.”

I set the water glass down on the table, sniffed, and blew my nose into the washrag. “Why does he have to marry the bitch from hell?”

“Yeah,” Gertie said. “Why would he do that?”

We both looked at Brodie.

“Like I said, the bloke hasn’t kept me in the loop on this one, but I do know one thing. If the dingoes are playing hardball, he’d agree, but wouldn’t go through with it.” He paused. “Unless it was important.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I dropped my face into the washrag and wished I could wash away the heartache.

* * *

“Your ma called,” Gertie stuck her head in my bedroom. “She’s coming over with a surprise.”

The sun streamed in through the French door in my room.

“What time is it?”

“Eleven. I figured you needed to rest after the travel and…all.”

I pushed aside the covers along with last night’s events with Caiyan and lumbered out of bed.

“When is she coming?” I asked. My mom rarely came to the house. I grimaced. I’d missed a few Sunday dinners due to the moon cycles. Eli covered for me, but I’d still get the Catholic guilt speech.

“She said around noon. I’m cleaning the house, and I did the grocery shopping.”

“Thanks. I owe you.”

Gertie shrugged. “You needed to sleep, and I know how particular Cuzin Mary is about…well everything.”

Gertie feared my mother more than carbs. My mom was Mary Poppins on the outside, but she’d give Cinderella’s stepmother a run for her money when it came to a clean house. She’d open the fridge to check our supply of food and click her tongue if the contents were too bare or too unhealthy. We’d also get a tongue click if there was dust on the tables or clothes on the floor.

I tossed my clothes from last night in the hamper. Picked up the shoe I almost bludgeoned Caiyan with, and now wished I had. Returned it to the box. Made my bed, showered, and dressed.

What kind of surprise would my mom bring? Maybe a new pair of boots for fall. She liked fashion. Her taste was a bit straitlaced for me, but I’d roll with a new purse or pair of shoes.

I went downstairs. Gertie was sweeping up the last of the plate remnants.

“Sorry,” I said, staring down at the pile of shattered porcelain.

“Don’t worry about it. Your reasons were justified. Brodie cleaned up most of it last night. I was giving it a second sweep to make sure he didn’t miss any, which he did.” Her snub nose wrinkled into a frown.

“I’ll replace the dishes.”

“I saw a new pattern from the Pioneer Woman I liked.” Gertie smiled at me.

I was thankful she didn’t badger me with questions about Caiyan. I didn’t want to talk about him this morning. I helped Gertie dispose of the broken pieces of my life and finished tidying up the den.

At precisely twelve o’clock, there was a tap, tapping on the front door, and my mom breezed in. Chanel No. 5 and self-confidence floated around her like the dust cloud that surrounds Pigpen in the Peanuts comic strip.

I stopped lint rolling the cat hair off the back of the sofa and hid the roller behind a throw pillow.

“Hi, Mom.” I moved toward her, but she whisked by me, sending me an air kiss as she passed. Her hands were laden with a covered dish.

We resembled each other with the full bust line and slim hips. Her blond hair was cut in a short bob, her Kate Spade bag dangled from the crook of her elbow, and she wore a sensible lipstick.

“Hello, girls,” she said as she sat the dish and her purse on the kitchen table.

I followed her to the breakfast nook to give her a hug.

“Howdy, Cuzin Mary.” Gertie put aside the broom and came to inspect the contents of the dish.

“It’s cousin, not cuzin, Gertie. Now that you’re a librarian you need to watch your English p’s and q’s.” Mom hugged Gertie. She lectured and embraced simultaneously. The woman had talent.

I grinned at the way my mom mimicked Gertie’s pronunciation.

Gertie gave me an eyeroll. “Yes, Cousin Mary.”

My mom smiled her approval. “Gertie, I see you were sweeping. So nice to keep a clean house. Don’t you agree, Jennifer?”

“Is this our surprise?” I asked. Avoiding her sarcasm, I sneaked a peak under the foil. “It’s a casserole.” I said, my bottom lip jutting out in a teenage pout at her. I have an animosity for casseroles. My family demanded casseroles at all our functions, and I despised them.

“It’s not for you.”

“It’s not our surprise?” Gertie asked.

“Heavens no, Jennifer hates casseroles.”

I blew out a sigh of relief.

“I made you a ham and a chocolate cake. It’s in the car.” That piqued my interest. Mom made a delicious strawberry glazed ham, but chocolate cake, too? I raised an eyebrow at her while Gertie was performing a celebratory fist pump and giving Mom extra hugs.

“So, our surprise is ham?”

“Of course not, dear. Your surprise is,” she paused. “Well…we bought the townhouse next door.”

“And?” I knew there was more. Buying another investment property wouldn’t warrant ham and chocolate cake.

“Your cousin Darryl is moving in.”

“Cuzin Darryl!” Gertie and I erupted together. Mom arched an eyebrow at us. The food was a bribe.

Cousin Darryl was the kind of guy who said, “Hold my beer and watch this.” He couldn’t keep a steady job. He had warrants out for his arrest in three counties for disorderly conduct, and last I heard, he was living in a trailer with his grandmother.

Gertie chewed a nail while I stared slack-jawed at Mom.

“When is he moving in?” I asked.

“Today.” Mom smiled and smoothed the pleat in her Nike golf skort.

Smart woman. She didn’t warn us ahead of time. Our complaining would have meant weeks of fielding our objection with baked goods of guilt. “I thought I would bring a casserole over for you girls to give him. You know, to make him feel welcome. He’s never been out on his own before. I thought it was perfect—you girls could keep an eye on him, help him get acquainted with living in the city.”

She meant babysit him.

“Anyhoo, I also brought a plant as a housewarming gift. It’s in the car.”

“I’ll get them,” Gertie said, then headed outside to retrieve the bribe.

“That’s nice of you, dear,” Mom said to Gertie and gathered up her purse.

“Don’t you want to stay until Darryl arrives?”

“Oh, no can do. I’m playing in a scramble with the girls this afternoon, and then your dad and I are going to the club for dinner.”

“Darryl isn’t wearing an ankle bracelet, is he?” I asked. “You know, the electronic kind monitored by the authorities.”

“Heavens no, but your aunt Loretta has had enough of him, and your dad wanted to help out. He’s harmless, just needs someone to show him the way.”

“Does he have a job?”

Mom pursed her lips. She didn’t approve. “He has a job bartending in Terrell. Be nice to your cousin. He doesn’t have any friends in the city.”

I didn’t think my cousin would have trouble meeting anyone. He was born winking at the nurses.

“There’s no family dinner tonight since you’ll be helping Darryl get situated. Not that you’ve been to any lately. Tell your brother I’ll see him next Sunday. You and Gertie should come too, invite Darryl.”

“It’s going to take a lot of chocolate cake to live next door to Darryl,” I said to Mom.

“The chocolate cake is for you. I heard you broke up with your Scottish boyfriend.” How did she learn these things?

“Eli told me you might like some chocolate cake. That’s your comfort food dear, so I probed. Don’t get mad at Eli for telling me. You should call occasionally. I’m sure the two of you will make up. Give the man time. Men need to sow their wild oats before they can settle down.”

I knew Caiyan had been sowing a lot of oats lately; there couldn’t be any more left in the field.

Gertie entered carrying two travel containers and balancing a potted palm on her hip. “The ham smells yummy, Cousin Mary.” She strained to say the word cousin correctly.

Mom broke out in a wide smile at Gertie’s perfect cousin. She sent us air kisses and waved as she exited the door.

“Tootles, girls! Put the ham in the oven on three fifty for an hour. I know I can count on you.”

Gertie and I examined the spread on the table. Strawberry glazed ham cooked to perfection. Accompanied by green beans with the right amount of garlic to keep away the vampires, and chocolate cake, iced like a pro and topped with curly cue chocolate shavings. Gertie and I inhaled the aroma of home baked food.

“I love your ma,” Gertie said, munching on a crispy green bean. “But sometimes she’s a little intimidating.”

“Just wait. We’re going to pay for this meal. Darryl is a handful.”

“Yep, but I heard he’s trying to turn over a new leaf. He’s got a new side business and he’s a real good singer. He’s trying to raise money to try out for one of them contests, like American Idol, or that other one with Blake Shelton.”

I had a vision of Darryl on The Bachelor . A new mission to find a woman who will take him off my hands began to take shape. I filed it behind strangling Caiyan and buying Gertie new dishes.

I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured Gertie and me a glass. “Drink up, we need to prepare for Darryl.”

* * *

Gertie slid the ham and green beans in the oven to warm for dinner, then joined me on the couch to watch the next episode of Big Little Lies .

I had just poured myself a second glass of red wine when country music blared from a radio outside the house. Gertie paused the show, and as we made our way to the front door to locate the cause of the ruckus, a gunshot made us flinch and drop to the ground. I managed to keep all my wine inside of the glass.

“Someone’s shootin’ at us,” Gertie yelled, covering her ears.

I peeked out through the front window. A rusted-out Ford F350 Dually, hooked up to a one-horse trailer, sat idle at the curb. The truck was raised six inches off the ground, had a stocked gun rack—and a Confederate flag flying from the antenna.

The truck let loose a window-rattling backfire, and I informed Gertie she could uncover her ears.

She joined me at the window.

“Is that Darryl?” I asked Gertie.

“It’s either Darryl or the president of Willie Nelson’s fan club.”

The engine on the Ford gagged then died, Cousin Darryl jumped down from the cab and sauntered in our direction. Neighbors gawked at Darryl from their windows. His straw Stetson sat high on his head. His lean frame wore wranglers and a faded t-shirt that read get high on life .

He stopped and looked up at the townhouse next door.

“We should go out and say hi. See if he needs help unloading,” Gertie said.

I upended the glass of wine and downed the contents. “OK, I’m ready.”

Gertie opened the front door, and we went outside. The smell of corn dogs and cow shit met us as we stepped off the front porch.

“Hey Darryl,” Gertie said as we approached him.

“Well I’ll be, if it ain’t Gertrude.” He grabbed her by the waist and swung her around rag doll style. Placing Gertie back on her feet, he turned toward me. I held up a hand to fend him off.

“Cu-zin Jen.”

My mom would have a field day with this one.

He ignored my hand and embraced me in a hug that lifted me off my feet. Darryl’s grandma was my dad’s sister, making him my second cousin and Gertie’s third. He’d spent more time with Gertie when she lived in Mount Vernon because his grandma, my aint Loretta Lynn, lived in the same town. His mother had MIA, or what my family refers to as musician induced amnesia. She ran off with a musician and forgot she had a kid.

He released me, then stepped back and tipped his hat at me. “My, my, cuz, you sure filled out in all the right places.”

Ick. I forced a smile. “Mom told me you were moving in today.”

“Yep, it was awful nice of your parents to let me move into the brick house.” He turned and admired the townhouse.

I raised my eyebrows at Gertie, and she interpreted softly, “As opposed to living in the house on bricks.”

“Do ya need any help unloading your stuff?” Gertie asked.

Darryl eyed his horse trailer and shook his head.

“Is there someplace I can park my trailer?”

“There’s a carport out back.” Gertie gestured with her thumb over her right shoulder. “If you unhook it, it’d probably fit underneath.”

“My mom sent you a casserole for dinner,” I said.

“Um…that sure was nice of her. Let me get my stuff unpacked and I’ll come by and pick it up later.”

Alrighty then. He waited until we went back into the house before he turned toward his truck. Gertie and I peeked out the window as he unloaded a knapsack and a guitar.

“That’s it?” Gertie whispered. “What’s he going to sleep on, and where are his clothes?”

“We’re inside, why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know, seems when you’re spying on someone you ought to whisper.”

We watched Darryl carry his things inside. Mrs. Jones, the prior owner of the townhouse, moved to an assisted living apartment. She left her bed and a few sticks of furniture behind.

Darryl exited the house, started up his truck, and, with a loud bang, drove away. A few minutes later we heard him pull into the carport next door. Having Darryl as my neighbor would be a challenge. What if he saw my outhouse do its disappearing act?

A few hours later, there was a knock on the front door and Darryl entered without waiting for the door to be answered.

My inner voice padlocked the door.

He whistled as he walked into our house. “Nice digs you got here. Mine smells a little like mothballs and Bengay, but I’ll have her shipshape in no time at all.”

“Here you go,” I said and handed him the casserole.

Gertie boosted up the potted palm. “Welcome home.”

“Cool. Hey how about I stay and y’all can eat supper with me? There’s more than enough casserole, and I don’t like eating by myself.”

Gertie and I looked at each other, and the timer on the oven chimed, announcing the ham was ready to melt in our mouths.

“You know, Darryl. We have dinner cooking. Why don’t I put your casserole in the fridge, and you can eat with us tonight?”

“Sounds like a mighty fine idea.” He handed the casserole to me and removed his cowboy hat, hanging it on the newel of the stair railing.

Gertie took the ham out of the oven while I set the table.

Darryl peeked out the sliding glass door, and his voice caught. “What do we have here?” He threw open the slider and whistled as he stepped out into my backyard.

Gertie and I looked at each other, then followed hastily behind him.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“What?” I asked, hoping he was referring to the rusted-out grill and not my outhouse.

“That Aint Elma’s outhouse?”

I sighed.

“Yes, it is,” Gertie said. “She left it to Jen in her will.”

“Well lucky duck, they don’t make outhouses like this anymore.”

Unless you live in the outskirts of Alaska, the need is not what it used to be.

He skipped through my soldiers of roses to the outhouse and opened the door.

“Darryl, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Gertie cautioned.

It was too late. He stood inside and ran his hand along the grain of the wood.

Gertie and I took a step back. “I reckon these handles are for—yeee!”

Before he could finish his sentence, my outhouse belched him into the air. He landed face to the sky in the hedge of Japanese Boxwood.

Gertie rushed over. “Are you all right?”

I casually followed behind her, suppressing a small, proud smile.

“That was awesome! Gosh, how much you want for it?”

“Um, it’s not for sale,” I said and offered him a hand.

“Why do you want an outhouse?” Gertie asked him.

He grasped my hand, and I pulled him to his feet. “I’m a picker.”

“A whatter?” Gertie asked.

“A picker.” He plucked the spiky leaves off his pants.

“I thought you were a singer?” I asked.

“And a bartender,” Gertie added.

“I do those jobs after five during the week and on the weekends. During the day, I’m a picker. I take old things and make them cool, then I sell them on Etsy, eBay, and other Internet sites.

“Sorry, the outhouse isn’t for sale,” I said again.

His shoulders slumped. “Too bad. It’d make a nice potting shed.”

We returned inside, and Gertie plated the ham. I offered him a choice of beer or wine. He took the beer, and I poured Gertie and me a glass of wine.

“Where do you find most of your things?” I asked as we sat down at the table.

“I go to estate sales, garage sales, and sometimes I drive around and see what people leave out at the curb. Once I found a hundred dollars someone left in an old dresser.”

“Cool,” Gertie said.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to live next door to a Junker, but it was better than living next to a drug dealer.

“Y’all will have to come over once I get all moved in. I got some real good pieces you might want to buy.”

We sat around my table eating the ham. Darryl shook his head and pinched his arm.

“I can’t believe I have a whole house to myself.”

“Is this the first time you’ve lived away from home?” I asked him.

“Yepper, I’m going to miss my mee-maw, but I have you gals to keep me company.”

Hold the front door! “We’re not home much,” I said, and Gertie elbowed me.

“What Jen means is we go out, but if you need anything, just holler.”

I didn’t want Darryl hollering at me or peeping over the fence and seeing my outhouse vanish. He didn’t seem like the type to spy on his neighbor, but then again, I had spied on him earlier.

He was a few years younger than me. A good-looking guy in a “I can hog tie a calf in under thirty seconds and have the body to do it,” sort of way.

He told us how he grew up in the trailer park with his mee-maw and his six younger cousins. Apparently, Aint Loretta’s son wasn’t any prize either and dumped his six kids on her doorstep.

“My mee-maw’s got her hands full with the young’uns. I’m going to send her money once I hit the big time.”

He looked a little uncertain about his talents.

“Clyde’s going to love the new place.” He paused and grimaced.

“Who’s Clyde?”

He slid his jaw around before he answered. “My potbelly pig.”

“You have a pig?” I asked, a fork full of ham halfway to my mouth.

“Yeah, but he’s real quiet, like a mouse, and clean, too. He only does his business in the litter box. I trained him.” Darryl chewed a mouthful of ham and used his fork wand style as he spoke.

Oh boy.

“Now Daphne’s another matter. She goes where she wants, but always comes back when she’s tuckered out.

“Daphne?” I sent Gertie a concerned look.

“My hawk.”

“Darryl, does my mom know you have a small farm living with you?”

My mom was the firm one growing up. No pets of any kind were allowed in the house. Eli brought home a bullfrog in his coat pocket once, and he was grounded for a week. The bullfrog was released to the wild.

Darryl’s face dropped. “I might not have mentioned that I have a few pets, but I remembered you was an animal lover, so I thought you’d let me get by with a few friends.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Animal lover?”

“You remember, don’t ya? The way you loved to ride Buttercup. Couldn’t get you off her to give anyone else a turn.”

The last time I saw Darryl I was ten. He encouraged me to ride his Shetland pony. The pony sucked in its round belly and the saddle slipped to the side. I clung to its mane, afraid I’d fall to my death. My dad had to pry me off the beast.

We ate cake, and Darryl told us about his new job. He was bartending at a club in Terrell, a nearby town home to the local mental hospital. The club was a stone’s throw from the DMV, so I was familiar with the small town, but I had never been to the club.

“I start next weekend.”

After dinner, Darryl stood and stretched. He walked to the back door and peered out at the backyard. “If’n you ever decide to sell, I’d like to have first dibs.”

“Sure,” I told him.

“Thanks for the supper. I’d best be getting home. Daphne gets upset if I’m gone too long.”

“Let me get your casserole out of the fridge,” Gertie said.

“Um…Darryl what happens when Daphne gets upset?” I handed him the potted palm.

“Hey there, kitty.” Darryl either ignored my question or was distracted by Gertie’s gray tabby perched on the back of the sofa, the cat’s normal sweater-snagging location.

Darryl balanced the plant on his hip, then scratched the cat under his chin. The cat purred and gave Darryl a nudge with his head.

Amazing.

“Daphne likes to show off by bringing me her roadkill,” Darryl said then lowered his voice. “You might want to keep an eye on the kitty.”

Gertie met us at the front door with the casserole. “I can carry this next door for you.”

“Nope, you ladies have been kind enough. I’ve got it.”

I opened the door for him, and he left, plant in one hand and Tuna Scroodle in the other.

“I think Darryl’s got more than a few pets next door.”

“At least he’s family,” Gertie said.

“Yep, there’s that.”