Page 50 of Slow Burn
“Nan never did.”
He snorted. “Fat lot of good it did her.”
The bitterness filled the air like an aroma, though it was true enough. Nan had raged about it. Always said it wasn’t right, that they closed the investigation too quickly, that they all did her and Mama wrong. But she sure didn’t like the idea of Jocelyn coming back, asking the questions she’d always wondered about. Too much like stirring the pot, and that was something Nan never did.
“That why you’re really here?” Joe asked.
The look she slanted in his direction pulled a chuckle out of him.
He shook his head. “You sure are your mother’s daughter. Where your nan let life happen to her, your mama made damn sure she happened to life.”
It was strange hearing her mother described that way, knowing the life they’d led. A bit of scraping by that didn’t equate to much. But Mama sure did have that winning smile, and she loved to laugh. She’d sought out reasons to as often as she could. Maybe Jocelyn did remember a bit of a spark.
She wanted some of that. She wanted to happen to life.
“Stay here ’til you sort things out,” Joe said, turning back to the TV. “Got a room upstairs finished that needs a test-run.”
Relief softened her face. “Thanks, Uncle Joe.”
He nodded, seeming distracted. But then his flinty words hit her squarely. “And then you give those responsible for your mama the hell they deserve.”
Sunrise painted the old barn with warmth. What once had looked rickety and decrepit seemed stubborn and rugged in the new dawn.
Admittedly, it was probably just Jocelyn’s own mindset shift. She’d slept well despite the circumstances that had brought her to the house. But seeing what Uncle Joe had managed to do, a new determination shored up her bones.
Even something seeming too far gone could be rebuilt.
Joe stepped out onto the porch, and she turned.
“Made some waffles.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Uncle Joe, you didn’t have to.”
He winked and held the screen door for her to head back in.
The pile of waffles proved he’d been cooking for a while, and he poured them each a cup of coffee as Jocelyn sat at the little round table. The floral tablecloth made her smile.
They ate in silence as minutes crept by, the time marked off by the sleek, minimalist clock that hung in the corner of the room. The minute hand caught the light, glinting a soft golden color that matched what touched the barn she could still see just outside the window over the sink.
There was hope in this little kitchen, all gleaming counter tops and refinished cabinets reflecting the morning light.
She turned to her uncle, waiting until he’d chewed down his most recent bite. “What made you decide to get sober?”
He didn’t seem bothered—or surprised—by the question. Sitting back with a sigh, he gave his head a shake. “It just don’t feel good to need something that bad.”
A note of anger rang in there, and maybe that was part of it, too. A person needed to hate the thing that had them so locked in its grip to break its hold.
Was that what Mama had done with her father? Why she’d been so unkind to him that last time Jocelyn had seen him come around? Though she’d never known Bonnie to give him an inch,Jocelyn knew her mama’s heart had held onto him for longer than she’d ever wanted it to.
Joe took in her pensive expression. “What’s your plan, Jossie?”
“Probably talk to Sally Anne again. I already asked her about Ned Turner.”
“Turner?” That name came chewed up as Joe spat it out. A history there, for sure. “Your landlord, back then, right?”
She nodded. “Do you know him well?”
Joe’s mouth pinched. “Worked with him for a bit. ’Fore I lost my job for bein’ drunk on the clock. He’s a mean old badger.” His beady eyes shifted to suspicious. “You think he had somethin’ to do with your mama’s fire?”
