PART ONE -- CATFISH HEAVEN

I’ll know it when I find it.

“I was so ready to die.” Mrs. Carpenter sat on the edge of her hospital bed hugging a black vinyl pocketbook. “I’m terribly disappointed, dear.” Wearing a black dress with red polka dots and a white straw hat with artificial tea roses on the brim, she had a light blush of rouge on her cheeks. Low, fast moving clouds broke the sunlight beyond the window. “I’m tired. I just wanted to go.”

Jolene Falkner pecked her on the cheek. “What would I do without your company?” She paused and smiled. “And without your room and board money?” A young woman pushed a wheelchair through the door, parking it next to the bed. “Time to go, honey,” she said. “We do want to go home, don’t we?” Mrs. Carpenter glared at her. “We would rather go to the undertaker’s, honey.” Turning to Jolene she said, “I’m looking forward to getting home. I miss those peacocks of yours.”

They are lovely aren’t they?” Jolene looked at the back of her boarder’s hand, the skin pale, lined with blue veins and speckled with liver spots.

“Like something touched by the gods, God,” Mrs. Carpenter said.

Two nights before Jolene had rushed her to the hospital. Her breathing shallow, she had been too weak to stand and Jolene had carried her from the house to the car. At the emergency room the nurses put her on a gurney and shook their heads.” She won’t last through the night,” one whispered to Jolene. The next morning she was breathing normally and two days later she had been discharged.

“You’d have no trouble renting my room.” Mrs. Carpenter ignored the aid. “Your house is lovely, dear, and you’re so sweet to me.”

“You’re special,” Jolene told her. “I might could rent the room but I’d never find someone who’d be as good company as you. You are like family, you know.” Mrs. Carpenter smiled, waving Jolene’s words away as she did. “I’m an old woman ready to die. Just don’t let me go like Ritajune Trivette, hooked up to tubes and machines and dead without being dead. That was obscene.” She placed her hand on top of Jolene’s.

“Whatever you want, as long as it isn’t anytime soon.”

Mrs. Carpenter leaned toward her, their cheeks touching. “It’ll be soon, dear. I saw mother and daddy last night, just like they say, in the light at the end of a long hallway. Mother was waving and standing on her toes like she used to when I’d come home from school, and Daddy had his fiddle tucked against his chest and was sawing out a tune. I couldn’t hear it, but I could see the bow moving fast enough to make the strings smoke.” She looked down at their hands, soft on one another’s.

“They looked so young,” she said. “Mother’s hair was black and her body looked like a girl’s, not the old woman she was when she died, and Daddy was lean and strong. He looked like he could plow a field, chop a cord of firewood and go play fiddle at a dance for half the night.”

“Are you ready to go?” The aid’s voice was impatient as she nodded toward the wheelchair.

Mrs. Carpenter smiled. “I surely am.”

Jolene reached to help Mrs. Carpenter get up from the bed and move into the chair.

“I could easy walk out of here.” Rising and walking to the chair she sat down, resting her hands on the arms.

“That’s against regulations,” the aid said.

“Well it’s plain silly.”

Once free of the hospital, Jolene helped her into the car. “You hungry? We could stop at Catfish Heaven on the way home.”

“You spend enough time there waiting on tables and doing whatever it is you’ve got to do in that place. You don’t need to stop there to feed me.”

“It’d be no problem.”

Mrs. Carpenter shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Is there,” Jolene struggled to find words and settled for a vague question. “Do you want me to contact anybody?”

“My son Jared’s out in California somewhere. I haven’t talked with him in fifteen years, since his daddy died down in Atlanta. He never did forgive me for the divorce.”

“You hardly ever talk about your children.”

Mrs. Carpenter nodded. “You know who I am now and I know you better than I know my children. I suspect I like you better than I’d like them now. They’re off doing their lives and don’t care much about me. But then I reckon I didn’t care as much for them as they needed me to when they were coming up. Their daddy and I were too busy fighting and trying to figure what we wanted out of life.” She laughed. “What we figured out was that we didn’t want each other. At least I didn’t want him and I didn’t want to be married. The children ended up being part of that.”

“Might could be you’re the lucky one.” Jolene’s voice caught in her throat. Mrs. Carpenter touched Jolene’s hand. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Jolene gave her a quick humorless smile. “You’d think after all these years Brad and the babies’ deaths wouldn’t hurt so much, but they do. Some things you can never get over. What about your daughter?”

“Cynthia’s a missionary with a group out of Boone, always traipsing around remote parts of the world trying to save souls. She and I aren’t any closer than Jared and I are.” “I could pray for you. That might help.” “Do you really think so, dear?” Jolene shrugged. “It can’t hurt.” “That depends on what you’re praying for. These days you see so much flat out nastiness disguised as prayer. I reckon if you prayed for me out of the goodness of your heart there wouldn’t be any harm in it.” “I want the best for you.” “Then praying for me would be an act of kindness and I’d think kindly on it.” She cleared her throat. “You’ve gone to a lot of different churches the last few years.” Jolene nodded. “I’m looking for the right one.” “What will make one the right one?” “I’m not sure, but I’ll know it when I find it.” “I hope so, dear, but you have to live your life too. Don’t spend so much time looking for something that you miss what’s in front of you.” “I won’t.” Mrs. Carpenter nodded and looked out the car window. They were pulling into Jolene’s driveway when she spoke again. “I’d like a dignified service down at the Episcopal Church in Valle Crucis. I don’t reckon it makes any real difference in the long run, but I want dignity not spectacle.” “I’ll do whatever you want, but let’s not talk about you being gone.” “Talk or not, I will be, and soon.” Jolene hit the steering wheel. “I hate death.” “Of course you do, dear. It’s never been a comfort to you, just a terrible tragedy. For me, dying is no tragedy.” She reached over, resting her hand on Jolene’s knee. “It will be a gift.”