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helping hand, payback for startling you twice in one day.”
    The look of relief that crossed her face was almost heartbreaking, as was the fact that she didn’t even pretend not to want his help. She stepped aside to let him pass and then locked the door behind him.
    “You’re in luck, Jojo. It’s time to swab the decks,” she said with a tired-sounding laugh.
    “Not quite, but this is a lovely little flashback.”
    “Right this way,” she said.
    After she drew a pail of warm, soapy water and handed him an extra mop, they made quick work of the floor, working in silent tandem like they’d done this a thousand times before. It was odd, being with Verna without her chatting away, but he chalked it up to her tiredness, something that became more apparent with each minute that passed.
    “So you can lock up and we’ll head out?” he asked once they’d finished.
    “Not yet. We have a delivery coming”—she looked up and watched as a small delivery truck drove around the building—“right now. A quick inventory, and then I’m done. Thanks for your help, Joe. I really appreciate it,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity.
    “You’ve had a long day. Can’t someone else handle the inventory tomorrow?”
    She shook her head. “There is no one else. And it won’t take but a minute. I’ll see you around.”
    “I’ll stay.”
    “There’s no need—”
    “I’m staying, Verna.”
    She nodded and walked toward the back as he followed, noting that her step had no spring at all, let alone the energy that he was accustomed to seeing from Verna. Although she’d barely insulted him and had given him the peace and quiet he’d thought he wanted, he decided he didn’t like this energy-sapped version of her and found himself rather unhappy that her usual sparkle, as annoying as it could be, was dimmed. When they reached the back door, they found the delivery driver leaning against his truck waiting, dolly at the ready.
    “Evening, Verna. Here’s this week’s load,” he said as he handed her an inventory list.
    She hoisted herself into the truck, moving with surprising agility, and began checking off items on the list.
    “Wait,” she called to the driver. “I ordered a different brand of flour. We made the change last month.”
    “Uh, Mr. Love called and changed it back, said we needed to deliver the old stuff.”
    Verna rubbed her forehead, considering for a moment. Then she looked over to the driver and nodded.
    “I need you to take this back and bring the other brand. We have enough for two days, so can you run it by tomorrow or the day after?”
    “No problem.”
    “Thank you,” she said.
    The rest of the list proceeded without incident, and when she’d checked off the last item, Verna grabbed a box, a heavy one from the look of it, and started to jump off the truck.
    “What are you doing?” Joe said, snapping into action.
    “I’m getting off the truck,” she said, brows knitted together in confusion.
    “Put that box down, Verna,” he said gruffly.
    When she did, he extended a hand toward her. She stared at it and looked at him, his expression, he knew, unyielding. After a moment, she took his hand, and he helped her off the truck. Once she reached the ground, she glanced at him, her face a mask of confusion that only intensified when he jumped up to take her place.
    “We’ll unload the truck; you make sure the stuff gets where it needs to be,” he said.
    She nodded, and, with the help of the delivery driver, Joe unloaded the truck and Verna directed him where to go, them working together with that same coordinated efficiency the origin of which remained unknown to Joe. When they finished, Verna saw the driver off with a reminder about items they still needed. Joe walked over to her, and she gave him a faint smile, her gratitude undeniable.
    “So are we done now?” he asked.
    “Oh yes. Thank goodness,” she said wearily. “And thank you again, Joe.”
    He shrugged. “You just