Page 75 of How Lulu Lost Her Mind

“No, thanks. Not even for cool air.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not even for popcorn.”

Jim shows up in a green car with a dent in the right front fender. I don’t know what model it is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was manufactured in the last century.

I wave them goodbye and start looking around the house for an electric fan. I don’t find one in any of the rooms or closets, and I’ve rummaged through the attic enough to know there isn’t one up there. The best solution I can come up with is a freezer baggie filled with ice. I put it on the side of my neck and sigh luxuriously, when my phone rings in my dress pocket. I don’t recognize the number and immediately assume it’s the hospital with more bad news. “Hello?”

“Hey, tee Lou.” I’ve never been so glad to hear Simon’s smooth Southern drawl. “I got some samples for you.”

“I didn’t recognize your number.”

“I’m at my office on the landline. I’ll make a pass with those samples tomorrow.”

I don’t even know what he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter right now. “Mom’s in the hospital. I don’t know when I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Damn.” He pauses for a few heartbeats before he says, “I’m sure sorry to hear that. Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes,” I answer, because I hope it’s true. I lean a hip into the counter and give Simon the short version of the past twenty-four hours.

“Where y’at?”

I slide the ice to the back of my neck. “Home.”

His soft chuckle fills my ear. “That means, ‘How are you doing?’?”

“You could have said that?”

“I did.”

It must be one more of those Southern things, like come see and make groceries. “The central air isn’t working. I don’t think there are any fans in this house, and I’m melting.”

“We can’t have that. Hang tight. I got something you need.”

I can think of a lot of things I need. At the moment, a new air conditioner is number one on the list.

Simon brings the next-best thing: a big fan and a six-pack of cold beer. “At times like this NOLA Blonde goes down easy and hits the spot.”

I laugh, but he’s right. Within a few short minutes, we’re sitting on the front porch, the steady squeak of rocking chairs on old wood lulling away my tension. “I never imagined that I’d one day be rocking in these old chairs. I must be getting old, too.”

“You probably have a few good years left.” Simon raises a beer to his lips as the setting sun washes the night sky in deep purple and orange.

Not so much as a wisp of a breeze tonight, and a scattering of fireflies twinkle and flash like tiny stars right in front of me and the depths beyond. “One or two before I get my AARP card, I suppose.” The scene is enchanting, and the rhythmic creaks of worn planks fill the comfortable silence. I take a long drink and it does indeed go down easy. “Jim picked up Lindsey earlier and they went to a movie,” I say as I lower the bottle.

“Hmm,” is his only response.

“Did Jim tell you she’s pregnant?”

“Didn’t have to tell me.” He raises his bottle again, and I watch as it seems to go down easy for him, too. “It was obvious the first or second time I saw the girl.”

Yep. I’m the only one who didn’t figure it out. “Lindsey says they’re friends. I think it’s kind of… odd.”

Again, “Hmm.”

“She’s going to have a baby in about three months.” I lift a palm inquisitively. “Why would he go out with someone who’s pregnant with another man’s baby?”

“I don’t ask.”