“Anyone else?” she asked.

“Butterscotch,” Luke snarled.

“And I planned on making butterscotch pies for dessert and butterscotch chocolate-chip pancakes for breakfast on my days,” Diana teased.

Carmen giggled. “Yeah, right. You don’t do butterscotch, either, not since your divorce.”

Luke raised an eyebrow.

“Her ex-husband loved butterscotch pies and those yucky pancakes she just mentioned,” Joanie explained.

Diana ignored them and set about eating her supper. So Luke didn’t like butterscotch—that was sure enough a big plus in his favor.

“Oh, and I’ll make a stop at the liquor store, so put down what you’d like from there as well,” Luke said. “Uncle Smokey always put a case of beer on his list, but I really never acquired a taste for the stuff. I like a little nightcap of Jameson if I’m going to drink anything at all.”

There’s another plus, Diana thought. Gerald hated whiskey and had to have a beer or two every night. I’d like Luke better and better if only he were my age.

Tootsie was reminded of Smokey’s breakfasts that morning. Carmen had rustled up enough ingredients to make biscuits and sausage gravy for breakfast. She’d also made oatmeal-raisin muffins that were right tasty with a little butter and honey. Evidently the ladies had compared notes, because from the list Tootsie had seen that morning, they weren’t having the same thing twice all week.

She and Smokey had had a long talk the night before. Well, actually, she’d done most of the talking. He hadn’t really said a single word, but he’d told her he’d always be right there with her. She’d laid his pillow longways and snuggled up to it. That didn’t help much until she got up and put a few drops of his shaving lotion on the pillowcase. Then she slept like a baby.

Getting into the old pickup truck the next morning was another battle. Vehicles had changed a lot in the last twenty or thirty years. Very few had bench seats these days. She smiled at the memories of taking trips with Smokey in this vehicle—of sliding across the bench seat to snuggle up to Smokey’s side, and curling up on the seat with her head in his lap to sleep the last hundred miles to wherever he stopped when his eyes got too heavy to drive anymore.

She was still thinking about that when Luke pulled into the driveway at Sissy’s house. “Did I get it right?” he asked. “You said the first left after the traffic light and the third house at the end of the cul-de-sac.”

“You remembered very well. Give me a call when you’re finished with the shopping, and we’ll see how things are going,” Tootsie said. “If she wants me to stay all day, you might just want to go home and come back to get me later this evening.”

“Whatever you want or need, Aunt Tootsie.” He left the engine running but got out and jogged around the front of the vehicle to open the door for her. Tucking her arm in his, he led her past a flower bed brimming with multicolored mums and onto the porch of a white brick house that looked pretty much like all the others on the circle.

“Thank you.” Tootsie reached out and rang the bell.

Sissy opened the door and motioned her inside. “Come in. She’s awake this morning and ready to see you. I haven’t seen you in years, Luke, but I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. They’re just like Smokey’s. Come on inside.”

“Thank you, but I’ve got some errands to run. I’ll be back in a little while,” Luke said as he took a few steps back.

“We’ll look for you later, then.” Sissy ushered Tootsie on inside and closed the door. “She drifts in and out a lot, so be ready for that.”

“Has hospice been here today?” Tootsie asked.

“Earlier this morning,” Sissy answered.

“Do I need to know anything else before I go in there?” Tootsie whispered as they neared the open bedroom door.

“Nothing I can think of,” Sissy said. “Midge, darlin’, she’s here.”

Midge raised her hand and said, “I’m so glad”—she panted a moment before going on—“to see you. Sissy, bring the box.”

“It can wait until later, can’t it?” Sissy asked. “Y’all have some catching up to do.”

“No, I don’t want to die without giving them to her myself,” Midge said.

“You’re not dying today.” Tootsie bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

“Yes, I am, and I’m glad you’re here with me when I take that first step into eternity.” Midge patted the side of the bed. “I’m not afraid, but it’ll be good to have you with me. You’ll be here”—she stopped and inhaled deeply several times—“to see me off, and Gloria will be on the other side to welcome me into the next life.” With shaking hands, she brought out a remote and pushed a button to raise the head of the bed. “Sissy got me this new fancy bed.”

“We’ve got one like it at home.” Tootsie sat down beside her. “Helped with Smokey’s snoring to raise his head up a little.”

“Helps with my breathing.” Midge’s eyes shut, and her breath came in shallow bursts.

Sissy came in and set a box on the foot of the bed. “When she wakes up, tell her that it’s right here.”

“She says she’s dying today,” Tootsie whispered.

“She’s hung on to see you, but when she goes is up to God, not her.” Sissy gently closed the door behind her.

“I got a deal with God that I didn’t”—Midge had to stop for air—“tell her about. That box is for you.”

Tootsie scooted to the end of the bed and removed the lid of the cardboard box that had once held copy paper. Separated and tied by ribbons by the year that they were written were all the letters Tootsie had ever sent her. More than sixty years’ worth, the older ones sporting faded ribbons, the newer ones still bright and shiny. One a month for all those years.

“Want you to have them back. Lots of history there,” Midge said.

Tootsie grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and dabbed at the tears running down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you kept all these.”

“Went back and read them over and over.” That took all of Midge’s air, so she had to wait a minute to continue. “You need to buy waterproof mascara.”