“I know you’re fine. When I got your message, I was in the neighborhood anyway.’’

She gave me a suspicious look. “You were not.’’

“Okay, I thought maybe you could use some company.’’

“Fine. But leave those nasty boots at the front door. You stink like the livestock market after the Tuesday auction.’’

Maybe her griping about my crap-covered boots was a good sign. When I scuffed back inside in my socks, the TV was playing an ancient rerun of Matlock. The sound was off, but Andy Griffith was doing his trademark wily Southerner grin. It made me sad to think Andy was dead and gone.

“Kenny hasn’t come home.’’ Maddie looked over her shoulder at the rumpled, empty bed. “He hasn’t even called.’’

I gave her a half-hug. “There, there.’’ As I gave her shoulder an awkward pat, I wished again she’d chosen to tell her secret to Marty instead of me.

As if she could read my mind, Maddie said, “Bet you never thought you’d be comforting me, did you? Haven’t I always been the old, happily married lady who has it all together? Haven’t you always been the one unlucky in love?’’

I didn’t think she was looking for an answer. Fact was, she had always been happy with Kenny, ever since I could remember. They were junior high school sweethearts. As far as my dismal record in the romance department, everybody was pretty clear on that—thanks to Mama, the Mouth of the South.

“You have to help me find him, Mace. I just want to know what’s going on. I have to know before this stupid party on Saturday. ’’

“Have you thought any more about cancelling it? Maybe you should.’’

She sunk onto the bed, tears in her eyes. “I can’t! It’s paid for. A hundred people are coming. It’s supposed to be Kenny’s big night.’’

She rooted around on the bedspread for a shredded tissue. When she dabbed at her eyes, a snowstorm of white flecks fluttered onto her robe.

“There must be some reason Kenny’s cheating. What’s wrong with me, Mace? Have I been a bad wife? Am I a bad person?’’ She blew her nose. “Is it because I’ve put on a few pounds?’’

I gave her shoulders a gentle shake. “Don’t even think like that, you hear me? You’re a fantastic wife. That mo-ron is lucky to have you.’’ I found a nearly whole tissue and handed it to her. “This is not about you! It’s about Kenny, and whatever is going on in his pea-sized male brain.’’

I figured I should say no more about Kenny. Maddie would never forgive me for trashing him, once they got back together. And they were getting back together, I was sure of it. Or, at least, I hoped for it.

Matlock was over. One of the judge shows was starting. Maddie flicked channels on the remote until she landed on a rerun of Two and a Half Men. Charlie Sheen’s philandering character probably wasn’t the best subject for my sister’s viewing tonight. I grabbed the changer and found an animal show. Some kind of antelopes raced across an African plain. It’d be only a matter of time before the camera showed the lion chasing after them, death on their trail.

On second thought, maybe a comedy would be a better option.

“Are you hungry?’’ I asked.

Maddie shook her head.

“All I saw you eat at Mama’s was a few bites of that plain chicken breast. Have you had anything else?’’

Another head shake, some tissue shredding. “I can’t eat.’’

“Well, I’m hungry. I feel like having some mashed potatoes with butter. You’ll have a few bites, okay?’’

Maddie shrugged. At least she didn’t say no. I headed to the kitchen to prepare our default comfort food.

When I returned, bearing a pot of whipped potatoes and two big spoons, Maddie had washed her face and combed her hair. She’d tossed handfuls of the used tissues into the wastebasket in the corner. Those were encouraging signs, even if what she’d chosen to watch was some woman-done-wrong movie on Lifetime.

I plumped a pillow for my back, and sat beside my sister on the bed. Both of us rested against the headboard. The potato pot created a warm spot between us. When she made no move to dig in, I scooped up a buttered spoonful for her. Just as Maddie had done for me through countless of my nasty or humiliating breakups, I raised the spoon toward her. “Mmm, yummy!’’

Obligingly, she opened up and ate.

“Better?’’ I asked, after she’d savored several more bites.

“A bit.’’ Her smile was wobbly, but at least it was a smile.

“Want to try to get some sleep?’’

Maddie glanced out the window to the side yard. No truck.

“I’ll stay up and wait,’’ I said. “I’ll wake you as soon as he gets home.’’

I didn’t mention that first I planned to have it out with her cheat-

ing husband, no doubt calling him a few names the church ladies at Abundant Forgiveness would not forgive.

Despite my best intentions, the Lifetime movie sucked me in. The woman wronged dumped her louse and ended up with a great guy who appreciated her. By the time the credits rolled, and I had the potato pot washed and draining on the sink, Maddie was snoring softly. My own eyelids felt heavy. Maddie’s bright red clock—apple-shaped, stamped with the words World’s Greatest Teacher —read 1:47 a.m.

The house was so quiet, the sound of the refrigerator humming carried from the kitchen into the living room. I sat myself in Kenny’s recliner. Would it reek of cheater’s musk? All I smelled, though, was Kenny’s usual scent: a not-unpleasant mix of engine grease and drugstore aftershave.

The chair was cushiony, and I was exhausted. It seemed like I’d just sat down, but next thing I knew, harsh morning light slanted through the living room blinds.

I’d turned off the alert sound on my sister’s phone so as not to wake her overnight. I picked up the phone from the coffee table, and was about to turn it back on, when I saw there was a text message, from Kenny. I hesitated only a moment before I read it.

I did something terrible. I don’t think you can forgive me. I’m so sorry.

Outside, his parking spot was still empty.

twenty

“Angel, doll, this drink is delicious, but could I get just a smidge more vodka?”

Beatrice Graf offered up a pleading tone and what looked like a Bloody Mary to the barmaid at the 19th Hole. I’d just taken my first sip of morning coffee, and the mayor’s wife was already pursuing an alcohol buzz.

Without a wasted motion, Angel picked up my money from the bar, spun to retrieve a bottle of premium vodka, topped off the glass of Mrs. Mayor, and replaced the bottle on the shelf. Then, she proceeded to the register to ring up my coffee.

I’d returned to the golf course to take another crack at finding Kenny. I was waiting for an opportune moment to speak with Angel.

She returned with change from my five. “Keep it,’’ I said.

Angel’s eyes lit. “Thanks.’’

“You should at least make it an Irish whiskey.’’ Beatrice chuckled beside me, stirring her drink with its celery stalk. “Who comes to a bar and orders a plain coffee?’’

“Somebody who has to be at work in an hour.’’ I wrestled with a couple of sugar packets, managing to get most of the contents spilled into my cup.

Mrs. Mayor fluffed at her poodle perm, then hoisted her Bloody Mary at me for a toast. Her eyebrows had a reddish tint, to match her hair. Her mascara looked like she’d applied it with a paint roller. I clinked her morning cocktail with my mug, and each of us took a swallow of our preferred poisons. Angel performed a quick introduction. I didn’t let on we’d met before.

“I’m running a ladies’ group meeting for the Newcomer’s Club this morning. I always tell the gals to have a little nip. It makes the time go faster. You should try it.’’

“Think I’ll stick to coffee, but thanks.’’

She saluted us, wobbling a bit as she walked away. I suspected that wasn’t the morning’s first Bloody Mary. She didn’t seem to place me from the dining room the day before, or the library before that. Probably the memory-killing effect of too many drinks.