Larger Than Life by Alison Kent (bill gates books recommendations .TXT) 📗

the front of Neva's house, she realized for the first time how late it was. She'd fixed supper at home earlier, then told Yancey she was going to take the pies she'd baked that afternoon to Jonnie Mayer's tonight in case they didn't feel up to visiting at her Sunday evening get-together tomorrow after church.

Yancey had already been settled in front of the television. She didn't think he'd even heard her leave.

The pies were still sitting on her floorboard. She grabbed one and left the car, walking slowly up to Neva's front door and knocking. It was silly, being this anxious, but she couldn't sleep or eat and she wouldn't be surprised if the lemon chess tasted like cardboard. Her mind hadn't been on measuring ingredients but on Spencer while she'd cooked.

The front door opened. Jeanne looked through the screen door into Neva's startled face, smiled, and held up the pie. "Surprise!"

Neva laughed, pushed the screen door out on its hinges and springs. "What's the occasion?"

Jeanne stepped into the small, tidy hallway that divided the front of the house. One side was Neva's office with the living room on the other. "It's Saturday? And I needed to get out of the house?"

Neva shut the door and Jeanne followed her friend to the kitchen. Their footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed against the high ceiling. "Well, I can't think of a better reason for a pie."

"It's not too late, is it? Am I interrupting your supper?" The kitchen was clean. Either Neva had already settled in for the night or she hadn't yet eaten.

"Actually"—Neva gestured toward the appliance—"I was staring into the refrigerator when you knocked. It hasn't happened yet, but I keep hoping an entire meal will jump out at me if I manage not to blink."

Jeanne set the pie on the kitchen's small square table. Not even a napkin holder or bud vase or salt and pepper shaker. "Spencer does the same thing. Stares until everything inside warms up to room temperature."

"He probably eats more groceries in a week than I buy in two." Neva filled her coffeemaker with tap water, added a filter and beans that looked to be freshly ground, and switched it on. "Pie and coffee sound like the perfect Saturday evening meal."

"Maybe for someone with your figure and your metabolism." Now that she was here, Jeanne wasn't sure what to do. "Neva, why don't I make you a salad at least? Save the pie for dessert?"

But Neva was already digging through her utensils for forks and a pie server. "No groceries, remember? Maybe a half head of lettuce. I've really got to get to town tomorrow. Ed and Candy were here for lunch today, and I made pancakes and bacon. That wiped out all of my meat. Eggs and milk, too, come to think of it."

Jeanne settled slowly into one of the kitchen chairs, laced her fingers on the Formica surface. "Do you and Candy always eat together?"

"Not always, no." Neva set dessert plates and forks on the table, went back to the cabinet for cups. "Breakfast is our only regular meal together. And then it's not even a meal. Just bagels and coffee."

"Now, what kind of way is that to start a day?" Jeanne asked, teasing as she pulled the Tupperware top from the pie carrier. And then she stopped. "Pretend I didn't say that. It sounded horribly like a mother hen."

Leaning back against the counter while the coffee brewed, Neva laughed. "That's okay. I need to be nagged. Or at least nagged by someone who is a mother rather than someone who thinks she is."

"Candy?" Jeanne asked, her fingers still curled around the carrier's top.

"Oh, yeah. She could give a fishwife a run for her money," Neva said, walking over and offering a pie server in exchange for the Tupperware. She had to tug twice before Jeanne let go. "Jeanne?"

"I'm sorry." This was so hard when it shouldn't be. Neva was her friend. Jeanne rubbed at a scar on the handle of the pie server. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Well, obviously something you want to talk about or you wouldn't have brought me"—Neva leaned closer to the table to smell the pie—"lemon chess?"

Jeanne smiled, nodded, relaxed. "Coffee smells good."

"You slice and tell me what's on your mind. I'll pour and listen with both ears," Neva said, returning to the counter for the glass carafe. "Black, right?"

"I shouldn't be drinking caffeine this late," Jeanne said, watching the level rise in her cup. "But since I'm not feeling much like church in the morning, I suppose it won't matter how late it keeps me up."

Neva took the seat opposite, cradled her own cup while Jeanne sliced the pie. "Must be something really big going on for you to skip church. And Jonnie's get-together."

"I made the pie to take to Jonnie's tomorrow," Jeanne admitted, feeling a bit of a smirk curl her mouth, feeling a bit of a laugh she wasn't going to be able to keep down. She let it out, chuckling, a huge sense of freedom sweeping through her as she did. "Oh, Neva. If I have to go to one more of Jonnie Mayer's Sunday suppers, I'm going to pull out the rest of my hair."

Neva sputtered her coffee, grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter behind her. "Why, Jeanne Munroe. Here all this time I thought you were the cloned offspring of Martha Stewart and Emily Post."

"You're missing a chromosome in there, if I remember my biology correctly." Jeanne cut off the biggest bite of pie she could put into her mouth. But the laughter faded and she found she couldn't eat. She shook her head slowly, sorrowfully. "It's that chromosome giving me trouble, Neva."

"Yancey?"

A deep breath and a long exhalation didn't blow away any of the pain. "Spencer."

Neva's fork hovered unsteadily above her plate. "Is he all right? Is he hurt? I doubt if he was you'd be here bringing me pie . . ."

Jeanne found herself