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crazy talk of God-given desire.
    She starts to resent how he doesn’t want to be seen with her. They attend the same church, but they never sit together. He greets her the same way he greets all the other widows, a curt nod as he passes by. Plus, he’s always talking about his investments. Why tell her he’s rich when he has no intention of sharing his wealth with her? And why, if he’s so loaded, didn’t he feel any obligation to pay back those farmers? He doesn’t want to risk dying first and have it all go to her instead of Rosalee. She knows what a prenuptial agreement is, but he’s beyond even that. He doesn’t want to share his home, his life. He wants a little back door hanky-panky, that’s all. She feels used. And dirty.
    Her sister is of no help.
    “You said you didn’t want to marry him.”
    “I don’t.
    “But you seem angry that he doesn’t ask you to marry him?”
    “You’d be mad, too, if somebody you thought cared about you expected sex but no commitment.”
    “Oh, I don’t know.”
    “C’mon.”
    “It’s the times. My own grandchildren . . .”
    “That’s different.”
    “If he asked, would you say no?”
    “I guess we’ll never find out.” With that, Janet hangs up.
    Not long after this conversation, Leland picks her up and tells her to scoot over by the door. “Don’t sit by me, if you don’t mean it.”
    “All right.” She hugs the door, head turned away, her mind out the window and riding hard over turbulent waves.
    He doesn’t take her to the farm. Instead, they drive out south of town to Courthouse and Jail Rocks, deserted sandstone monuments haunting the prairie. Legend has it that Indians used to keep prisoners here.
    He stops the car, turns to look at her. “I thought I could wear you down,” he says.
    Tight-lipped, she says, “Then you don’t know me very well.”
    “No. I guess I don’t.”
    She has nothing to say to that. They don’t look at each other.
    “Hell,” he says. “I don’t even know if I can do it. Maybe I got too old.”
    She has to laugh at that. He laughs, too. Then, it seems all right between them. They sit there a while, not bothering to get out of the car, enjoying the sagebrush and yuccas, the lone eagle soaring overhead, the grasshoppers springing from ragweed. He takes her home and drops her in the alley. They each smile, though he does not reach for her to kiss her. She gets out of the car and knows he will not call again.
    Months go by, another Thanksgiving, then Christmas, Valentine’s Day. After Easter, she plants another garden, picks early radishes and lettuce. When her sister asks, “What ever happened to Leland?” she answers, “We’re friends.”
    One day while shopping in the drug store for Q-tips and toothpaste, she hears that Leland has had a stroke. He’s lost the use of one side of his body, though they say his mind is good.
    Janet frets over him, but she can’t drive. She hears he’s in a nursing home in Scottsbluff. One Sunday, her pastor stops her briefly after the Sunday service. Pastor Glen is a young man; people like him. He’s got a houseful of kids, and that’s always a good sign.
    “Janet,” Pastor says. “I’m driving up to see Leland on Tuesday. I wondered if you’d care to ride along.”
    She peers into the pastor’s face, sees only kindness. She should have known nothing is a secret in this town.
    “I’d like that,” she says.
    At the nursing home, the pastor visits for a few minutes, offers a prayer over Leland’s ruined body, then finds an excuse to leave the room. Janet pulls a chair next to Leland’s bed, puts her hand over his good hand. His other hand lies inert against his side. He has no use of one side of his body, but he’s propped up against the headboard.
    “Janet. I’m glad to see you.”
    He looks as though he might cry. Janet pats his hand. “Now, now Leland. I’m here.”
    She looks around his room. Small, the way they are. Odors, something between disinfectant and