Parlor Tricks

Chapter 11

An excitement settled in Hank's bones as he drove home from the shop the following evening. He had done all he could to Josie's Consul, aside from the framework and a good polish. The spark plug was replaced, fluids topped, he even replaced the wipers and cleaned the battery terminals. Working on it made him calm, as though he were working alongside his father again. A closeness he had missed that came flooding back with ease. The work kept the anticipation at bay, but as the sun was setting and his truck drove him closer to Josie, he felt kinetic energy coursing through him.

The chatting floated through the air from the sitting room as Hank hung his coat and hat. He ducked into the utility room to scrub his hands, taking care around the bandage on his finger. When he was sure he had gotten as much of the grease off as possible, he gingerly took the bandage off and washed the cut.

"Let me help." Hank didn't look up from the sink; he just observed Josie's snow-white hands clean his cut, then delicately dry it, and apply a bandage. "I'm impressed it wasn't filled with muck," she called over her shoulder as she headed out to the kitchen. She was one to absolve the embarrassment of help with the ease of a tease. Hank was grateful for the balance.

"Henry," the glow of Clara's voice was infectious. The gloom of a few days ago seemed far away.

"Hello. Have you eaten?" Hank settled in his usual spot. He noted the calm smile and color still settling on his mother's cheeks.

"Of course. I had some of Josie's delicious stew. She is handier in the kitchen than you." They shared impish smiles between them. "Oh, my dear boy's dimples," Clara mused, causing a rush of warmth to Hank's cheeks.

"I suppose I should go to the store soon. I'm sure we're low in the kitchen." The thoughts of lingering on questions of what Josie would like muddled his mind; tugging at a distance, forcing him to add, "where's Josie?" He tried to sound casual, to hide his disappointment that she wasn't in the sitting room.

"Getting ready, of course, as you should be," it was only halfhearted chiding. Clara's attention returned to a lump of yarn and two needles in her lap.

"What's all this?" Hank gestured to the tangle.

"Josie is teaching me to knit, or at least trying." Clara's hands dipped to the mass and then let it fall limply to her lap again. "Go get ready," she prodded with a faint smile.

Hank dressed quickly, forgoing the tie in favor of suspenders. His fingers weren't feeling nimble enough for the knot. He smoothed his wiry brown hair as best he could in the mirror.

"No music?" Josie's birdsong voice came from the doorway.

"Most people knock on closed doors." He met Josie's gaze in the mirror rather than turning around.

"Most people use a comb to fix their hair," she teased.

Josie glided across the floor in a wine-red velvet dress that set off her fair skin. The color pulled the hazel of her eyes to a darker brown, but still glints of green peeked through. She picked up his comb and nodded to the bed. Even as he sat on the corner, he watched her lift her slight frame to her toes to see the crown of his head. He closed his eyes as she dragged the comb through his hair, followed by her fingers.

"That looks better." Her hand slid down one more time before dropping back to her heels. "It almost feels like prom."

"You look beautiful," Josie fluttered in a twirl towards the door as he spoke. "We should get going."

"I'll meet you downstairs; I just need to grab my shoes." She darted out of the room, leaving a smile on Hank's face.

Clara noted the lack of tie but still fussed over how handsome Hank looked. "Just like your father," she fawned.

There was a vacancy in her eyes as her mind escaped to Henry Jr., the raw mourning that still filled her. He wondered if anyone would mourn him in his passing. Josie entering shattered his dark thoughts and delighting his mother.

"That dress suits you," Clara beamed.

Josie graced her with a twirl as she floated to the center of the room. Hank gravitated to her, placing a steadying hand on the small of her back as she finished her spiral. A smile and a simple nod rewarded him.

"We should get going." Hank's voice came out as a self-conscious mumble; his mind too focused on the gentle touch of his hand to focus on any strength of delivery.

He helped Josie with her coat, and another tender smile greeted him. He tried to recall the last time anyone had thanked him for a gesture. Aside from Josie, he only remembered takers. Heady thoughts of Wendy clouded his mood until the cool of the evening rushed his face. He filled his lungs with the freshness and attempted to exhale the aversion of his thoughts surrounding his once childhood sweetheart.

"Do you mind?" Josie fluttered her fingers towards him as they began down the drive. "The heels are cumbersome for me."

Hank grasped Josie's hand, feeling her melt around his arm for support. A slight quiver rippled through his arm from her as they blended. She tucked in closer as she lay her second hand on his shoulder. He ducked his head near to her, breathing in an intoxicating aroma of apples and the sugars of fallen leaves that seemed to cling to her from the autumn air.

"Are you nervous?" His voice was low and level; his tender tone surprised even Hank.

"No," but the quake in her voice told a different story. "This was your daddy's best friend?"

"Yes, since swing sets." He felt the nod from Josie on his shoulder. "The benefit of civility is there are never obtuse offenses."

"Is that supposed to soothe me?" As if in step with each other, her voice wobbled with her legs. Hank quickly steadied her before they continued their gait. "If someone would like to offend me, I would like to know as opposed to conjecture," she continued.

It was Hank's turn to nod in agreement.

"I'll be glad when we are back on the garden swing. I was never one for formality. Decorum doesn't have much of a seat when you're focused on the practical." Josie was speaking to herself now, but her words touched Hank unexpectedly. An unforeseen connection, the great war of his life: etiquette versus pragmatism.