The man with the suspenders Abigail had bumped into at Merle’s store that afternoon took his position at the microphone and ceremoniously welcomed everyone to the game.
“This here Hurricane Amelia might be bigger than us and faster than us, but she can’t out-bingo us,” he declared, rousing a cheer from the crowd.
“Keep those cards warm for me for a minute,” Abigail said to Ruth. “There’s something I have to do.”
Denny was standing with his father, waiting in line to order food.
“This is on me,” she told the girl behind the counter.
“That’s okay,” Denny said, still hurt. “I can get my own.”
“Denny, please. I apologize for what I said.”
“What’s going on, Denny?” his father asked gruffly.
“It’s no big deal, Pop.”
“If it’s no big deal, then pay the gal what you owe her and let’s get to our table. Game’s fixin’ to start.”
“Denny, I really am sorry. The least I can do is treat you to a hot dog. You too, Mr. Meloch.”
Denny’s father was so taken aback that he blushed.
“How about some sodas?”
“Whadaya say, Pop?”
“Hold on. What’s this about?” his father demanded.
“It’s about your son giving me the smartest piece of advice I’ve ever heard.”
It was Denny’s turn to blush. “You mean that, Abby?”
“Yes, I do. I’d pay close attention to that son of yours, Mr. Meloch. He could teach you a lot.” The perennially stern man was reduced to a perplexed silence that made Denny grin.
“Mustard and relish?” Abigail asked.
“Why not?” Mr. Meloch shrugged.
She left Denny and his father to eat their dinner while she took a hot dog of her own to Ruth’s table. Famished, she finished half of it before reaching her seat.
“Watch you don’t take off some of your fingers,” Ruth cautioned. “You’ll need ’em to mark these bingo cards.”
Between bites, Abigail said, “I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Me, I’ve been carbo-loading like this bingo game is a marathon. I’m primed for a win. I can tell the cards are hot. Tonight’s my night.”
Five minutes later a teenage boy shouted, “Bingo.”
“That’s it. I’m not talking about the cards anymore. I’m jinxing myself. No more bingo talk.”
The caller started the next game and Ruth went mum.
“How about another topic?” Abigail suggested.
“Be my guest.”
Though Sheriff Larner had sworn her to secrecy, she recounted the story of Hank Scokes’s death in Ruth’s ear, stunning her to the point that she stopped playing altogether.
“You can’t tell anyone, Ruth. Not a soul.”
“Hand to God, I won’t.”
“I only told you because I feel certain Nat had nothing to do with it. I don’t know how to make Larner see that he’s wrong about him.”
“I don’t think Nat did it either, but it’s not my place to say why.”
“I don’t understand.”
She signaled for Abigail to lower her voice. “Hank came to me in confidence. Told me private information. Very private.”
“Ruth, you’re not a priest or an attorney.”
“I’m not a doctor either. Doesn’t stop people from asking my advice. If I’m asked, I give it.”
“Ruth, please,” Abigail implored.
“All right, but don’t tell nobody else. Bad enough I’m telling you. Hank stopped by my house one night not long after his wife passed. He hadn’t been drinking. He was stone sober. I sat with him on my porch and he told me he was thinking of, well, doing himself harm. He was saying he wanted to be in heaven with his wife. That he didn’t have the patience for waiting.”
“Do you believe he’d kill himself?”
“He begged me not to breathe a word. Said he was ashamed for even mentioning it. He didn’t want anybody else to know. I told him I’d thought about it too when Jerome died. That seemed to make him feel better.”
It would have been untrue if Abigail said suicide wasn’t a tempting option for her as well. At least the pain would end, she’d reasoned in those first dark days, and then she would be with her husband and son. Logic wouldn’t
