Parlor Tricks

Chapter 9

The warm smell of dinner melted Hank's chilled face from the bite of the Fall air as he entered the house. He slung his coat and hat on the hook as he made his way down the hall to the utility room to wash his hands before Josie saw him. He lightly scrubbed as he had not dirtied them with the usual grease and grime. Josie was spinning like a live top in the kitchen, making Hank pause for a moment to watch her. She had a pot bubbling and tossed more in as she chopped, all while singing a quiet tune to herself.

"Evening," Hank's voice came out like gravel.

Josie shot up straight at the fright but settled quickly when her eyes fell on him in the doorway. The ease in her smile made Hank bow his head to hide a smile.

"Hank, you scared the devil out of me," her voice came out as a deliberate shriek.

He tried to stifle a smile and paint his face mournful as he looked up at her, "sorry, Josie."

"Well, isn't that the most pitiful face? Come here and help me chop." She pushed the chopping block across the island. "How a man can make chocolate eyes turn hickory on a whim is beyond me." She continued to mutter to herself as Hank busied himself chopping parsley. "You get dimples when you try to hide those smirks. Don't think I can't see them just because you bow that face of yours."

Hank's eyes fell to his hands as they worked. His mind wandered back to his time with Peter. The movement of his fingers caused his skin to tighten around his knuckles. One hand had the skin taut as he held the knife, while the other relaxed as it fed the herbs. His mind flipped to his father's hands; his own were so similar. Hank couldn't imagine his hands held tight to someone as the last of life left their face. So close, you would know in an instant—the twitch of a final pulse. He saw the red before feeling the cut.

"Hank!" Josie wrapped a towel around his hand as he snapped back to reality.

"It's not that bad," he murmured as he watched the blood soak through the towel.

"I'll be the judge of that. Where do you keep your bandages?"

"It's fine; I'll go."

He could feel her following him as he went back to the utility sink. She didn't ask as she helped herself to the cabinet. Hank watched her as though she were a ballerina putting on a show. She started the water before turning to his hand and gently unwrapped it. He watched the bones in the back of her hands twitch beneath her milky skin, noticing a tiny freckle on her left hand. She shielded the cut from the water's direct stream as she cleaned his hand slowly. He hadn't felt such tenderness since Evie. A sting surged as she got to the cut; Hank let out a wince, but tried to hold his hand still.

"Sorry," she murmured. "It's not that bad." She gave a weak smile as she continued to work, drying his hand gently and putting on a Band-Aid. "I think you'll live, but I'll cover the knife work."

He didn't realize he had slumped to sit on an old wooden hamper until he realized they were at eye level. "Thank you," he murmured back as he rose.

The space suddenly felt too small for the two of them. The air was thick, with the humidity peeling off their bodies. Hank slipped behind Josie to allow her to escape while he busied himself with cleaning up the sink.

"Dinner should be about ready." She gave a curt nod, and then she slipped back into the kitchen.

They ate in the dining room. Clara had set the table using china Hank hadn't seen since he was a child.

"Henry, I worried you had gotten lost." Clara fussed with the tablecloth as Hank and Josie carried in the stew.

"No, just a small knife fight with himself." Josie gave him a wink as his mother's eyes dropped to his hand.

"It's nothing," he assured his mother.

"Josie was kind enough to cook. I told her we probably had little, but she was sure that she could whip something up. It smells delicious, Josie." There was color in Clara's cheeks and levity to her voice that told Hank she was still enjoying the company.

"Mulligan Stew, always filled with whatever is left," Josie nodded as she ladled out bowls. "Oh, I left the bread in the kitchen."

"Let me," Hank rose quickly, eager for a clear breath.

He found proximity to Josie intoxicating. She made his mind wander to thoughts he had locked away long ago. He hovered in the kitchen for a moment longer than needed. It was still warm from the cooking, but felt refreshing all the same. He held out as long as he could before he was drawn back to the dining room, not just by Josie but also by the newly magnetized personality of his mother.

Hank quietly returned, neither disrupting nor joining the conversation. He swirled his stew and let his mind drift to the harmony of Clara's and Josie's duet. His hungry had gone unnoticed, but each swallow of stew seemed to make him more and more ravenous. As he drudged the last of the broth with his bread, Josie refilled his bowl without losing a beat of the conversation. He gave her a thankful smile before digging in again.

There was a lull in the conversation as Hank finished his second bowl. "I stopped in on Peter today. He extended an invitation for dinner tomorrow night." He let the statement hang in the air.

"Oh, you two should go. I wouldn't want to risk these knees," Clara fluttered her hand as she dismissed the invitation.

"Well, I would love to, but I'm afraid I have little to wear to a fancy dinner party nor much of a conversation to be had there either."

"Nonsense; it would delight them to have your company. I am sure we can dig something out of my closet that will suit you. Besides, I've been sending Henry alone for years. I'm sure he would love the company."

"Of course," Hank dutifully nodded as he cleared the table.

"I would adore a cup of tea," Clara called after him. Hank put the dishes in the sink and set the kettle to boil.

"I'll wash you dry." Hank met Josie's eyes as she spoke, which sent a pleasant surge through him. "Have to keep that hand dry," she added with a nod to his hand.

They worked side by side in silence. Hank welcomed the moment, a task to keep his mind quiet and focused. Josie hummed a slow, somber tone as they worked. Hank vaguely recalled it but couldn't place the song.

"What is that?" His cadence had an immediacy he did not intend. Josie gave a startled look. "The song?" He added apologetically.

"Lonesome Town." A faint smile filtered across her face, which he returned at the irony.

"Why did you come to town?" His voice was softer now, with a hint of pleading.

"I'm looking for my roots."

"And you think they're here?"

"This is the last place I remember before my mother passed."

"Tell me about her." Hank's newfound interest surprised him, as it had replaced the bulk of his suspicion.

Josie began her memory with a sigh, as though trying to stifle any drippings of emotion. "She was broken, a lonely heart through and through. Sometimes her younger self would shine through in a twinkle of a laugh or a lost moment of humming. I knew she was in there, but she was gone before she ever had a chance to come back."

"How did she pass?" Hank felt intrusive, but couldn't stop his prodding.

Josie stiffened for a moment. "That's an entirely different tune for another day."

The kettle hissed, providing Josie an opportunity to extricate herself from the conversation. She poured the tea and gave a quiet nod before heading back to the sitting room.