Page 31 of Just Business

She looks up at the ceiling screwing her face up, then back at me. “An animal you’re scared of?”

“Easy. Emus,” I reply, without having to think twice.

A laugh bursts from her. “Emus? I thought for sure you’d say something like snakes or sharks. Why emus?”

“This rapid fire isn’t very rapid fire,” I tease. “When I was a kid my aunt and uncle took us to one of those drive-thru zoos. The ones where you get a bucket of food and you drive in your car. The animals come right up to you. You ever been to one?”

“Not yet,” she responds, an amused smile dancing across her lips.

“Well, you’re supposed to crack the window and toss the food out, right? My sister was in the middle and she reached across me to toss her handful out. Her elbow caught the window control and it rolled all the way down. That damn emu stuck its entire head into the car, long neck and all, pecking into my bucket. When it raised its head, I swear to you, his beady eyes met mine and saw into my soul.” I fake a shudder at the thought, and she throws her head back laughing causing me to join her.

Once we’ve pulled ourselves together, I toss her another question.

“Tell me something on your bucket list.”

“Scotland,” she responds. “My family has Scottish heritage, and I’d love to go visit it. Plus,Outlandermade it look so romantic.”

I’d give anything to be able to admit to her that sitting right at the top of my bucket list is a family. The American Dream. A wife, 2.5 kids, and a dog. My mind conjures an image of what those kids might look like, and a flash of red hair on the little girls sneaks in before I can shut it down.

“Where’d you go, there?” she asks, clearly noticing my mind drifting.

“Nowhere. Just thinking of my next question.” I shake my head back to reality. “Okay, this is a big one. Only one right answer. ‘Tennessee Whiskey’—Chris Stapleton or David Allan Coe?” I pin her with a look, but she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Chris Stapleton. Hands down,” she says, and I raise my hand to high-five her.

After a few more rapid fire questions, Penny suggests we make brownies. She stands to grab a box mix from her cabinet and together we mix it and pop it in the oven, setting the timer. We clean up the mess we made, and right as I’m heading from the bathroom back to the kitchen where she sits, I notice a closet door left slightly ajar. I peer in and see dozens of jigsaw puzzles.

“Hey, wanna put a puzzle together?” I ask over my shoulder while I dig through the boxes.

Penny walks up behind me, and I turn to face her, holding one still in its shrink wrap. Since she lovesSchitt’s Creek,I picked one that’s a cartoon of Moira Rose with all of her wigs hanging on the wall behind her.

When she sees which one I’m holding, her entire face lights up, and right then and there, I know I’d buy her a puzzle every single day if it means I get to see this look on her face.

“When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time alone,” she explains, motioning toward her closet. “Whenever musicians were in town, Mom and Dad would have them over. Josie’s grandmother wouldn’t let her come over if musicians were here. She called it the devil’s music.” Penny laughs quietly. “So I had to find ways to entertain myself. My nana bought me a puzzle and I was hooked. I’ve been collecting them ever since.”

We dump it onto her dining room table and start sifting for the corners and edges. As we search, we pick up where we left off earlier, giving pieces of ourselves to each other.

She tells me about the time in middle school when Jackson invited her over to watch a movie at his house, but her dad said no because Jackson’s parents weren’t home. He wasn’t comfortable with her sitting alone in a boy’s house without adult supervision.

“So, how’d you get away with it?” I ask, popping one of the wigs into place on the puzzle.

The grin that spreads across Penny’s mouth is mischievous. “We got him on a technicality. Jackson and I were dead set on watching his new DVD ofTalladega Nights. We moved the TV to his front porch with the longest extension cord we could find. My dad only said I couldn’t goinhis house. He didn’t say anything about the front porch.”

“Penny, Penny, Penny.” I shake my head, teasing. “All this time, I’ve thought you were Little Miss Rule Follower.”

She rewards my teasing with a sly grin, her eyes moving across my face before darting down to my lips and eventually settling on the puzzle piece in her hand.

“When your family wasn’t working the studio, what did y’all do together?” I ask.

She stops what she’s doing to consider my question for a few seconds. “Fishing. Most of the time they didn’t record on Sundays. We’d load up Dad’s truck and head for a day of fishing. Sometimes he’d fish and Mom and I would splash around in the water.” Penny’s eyes go hazy, like she’s reliving the memories in her mind. “I need a childhood story from you now. Give me the best one you’ve got,” she says, breaking the moment.

“When I was a kid I tended to sleepwalk. Well, one night I dreamed that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were in the pasture behind my house. Somehow, without breaking my neck, I opened my window and climbed out. I guess I wanted to meet them. My uncle found me curled up by the front door sound asleep the next morning.”

“Oh my gosh!” She laughs, her eyes widening. “Do you still sleepwalk?”

“Nah, I guess I outgrew it.”

We continue fitting puzzle pieces together quietly, when I nod toward the piano against the wall. “Do you play?”

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