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me—nobody wants to make love to a grandmaw, exceptin’ maybe a great-grandpaw.” She chuckles. “You know men. No matter how old they is, they like ’em younger.”
    The bells on the front door jingle, and another sure sign of autumn walks through the door. Nellie Goodloe wears a black cardigan with rows of orange felt jack-o’-lanterns appliquéd across it. The collar is gold-sequined, and the buttons are small plastic ghosts with black eyes. Her hair, arranged in an updo of lacquered red curls, really brings out the orange of the pumpkins.
    “That’s some sweater.” Fleeta looks Nellie up and down, taking in her ensemble. “Ain’t it early for Halloween?”
    Nellie smoothes down the placket of the sweater neatly. “I don’t get a lot of wear out of it if I wait for the actual day.”
    “That’s the problem with holiday sweaters. Short shelf life.” Fleeta goes to the café kitchen. “I’m gonna get lunch prepped. Here.” She gives Nellie the wedding pictures. “Feast your eyes on these.”
    Nellie looks through the pictures, oohing and aahing almost too much, which makes me wonder why she’s here. But Nellie’s a cutto-the-chase girl, so I needn’t have worried.
    “Ave Maria, the Music Study Club has a favor to ask of you.” Nellie smiles. “We’d love to get you back into the theater. The officers took a vote, and we’d like you to direct the winter musical.”
    “That’s sweet of you to think of me, but—”
    “I’ll be honest. You weren’t the first choice. Our director, Boyd Blondell from the Drama Department up at the college, fell out. He has to go up north to help his mother with her hip replacement next month, so he’s unavailable.”
    “Well, it’s still sweet,” I say wryly. “But I’m really woefully out of practice when it comes to the theater.” It’s true. It’s been years since I directed the Outdoor Drama.
    “Oh, it’ll come right back to you. We’ve practically cast the show already.”
    “Really.” This is what I was afraid of. “What’s the show?”
    “
The Sound of Music.
We thought if there was a way for you to work tap into the show, that would be nice.”
    “Tap dancing?”
    “Yes, Miss Angie says she’ll provide the manpower from her Tops in Taps school.”
    Under normal circumstances, I would take a pass on this offer. But, looking ahead, I may wish I had something to do on long winter evenings when Jack’s working late. “I’ll do it.”
    Nellie claps her hands together. “Great! Rehearsals begin November first.”
    As Fleeta writes the lunch specials on the blackboard propped in the entryway (soup beans and corn bread, collard greens, and stewed apples), I check the pharmacy desk, where Eddie Carleton has left a few notes for me. Eddie’s a good guy; I can always count on him to cover for me if I’m away. I check my e-mails and open one from Etta immediately.

    Dear Ma, I hope you had a good flight home. Stefano and I love Rimini. It’s too cold for the beach, but we walk it anyway. The Adriatic Sea reminds me of our trips to the ocean in North Carolina. I miss you both. xoxoxo Etta (Stefano says hi)

    I write back to her, and though each word I type makes me feel worse, I send a happy message. After all, that’s a mother’s job, to be cheerful.
    “Ave, what say you?” Otto holds out his arms and walks over to my counter. He already looks the part of groom. His white hair is neatly combed, his khaki work pants are pressed, and he smells like Aqua Velva. Fleeta is particular about grooming. I climb down from the counter and give him a hug. His son, Worley, in denim coveralls, stands back.
    “I can’t believe you’re getting married, Otto!”
    “Plus I found the Lord.”
    “I heard. It’s almost too much.”
    Before Otto can speak, Worley says, “It is indeed.” Worley removes his baseball cap and heads for the café.
    “Worley’s got an attitude. Thinks it’s crazy for me to get murried. But I want to.”
    “He’ll come