The morning grew late. Adele walked the half-mile down the lane to Cousin Mona's house with a basket of fig and strawberry preserves. In exchange, Mrs. Durham, Mona's mother, sent back four jars full of sparkling honey. The thick golden liquid spilled slowly through the honeycomb when Adele tipped the jar. She couldn't wait to get home and taste some of it with the biscuits left over from breakfast. More than that, she couldn't wait to get home to see if Matthew had returned from his walk, but Mona wouldn't let her leave until Adele had told her every detail of the night before. Adele's slender, pale cousin walked with her to the end of the drive, strolling painfully slow and following one question with another. Mona was twenty-four years old as well, but she seemed much younger. She was gawky and homely, carrying herself with her sharp shoulders caved forward as if she were always cold. Her glasses were too narrow for her narrow face, her lips too thin for her thin smile, and her voice too strained for a woman so wiry. Her hair, too, was an ashy brown and straight as a board. She kept it in a cord-tight braid, but could never seem to keep stray strands from hanging awkwardly down her forehead and into her eyes--her single redeeming feature. They were clear, tiger-green hazel, the outer-corners of which met high and slim, ornamented with licks of long black lashes. If Mona did not hide those beautiful eyes behind those severe eyeglasses, she might charm any man in Roe. But most couldn't see past the lenses, and Mona learned to appreciate the attentions of Adele rather than pine after a beau. It didn't matter to Adele if Mona relied on her to narrate her periodic episodes of excitement. Adele enjoyed sharing her stories as much as Mona enjoyed hearing them. Today, however, Adele wasn't interested in sharing at all. In the past, a date that ended in disaster and humiliation became the inspiration for hours of laughter and speculation for Adele and Mona. The women weren't mean or pompous as they gasped and giggled about a boy's faux pas or Adele's unavoidable yet forgiving aversions. Instead, they wondered at the absurdity of the human mating dance, how foolish it seemed that a man and woman who might consider each other to live as man and wife, to conceive and bear children together, to see each other into the winter of life, might so terribly fumble over things like introducing themselves to the family, or saying goodnight in a discreet and respectful manner without staining the armpits of their shirts with sweat, or asking what a woman might enjoy doing that didn't involve some domestic productivity. At least Adele wondered these things, and as she posed these questions aloud, Mona shook her head in bewilderment, shrugged her shoulders at such mystery, then asked if the gentleman of the evening tried to hold her hand at all. As the two women neared the gate at the end of the drive, Mona let Adele's small talk drop into silence, studying Adele's face for a hint as to what the night before held. Adele felt terrible for leaving Mona so unsatisfied, but honestly, what on Earth could she tell her? He called me "Hellenic," Adele would say, awe thinning her words to an impassioned whisper. "Hellenic." And when he danced with me, he didn't stop. Not even for those dancing diamond girls.... And he passed up Mother's breakfast so he could go walking this morning. But most of all, he seems to know something...like he's read every chapter of my life, or maybe it's because he's a Yankee, and maybe he's used women up North not concerning themselves with "propriety." He held the door for me, but not the way the boys here do. He was...reverent. Mona searched Adele's face for just a glimpse of the wonderful evening her cousin must've had. Adele smiled warmly, taking Mona's hand and swinging it as best friends do. She wanted to tell Mona everything, to relive the magic by giving those moments voice, but Mona could not properly receive them, and Adele could not bring herself to let those precious, precious birds out of their cages to simply admire their wings. "Thank Aunt Sue again for the honeycomb, Mona." "Oh, I will," Mona said, failing to hide her disappointment. "Thank your mother, too. I'll probably just hafta taste some o' that strawberry with those soup crackers Mama has. I don't think I can talk 'er into bakin' up a batch o' biscuits 'fore tomorro' morning." Adele kissed Mona's cheek and set back toward home, pacing herself so she didn't appear to walk too fast to make Mona wonder any more. She ran her hand over the clear, clean mason jars, tapping her fingernail on the tiny bubbles swimming lazily in the sweet liquid, and it reminded her of Matthew Eaton and his enchantingly sweet and subtle speak. Adele consciously looked for Matthew's blonde head as she approached the house. Just as she mounted the first porch step, Mother and Buddy emerged from inside, dressed for town. Mother tugged on her driving gloves, her handbag dangling from her wrist. Buddy readjusted his tweed cap and bounded toward Adele. "Hold down the fort, Dellie," he said cheerfully. "Where ya'll off to," Adele asked, surprised she felt left out. "Well," Mother began as Buddy offered her his hand to help her down the steps. "I forgot all about the parcel Mr. Pease is holdin' for me at the post office. I got ta get that fabric 'fore Monday if I'm gonna get that dress ready for Rachel Twigg's daughter." "I thought that pageant wasn't until next weekend, Mother," Adele argued, dismayed Mother would take on work while Buddy just got home. "It is. But she says if it's flatterin' for the lil' girl, she's gonna want one, too, ta match." Adele rolled her eyes. Why did Roe women take spring pageants so seriously? Every year, two weeks after Easter, the whole town turned upside down, with mothers rushing to Mother's boutique for bushy petticoats, lace gloves, eyelet sandals, and frilly ankle socks. The way they fought to get their order in first made Adele want to lock them out of the shop, but she never said a word about it, because the more dresses Mother made, the more petticoats and gloves and sandals and ankle socks Mother sold, the better off the coming months would be for the two of them. And between the two of them, Adele and Mother had gotten through the entire list of orders well before the pageant, with the exception of the dress for the little Twigg girl. Naturally, Rachel Twigg would want to get one up on everyone else, her order being tended to last. And now, Mother had one more dress to make before the spring bedlam would end till next year. Adele sighed and shook her head. "Mother, why don't you let me take you? Buddy's not feelin' well, and I don't mind the drive--" "I'm fine," Buddy whined. "Besides, I got some business ta tend to in town anyway." He turned so Mother couldn't see him wink. "What about Matthew?" Adele asked, protesting to the end. "Don't worry 'bout him," Buddy said as he slid behind the wheel. "He'll take care o' himself." "Bye, Sugar," Mother said, raising a gloved hand. "You be careful," Adele said sternly, shaking her finger at Buddy. Buddy grimaced and waved her away. The car engine caught loudly, and before Adele could think of anything else to say, Buddy and Mother disappeared, leaving behind a cloud of dust and exhaust. Inside, the house was still and quiet but for the easy breeze sifting in through the front door. Adele placed her basket on the counter and lined up the honey jars next to Matthew's cold cup of coffee. Nearby was the basket of biscuits wrapped in cloth napkins Mother saved from breakfast. Adele split one of them onto a bread plate and smeared a light layer of soft oleo onto the halves. Daddy loved biscuits and honey as much as Adele did. He was fully responsible for encouraging their somewhat irrational addiction. "Everything in moderation," Mother would say when she'd find Daddy and Adele stuffing honey-dripping biscuits into their mouths long after everyone else had gone to bed. "When it comes to biscuits and honey," Daddy would answer, "Ain't no such thing." He'd smile at Adele as if the two of them alone shared an enormous secret, and Mother would shake her head and go back to bed. It wasn't just the taste Adele adored; it was the sweet flavor of her Daddy's memory, too. After Daddy died, Mother never said another word about when, where, or how many biscuits with honey Adele ate. And now, Adele intended to indulge to her heart's content. She grasped a honey jar in her hands and twisted the aluminum lid, but it didn't budge. "Dern it," she said, grabbing a dishtowel and trying again. The metal ring wouldn't budge. Adele tried an old trick, carefully banging the edge of the lid onto the countertop to loosen it up, but it did no good. Her hand began to hurt, so she gave up trying to turn the lid with brute force. She retrieved a knife from the drawer and began to slide it along the crevasse where the lip of the lid met the glass. She held the jar firmly in one hand and guided the knife with the other. Suddenly, the knife slipped, and in a split-second of panic, Adele released the knife to avoid slicing herself. By reflex, she released the jar, too, and both went crashing to the floor. Glass and waxy particles of honeycomb exploded onto the tile and cabinets. Honey slowly pooled across the floor and seeped and oozed down the wood. "Dammit!" cried Adele, squatting near the mess then standing up again as she wrestled with fury she was so clumsy, and the urgency of what she should do first. She was so distraught, she didn't notice the sharp breeze kicking up the kitchen curtains or the man behind her quickly unfolding a newspaper. "Dammit!" Adele swore again, and she stomped her foot. "Now, there's no need for violence," Matthew said as he pushed a wad of newspaper against a stream of honey flowing toward a chair leg. "Nothing to this mishap if we keep our heads and work together." Matthew was clearly making light of Adele's bitter frustration, but she grinned in spite of herself and grabbed a handful of newspaper, too. An hour later, the only evidence a crisis ever occurred were one less honey jar and a mild stick on the kitchen floor. Adele worked to remedy that with a damp dishtowel she smeared in circles over the tile while Matthew wrung out a handful of dishtowels he’d just rinsed. “One more,” Adele said as she handed him the last of the soiled linens. “I’ll take those out to the line to dry.” She left him in the kitchen and made her way through Mother’s rose garden back to the length of wire strung between two maple trees. The wind swarmed under her skirt and gently around her legs, and Adele felt alarmingly exposed. She pinned the towels up, and when Matthew brought out the last one, she handed him two clothespins so he could do the same. “Never thought you’d be doin’ women’s work during your stay, did you,” she joked. “Oh, it’s hardly women’s work,” he said. “You have to remember--your brother and I are a couple of bachelors. No mothers or sisters to care for us like that when we’re away from home. We’ve done a lot more than pin up dishtowels.” “Do you visit your mother?” Adele asked, realizing she knew nothing of Matthew’s life back in Washington. “Every chance I get,” Matthew said. “At least three or four times a year.” A flash of anger and envy ignited in Adele. Buddy hadn’t stepped foot back in Roe for four years, yet somehow, Matthew found it important enough to travel all the way to Washington to visit his family. As quickly as the anger flared, it subsided as Adele remembered Buddy’s tendency to wander. Even when he was home in Roe, Buddy could not sit still. As a child, he hardly even stayed near the house. He was always off trekking through the backwoods of Baskin, or cutting up around town with the other boys. When he was a teenager, he practically lived over at the Howard’s house. When he wasn’t helping with the cotton, he was fishing or riding horses or going to the picture show with the Howard boys. It wouldn’t be any different, now that Buddy was a man and was entitled to complete freedom. It would be an unnatural thing for Buddy to come back to Roe with any regularity. It made for much worry and uncertainty for Mother and Adele, but that was Buddy’s nature, and they loved him, wanderlust and all. “Do you have a sister?” Adele asked. “I do,” Matthew said. “And a younger brother.” “They’re in Washington?” “My sister’s married and living in Missouri with her husband. She has four children. My brother’s going to school in California, but he’ll be graduating this year, so it’s yet to be seen where he’ll end up.” “What about your parents?” Adele asked, taking a seat in a garden chair. Matthew sat in a chair next to her and picked a leaf off of a rosebush nearby. “They’re in Washington. My father is a (some industrial job) in (some large industrial city). They do well for themselves, but my mother doesn’t know what to do with herself now that all of us are gone. I’m hoping Timothy goes back home after he graduates, then maybe Mother won’t be so melancholy all the time.” Adele absently watched Matthew spin the roseleaf in his fingertips, and she plucked one from the bush, too. “I’d never leave Mother,” Adele said. “You wouldn’t?” Matthew seemed surprised. “I don’t believe.” “Don’t you want to travel? See other places?” “Of course I do,” Adele said. “And I think I will someday, but I’m not like you and Buddy. I’m not....” “Compelled?” Matthew said. Adele squeezed the leaf between her fingertips and paused. “I suppose that would be precisely it.” Matthew let his leaf fall to the ground. He reached back to the rosebush and tenderly touched a small bud. “I can see how one might find himself perfectly content in a place like this.” Adele laughed. “Some novelty,” she said, and though she hadn’t intended them to, her words came mildly scathing. Matthew turned to Adele and regarded her, seriousness furrowing his brows. “There is no novelty,” he said. “Novelty is for the dispassionate, and I’m about the most un-dispassionate person you’ll ever meet.” Adele couldn’t contain herself. She giggled and covered her mouth with an apologetic hand. "What did I say?” Matthew demanded, perplexed but charmed. “Un-dispassionate?” she laughed. “You are a poet!” Matthew shared in the absurd comedy, falling back into his chair as the joke eventually settled. It was all too easy for Adele to find the courage to look into Matthew’s eyes with no other purpose but to see him, and she did. And Matthew did not look away. The shudder in her stomach that stayed with her for the duration of their trip to Shreveport had been long extinguished. Now, there was carved a bay into which that calling sea rested, and it was more lovely and calm than even Mother’s rose garden. “A poet...,” Matthew said. “Then you are poetry.” The headlights bobbed into view at the turnoff down the Cavanaugh lane. It was well past sundown, and Adele rocked in the porch swing, her hands tucked snugly under her crossed arms. Her skin rippled with a night chill as dew collected on thousands of blades of grass. From the garden shadows, she seemed to be able to hear every fluttering wing, every click and chirp, every low bellow from the flowerbeds’ hidden inhabitants. The car came under the houselights, and Adele sighed deeply, her body giving after releasing a cool breath into the night air. She put away the thoughts of a lifetime as she rose to her feet and gathered her sweater around herself. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was speak, but as Mother walked up to the house, she forced the humble tradition and did her best to weave into it some accent of conviction. “Everything go alright?” she asked. “Oh, fine,” Mother said, exhaustion weighing on her words. “Had to track Mr. Pease down all over creation, but I got it taken care of.” “What took so long?” Adele asked as Buddy kissed her forehead before heading inside. “Well....” Mother paused and leaned against the rail, pulling off her hat. “I had the fabric, so I just went ahead and started on that dress.” “Why didn’t you wait till I could help you, Mother?” Adele asked, perturbed but gentle. “Well, Buddy had his business anyway, and there’s no sense in drivin’ all the way back here when I coulda just gone to the shop and got somethin’ accomplished.” “I could’ve helped you.” “Oh, I know it, Dellie.” Mother rubbed her eyes. “It’s alright.” Adele took Mother by the arm and led her inside. “Did you get it finished?” “Just about,” Mother said, patting Adele’s hand. “An hour or two more.” Mother set her hat, handbag, and gloves on the kitchen table and started back toward her bedroom. “You goin’ to bed already?” Adele asked. “It’s early yet.” “Yeah, hon, I’m just really tuckered out. Ya’ll help yourself to that tater salad in the icebox. There’s biscuits left from this mornin’--Say, how’s that honey?” Adele felt color stain her cheeks and she stepped into the parlor shadows, lowering her head to study some imagined hole in the parlor rug. “You know Mrs. Durham’s honey,” Adele said. "Almost none left for all of you.” Mother laughed weakly. “Dellie an’ her honey,” she said, shaking her head. “Just like your father.” And Mother went to bed.