Shane borrowed Ronnie's Toyota. He didn't even finish asking before she tossed him the keys and said, "Good luck with your special bench," with a smartass half-smile.

He kept a poker face. "Whattya mean?"

Just that knowing smile. God dang it, he thought, she talked to Parmie on the phone.

After less than three weeks in Georgia, Ronnie was working two part-time jobs, paying her share of the rent, and treating Parmie like a long-lost sister and Shane like a kid brother. She topped him by three inches, but they were practically the same age; it was annoying.

He felt a little fluttery in his gut; nervous about meeting Parmie. Better get going. It was almost 8:00, well past rush hour. People with jobs were at home, relaxing after a workday.

He was still waiting on Wishes to get him a spot at the law firm where he was handling the files. Shane's Auntie Moira Belle had gotten Wishes in the door without even an interview; just a call to white-haired Lester Bridgehead Esq., senior partner.

When Moira needed a lawyer, she always went over there and just walked right into Bridgehead's office. Shane knew she'd once been Bridgehead's babysitter, many years ago, when she was, what, sixteen? No; he remembered she'd said, "It started a year before I turned sixteen. Oh, yes, a good year."

So Auntie gets Wishes in the door, then Wishes holds the door open for me. That progression had worked fine on three other jobs.

In his mind he saw this: AUNTIE → WISHES → ME.

Theoretically he could go out and find his own job. But that was hard. Also, Wishes always said, "I still owe you for Americus." Shane didn't necessarily agree, but he also didn't argue.

During these periods of no outside income, he could at least take pride in being a good landlord. Mamaw owned the house, after her it would go to Moira, but for now he looked after the property and had a rent-free roof. The grass was mown, the place was in repair.

He'd even put in a little light to shine at night on Wishes' mother's tombstone, back by the fence. Marty had started burying bones in front of the stone, which was both unsettling and funny as hell to watch. Even with only one front leg, that dog could really move some earth.

He got in Ronnie's Toyota, adjusted the seat for his shorter legs, and pulled out, cranking up the A/C. He didn't want to be all sweaty. (Though sometimes she liked that. Or she had liked that, when things were good. Good? Things weren't just good, things were awesome. For me. Maybe not for Parmie.)

The church parking lot was almost empty, except for a Smyrna patrol car. Probably just a cop doing paperwork. What the hell, I'm not doing anything wrong. Shane got out and walked over to the small cemetery, stepping through the open gate.

"Their" bench was one of a pair, in a shady spot near the center of the graveyard. The sun was setting. Shane checked his headband flashlight and made sure he had the folded paper he'd typed last night. My aperitif. Effervescent. God dang it, what is that word? He squeezed his eyes shut, rapping the heel of his hand against his head. Epidural?

"So how was your luau?" It was Parmie, earlier than he'd expected, and carrying bags from Dairy Queen.

He stood up and took off the headband. "Hey! Didn't go; I got a free cupcake and saw the fireworks, though. Good to see you, Parmie."

She set the bags down on the other bench. "Good to be seen. Sorry I'm early; it's not really dusk yet." She was smiling that little wicked smile, and watching his reaction. "We did say dusk, didn't we? Should I go and come back at ... dusk?" Damn it, she knew how he loved it when she said that word.

He answered a little hoarsely, "No, this is—it's fine."

She gave him a hug. "I must smell like dog." She was still wearing her scrubs from the vet clinic in Vinings. There was a little blood on her neck, and there were some smells, blending oddly with the aroma of cheeseburgers and french fries.

Underneath that, Shane smelled her skin, like cinnamon and wood smoke. He swallowed. "You smell fine." He wanted to kiss her, but instead said, "Is that for both of us? Let me pay you for it."

"Don't be silly, you can take me out next time." I can? He hoped she'd still feel that way after they talked. She said, "Let's have the ice cream first, it'll melt fast." She sat down beside him, handed him a cup. "Nutter Butter Blizzard."

"Oh, my God, really?" It was true. "I love you, Parmie." Oh, God dang it. He hadn't planned to blurt that out. "Thanks, I mean." He watched her face. Blue eyes, black hair, God, I love that—focus! Eye contact was hard for him, but he knew people thought it was important. And he did love those blue eyes.

She squeezed his hand. "Eat your ice cream."

They dug in. It was officially after sundown, but there was still plenty of light. Shane said, "I remember it being way darker, first time we were here."

"That was three in the morning, Hon. And January. Remember the snow?"

"God, this bench was so cold. Especially that bronze memorial plaque."

She spoke around a mouthful of Heath Bar Blizzard. "I wasn't cold."

"Well, you weren't sitting directly on the bench, were you?"

She blushed; hard to see with her olive skin, but he'd learned to spot it. "No, I certainly was not."

"Whereas my butt got froze, and I had those people's names backward on my left butt cheek for two days."

She laughed. "And how'd I not scratch up my legs on that shrubbery?"

"Parmie, you were wearing your riding boots."

"Ah yes, I was, wasn't I?"

"Appropriately enough."

"Sorry I'm not a skinny girl."

"No, you're just right like you are. I'm just glad that cop in the parking lot wasn't there that night."

"Three in the morning? I hope they've got better things to do."

His Blizzard gone, Shane took a deep breath and pulled the paper out of his pocket. "Okay, I better do this. At least you can't dump a Blizzard on my head."

"Why do you think I would?"

"Well, you know. 'Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred Turn'd, nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman Scorn'd.' Mark Twain."

"What, you believe in Heaven and Hell all of a sudden?"

He shrugged. "No, but I believe in a woman scorned."

"Shane—I'm not 'scorned', for Christ's sake."

"Well, you were mad because I wasn't there at your graduation in Athens."

"With your high school buddies, you said."

"Sort of."

"So you made a bad decision. Shane, that's the big 'thing' you think is the problem?"

"Yes."

"Hon, I don't care what happened that night."

"It was more like a 36-hour period. Here, I wrote it down like you asked. I spell-checked it three times. And I used a thesaurus. Roget's."

"You're missing the point. I don't need to know. Whatever it was, I forgive you. If you were with another woman—"

"It wasn't that. It was—"

"Don't care! Shane, that's not the thing that bothers me. The thing that bothers me is you shut me out, you stopped calling, you didn't just get face to face with me and talk. If we're not talking, we're not together. Really talking, I mean."

"Right. I was unemotionally available."

"Emotionally unavailable. After graduation I moved back to Smyrna, so I thought we'd be together more, not just on the weekends. Instead, it was like a door slamming shut. There's no future for us if we can't deal with things together."

"So there might be? A future?"

Parmie was squeezing his hands. She let go and held his face in her hands. "Tear that paper up. I don't need an affidavit from you."

"Affidavit! I was going nuts trying to remember that word."

"Actually, I think I meant 'deposition'. Or confession. Whatever the hell, Hon, it's forgiven."

"Yeah ... oh, Cripes. Parmie, you'd better read it. No—let me talk. If you don't, then eventually it'll get back to you, or I might have to testify, and it'll be weird, so it's just better if you know now."

She shook her head. "Oh, for God's sake, how bad can it be? What is it, whores and meth labs and illegal dog fights?"

Shane stood up, the empty Blizzard cup falling off his lap. "God dang it, Parmie! Did Ronnie read it off my computer?"

It was getting dark. He saw the whites of her eyes. She said, "I can never tell—Shane, you're serious?"

He sat back down. "Sorry. But that's like a spooky psychic guess on your part." He handed her the paper and the light.

"Now I've got to read it. Cool light." Parmie switched it on, then unpinned her braids and slipped on the headband.

"Yeah, it was for a job." Shane and Wishes had briefly been engaged in the unlicensed termite-control business.

"Now give me two minutes." She focused the light on the sheet of single-spaced print, headed by:

                 Re: Events of May 6 and 7, 2011

                 This is What Happened

                 by Shane Bledsoe

She scanned it rapidly. "Oh, my God."

He said, "I didn't go with the prostitutes, but really they seemed like nice enough girls."

"Hush." She read in silence, then got out a pen and circled two words. "Are these the right words?"

Shane looked. "Sorry. Switch those two. It's 'insects' and then 'incest'. Oh, and that should be 'horse', not 'hoarse'. 'Horse' like Mr. Ed."

"Thought so. Spell-check won't catch homophones." She folded the paper and rested her head in her hand. "Okay, I believe it. You were trying to help your brain-damaged criminal so-called friends. That's the way you are."

"Not really my friends, it turns out. I'm done with them. Even if the Carroll County authorities aren't."

She turned and looked at him, and he was surprised, appalled really, to see her close to tears. She never cries.

"Parmie, I'm so sorry."

"Shut up. It's okay. I'm just glad you didn't get arrested or butt-raped or suffer a major wound."

"Oh, Man, this one guy got that frog-gigging fork thing right in his—"

"No, shut up." She looked at him a long time, and he made himself look her in the eye. "You're not normal, Hon. I guess the Lord watches out for fools and drunkards."

"You know I don't drink, Baby."

"Next time, just tell me. You do get that, right?"

"Yes I do. Does that apply to just future stuff, or stuff that already happened? The abnormal stuff."

"It applies to, say, anything relevant to who you are, and who we are together."

"Okay."

"Forget about 'normal'. Either we're together or we're not."

"I vote for together."

"Done." She wiped her eye with a Dairy Queen napkin. "Put it in the rear-view. I hear a cheeseburger calling my name."

For some reason he said, "Y'know—I never told you what happened that time in Americus."

"Jesus, not today. Save it for later."

"Oh, that's not a bad one."

"Good, just no more today." She got up and stepped over to the other bench, where burgers and fries waited. She turned and smiled. "Remember me standing up here on the bench? I think I showed superb balance."

"Superb everything." He smiled back. Being with Parmie multiplies my likely-ness of smiling by at least a bunch. Ten, maybe. Was "likely-ness" a word?

"On that note," she said, "let's snarf some burgers."

Shane crammed french fries in his mouth and attacked his Mushroom Swiss burger. "You must love me, Parmie. You're always bringing me food."

"Of course I love you.  You know I do." She bit into her half-pound Flamethrower Grillburger.

He said, "You sure like eating meat, for an animal doctor."

She devoured a strip of jalapeño bacon. "Long as it's not one of my patients, I don't care."